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“Who else would know?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I have no idea, but if you can’t even remember getting married last night, then you probably also can’t remember what you did after that and who might’ve taken pictures of you.”
Fuck. He’s right. I didn’t think about that.
I think about pulling my phone out to check. Did I take any photos? What about receipts showing where we might’ve gone?
“Where did you get married?” Ava asks, and she seems to be coming around to the idea.
I, however, am not quite there just yet. I’m still trying to make it make sense in my brain, but it just…doesn’t.
“Now or Never Vegas Chapel,” I say, finally equipped with the answer to at least one question.
Grayson narrows his eyes at me. “How do you know that?”
“Because they sent me an email with the photos,” I blurt, honesty prevailing yet again. What the fuck is with that? Keep your goddamn mouth shut, Spencer. Because we all know what’s coming…
“I wanna see!” Ava practically yells as she claps her hands together.
Oh, fuck.
“No. It’s…no,” I say flatly.
“Oh, come on. You did it, and it’s funny, and now you have this amazing story to tell,” she says. “Photographic evidence, or it didn’t happen.”
“Oh, it happened,” I say.
“Prove it,” she says.
“Prove it, prove it, prove it,” Grayson starts chanting as he bangs his palms on the table, drawing glances from other restaurant customers nearby, and his future wife joins him as they both laugh.
“I’m way too hungover for this,” Grace says.
“So am I.”
The server comes by with four cups of coffee, thankfully distracting these idiots from their chanting, but I have a feeling they’re not going to let us off the hook.
And I have no idea how they’re going to react when they see what we wore to our wedding.
Chapter 17: Grace Nash
Look At Us Now
The Morning After the Wedding
I feel guilty. I feel like we need to confess what happened last night even though neither of us knows exactly how it happened. All I know is that I got married in a dress meant for somebody else, somebody who's getting married in a few days, somebody who is expecting to wear a dress that’s brand new, not one worn by another bride.
And if we show them the pictures, Grayson will see the dress before the wedding, which, as we all know, is bad luck.
I'm torn, but the chanting starts up again as I'm pouring cream into my coffee.
“Prove it, prove it, prove it.” It’s the banging on the table that convinces me. My pounding head can’t take it, and there’s only one way to get them to stop.
I sigh as I glance over at Spencer. His eyes meet mine, and he looks as annoyed as I feel.
“Show them,” I say softly. They’re chanting too loudly to hear me say that to him.
He raises a brow. “Are you sure?”
