Page 27 of Accidental Mile High Vows

“Must have been some misunderstanding.” She grins. “Anyway, if you need anything, I’m two desks over.” She walks away, and I head to my desk, grateful she didn’t ask more questions.

My computer is already on, the marketing report glaring at me. I’ve been staring at the same data for an hour, and nothing is sinking in. All I can think about is that marriage certificate.

My handwriting. His name next to mine.

Mrs. Savannah Volkov.

One Month Ago

I wake up to sunlight burning through my eyelids and no memory of where I am.

My head feels like it’s splitting open. My mouth tastes like death. And there’s warmth beside me.

I open my eyes slowly. Massive windows. Luxury suite. A man sleeping next to me with silver hair and a face I vaguely recognize but can’t place.

Panic hits me like ice water.

I slip out of the bed, moving carefully so I don’t wake him. My dress is on the floor. My shoes are by the door. I’m completely naked.

Oh God. What did I do?

There’s something on the nightstand, a piece of paper, but I don’t bother to check. I grab my dress and shoes, pulling them on as quietly as possible. My purse is on the couch. My phone is dead. I need to get out of here before he wakes up.

The elevator ride down feels like it takes forever. My hands won’t stop shaking.

At the front desk, I ask them to call me a cab to the airport. The woman gives me a look, probably because I’m clearly doing a walk of shame in last night’s dress, but she makes the call.

I slump in the back seat of the cab when it arrives and try to piece together what happened.

I remember the bar in Chicago. Murphy’s Tavern. Winning the trip. The plane.

Then fragments. A club. Lights. Dancing. Kissing someone.

At the airport, I buy a ticket back to Chicago on the next available flight. It leaves in thirty minutes. I don’t have luggage. Just my purse and phone.

On the plane, I pass out before takeoff and don’t wake up until the flight attendant is shaking my shoulder, telling me we’ve landed in Chicago. Home.

Except it’s not home anymore, is it?

I take a cab back to my mother’s house. The house is quiet and empty, just like I left it. Mason’s stuff is gone. Lizzy hasn’t tried to contact me.

I remember that part clearly—Mason with his face in Lizzy’s ass. The betrayal. The rage. That memory is crystal clear because I was sober when it happened.

But Vegas? Vegas is a blur of tequila and bad decisions.

I sit on the floor of my living room and pull out my phone. It’s charging now, and notifications flood in.

Three voice memos from that night.

I could listen to them. Figure out what happened. But something stops me.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Maybe it’s better if I don’t know. Maybe I can just pretend it never happened and move on. I have the job in New York starting next week. A fresh start. A chance to be someone new. I decide to accept the offer.

I don’t listen to the memos. I pack up my things and leave Chicago behind.

Present Day