“Back to being mortal enemies.”
She nodded. “Spewing disdain and disregard.”
“I like it.” As the song changed to one I almost knew, I extended a hand. “Let’s go dance and forget we can’t stand one another.”
Olivia’s face lit up as she graced me with a rare laugh, a melodic sound that slid across my senses. She placed her hand in mine and tugged me toward our party already on the floor. “Friends for a few more hours.”
“But,” I reminded her, “in the morning, everything changes.”
At the time—I had no idea how right I was.
ChapterEight
OLIVIA
When I wokeup Sunday morning, I became aware of two things:
One, I felt hungover, though I knew I hadn’t ordered a drop of liquor.
And two, I was pretty sure I had accidentally married someone.
In terms of major life mistakes, this certainly topped face-planting on the treadmill at the gym. It was even worse than the recent charity basketball game when I had attempted a layup, been clotheslined by Morgan, and fallen straight into Elton’s crotch. It even eclipsed this summer’s lows, when I’d been dumped by the most perfect boyfriend and discovered Morgan had been given an account that should’ve been mine. Those travesties were now on par with stepping in gum compared to waking up in Vegas married to a man you had little memory of wedding.
I mentally consulted the Olivia Sutton Life Plan, and unintentional marriage wasnowhereon it. I couldn’t even imagine the ripple effects of this horrendous occurrence.
Besides disjointed flashes and fragments, I had no recollection of last night once we arrived at the club. That was the most frightening thing.
The harsh light of morning streamed through the hotel room window of the Bellagio, and I slapped my hand over my eyes. My tongue felt like wool in my mouth, and I was certain at some point last night I must’ve used my head as a battering ram. It hurt so badly I wanted to remove it from my body.
My phone on the bedside table read eleven a.m., and I’d been awake for exactly ninety seconds. Plenty of time to catalogue this series of perplexing and cataclysmic observations.
First, an arm was flopped over my stomach. A very male arm.
Next, someone was spooning me. A full-on melding of bodies, like puzzle pieces that fit together a little too well.
Third, as I slowly extricated myself from this guy’s too-friendly clench and sat up, I recognized his sleeping face and felt a shock and disgust that would surely follow me all the days of my life.
Finally—and this was the part that took the awfulness to new heights—my left hand sported a gold band that matched my bedmate’s. Remnants of a wedding were strewn about the room like clues from a crime scene.
I spied a bottle of champagne and two clearly used plastic cups.
A wilted bouquet of red roses.
A poorly printed wedding proclamation from the Pink Chapel of Love.
Two Polaroids showing a happy couple kissing at an altar.
And a marriage license my bleary eyes could read even from across the room.
This paper united two people by the names of Olivia Sutton and Lachlan Hayes.
“Lachlan?” I hissed, scrambling out of the bed. “Lachlan.”
“Hmm?” Without opening his eyes, Lachlan Hayes scrubbed a hand over his burly face. “Ugh…I feel like I walked into oncoming traffic.” One vivid green eye popped open. Then another. I could see my old nemesis struggling to focus. “Why are you in my hotel room?”
“I’m not.” I blinked back tears as panic began its torment. “You’re in mine.”
Lachlan’s unruly red hair swished across his bare shoulders as he slowly sat up. His brows knit together as he studied me beside the bed, where I now clutched the comforter as if I wore nothing instead of last night’s party dress. “I have…weird memories.” He lifted a finger and pointed in my general direction. “You…me…”
