Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
The problem—the thing I haven’t told anyone in my family—is that by the time I finished my degree, I’d become incredibly bored with accounting, to the point where I almost hated it. I can’t stand the thought of doing it for the rest of my life.
And now I’ve finally graduated, an accomplishment I could at least be proud of even if I’m not very excited about it, but apparently, I’ve gone and married a total stranger, and don’t even remember doing it. And perfect Ember is ready to help, which is only going to make me feel more inadequate.
Someone knocks on the bathroom door, and I almost jump out of my skin. One of the men is awake. One of the big, gorgeous, naked men. Fuck!
“I have to go,” I whisper, cutting off whatever Ember is saying. “I’ll call you later.”
“Hazel, wait—”
I end the call. I’ve never done that to Ember, ever. It feels strangely empowering.
Then I clear my throat and manage to call out, quietly because my head still hurts, “Be right out.”
HAZEL
After a couple of deep breaths, I get up and stand in front of the mirror. Its thick, gilded edges frame my reflection, and what a picture I make: smeared makeup, wild hair, puffy face that’s a little green around the edges.
There’s a neat stack of washcloths on a shelf near the sink, so I grab one, wet it, and clean up the best I can. I find a small bottle of mouthwash in the cabinet, pour some into a glass, and swish it around my mouth.
My white dress is still hanging loosely, open at my back, but when I try to reach the zipper, my head feels like it’s going to crack open, so I leave it.
There’s another tap at the door. Crap. I’m sure there’s more than one bathroom in this luxe suite, so I know the knocking is for me, and that thought makes my heart pound just as hard as my head.
At least I look less like a dead raccoon now. I steel myself, turn, and open the door.
It’s Conal. He’s pulled on a pair of jeans, with the top unbuttoned, so I’m not immediately confronted with … all of him. He has tattoos on both arms and one on his chest, but I can’t focus on those because he’s looking at me, and I’m looking back, and he’s every bit as beautiful this morning as he was last night.
How is it fair that I woke up looking like wet garbage, and he looks like he’s ready to go onstage and make a crowd of women drop their panties?
Speaking of panties, I’m suddenly acutely aware that I’m not wearing any.
I’m just as much a mess inside as I am on the outside. Embarrassed, uncertain, anxious … and full of a yearning so deep that my fingers are tingling. I want to touch him, just reach a hand out and rest it against his skin, to make sure he’s real. But I don’t dare.
“Hi,” I say weakly, and then I don’t know what to say next. I feel like an idiot. How do you talk to your brand-new husband whom you don’t even know?
In answer, he holds out two pills and a glass of water. “Aspirin. It’ll help.” The richness of his husky voice doesn’t help my no-underwear situation.
“Thanks.” I focus on the pills, because taking them means I can avoid looking at him for a few seconds longer. I very much want to look at him, but I’m afraid of everything I feel when I do.
My stomach threatens to rebel when I swallow the aspirin, but I firmly, silently, order the medicine to stay down. After another tiny sip of water, I hand the glass back to Conal.
A need for water is what woke me up, but I’m too nervous to think about it now. I have no idea what to do or say, but trying to fake my way through this situation seems like a really bad idea.
Deciding on complete honesty, I gather the strength to look up into Conal’s beautiful eyes. “I don’t remember a lot of what happened last night.”
His mouth twitches in an almost-smile. “Like the part where we got married?”
My heart jolts at the confirmation. Though all the signs were there, it hardly seemed possible. “That part, yeah. And I’m not sure what else. The last thing I remember is around midnight.” My eyes go to his lips, before I force them higher.
“Midnight is when we started doing shots.”
“Oh. Well, that explains it, I guess.” I’ve done my share of drinking at parties, but usually just a beer or two. I’ve never been a big drinker, but I remember having champagne earlier last night, and I might have had more than I ordinarily would.
Conal tilts his head toward the living room. “Ready to come out? Do you think you could keep a piece of toast down?”