Page 5 of Dearly Unbeloved (Spicy in Seattle #3)

ROSE

I’m so sorry, Rosie! I must have missed the part where I have to listen to what you say! - S

W hy is the wind screaming? And so warm, and close to my face and… I force my eyes open and realize I’m smooshed against the pillow. It’s not the wind; my own breath is just so fucking loud.

Everything hurts. A crushing ache spreads from the very top of my skull, shooting down my body as I peel myself away from the pillow, groaning.

My mouth feels like it’s full of dust and tastes like bad decisions.

I sit up, my arm flopping uselessly to the side, hitting something that feels suspiciously like hair.

I’m alert enough for it to scare me, but too hungover to do anything but shriek, flail, and immediately see stars because I moved too quickly.

“What the fuck?”

For the first time, Sierra’s voice actually calms me down. At least she’s not a stranger who’s likely to murder me.

“Why are you in my room?” Her voice is scratchy and deep.

“This is my room.” Although the rooms in the hotel are more or less identical, I can tell this is mine because the floor isn’t covered in clothes.

When I wrench my head around to look at Sierra, her black hair is a knotted mess.

But that’s not what knocks the breath from my chest. She’s lying face down on top of the covers, wearing nothing but black underwear.

I drop my chin, looking down at myself. Unlike Sierra, I’m tucked under the thin hotel blanket, but I’m also sans clothing.

“Sierra.”

“What?”

“Why are we basically naked?”

Sierra turns her head and cracks her eyes. Fake lashes I didn’t even notice her wearing last night are barely hanging on. I hold the blanket tight to my chest as she runs her gaze over me, her expression pained, like she’s trying to wrack her memory.

“We probably were so wasted last night that we just stripped off and climbed into bed. It’s no big deal,” she says dismissively.

“You don’t think we?—”

“Definitely not.” Her voice is firmer. She sits up, folding her arms across her chest. I try not to look, but how did I not know about the tattoo covering her sternum?

A detailed black snake winds its way down her skin, wrapped around a thorny rose.

It starts between her breasts and stops right above her belly button.

“If we had, I’d be able to tell. I’m always calmer the day after a good orgasm. ”

I raise a brow. Or I try to, anyway. My eyes are so fucking dry that even the tiniest movement hurts like hell. What was I thinking, falling asleep with my contacts in?

“Nice to know no matter what you think of me, you believe I’d give you a good orgasm,” I reply sarcastically.

“I mean, if you didn’t, I’d have done it myself. I don’t care about your feelings enough to fake it.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Since she’s lying on top of the covers, I grab a pillow to shield myself before trying to stand up. But before both of my feet are solidly on the ground, Sierra grabs my hand and tugs me back down.

“Ouch. What the?—”

“What the fuck is that?”

She’s gripping my left hand firmly, and when I look down, my stomach drops. A plain silver band with a clear, glittering oval stone is hanging out on my ring finger, where it definitely doesn’t belong.

I swear Sierra is moving in slow motion as she drops her left hand from her chest and holds it beside mine. Her ring is gold and more ornate, with a rich purple pear-shaped stone surrounded by a halo of tiny dark blue, sparkling stones.

Sierra snatches her hand back. “Shit. I’m going to be sick.”

She rushes to the bathroom, and I perch on the edge of the bed as I listen to her retching. The nice thing to do would be to keep an eye on her or offer to hold her hair back, but she doesn’t sound like she’s choking or anything. She’ll survive.

I take a closer look at the ring. It looks expensive—more expensive than I’d expect for a potential drunken wedding.

Fuck. I don’t do this kind of thing. Hell, no one actually does this kind of thing.

There’s no way it’s real. I don’t remember anything after Jazz and Maggie left last night, but there’s not a chance in the world Sierra and I got married. Not for real, anyway.

My head spins as I cross the room and push open the curtains, inspecting the stone in the sunlight. It shines suspiciously diamond-like, and something tells me I probably don’t want to check my credit card statement anytime soon.

Sierra steps out of the bathroom wearing a robe—my robe—and wiping the sleeve over her mouth.

She stops short, taking me in, and I realize I’m still only wearing underwear.

My dress from last night is folded neatly on the chair by the window.

Sierra’s is crumpled by the side of the bed she was sleeping on.

Both of them are covered in glitter, and if something scratchy touches my skin right now, I’m going to die.

I walk past Sierra and open the closet, my fingers closing around my favorite sleep shirt.

It’s usually a comfort to feel the soft cotton falling over my body, but I’m pretty sure there’s nothing in the world that I’d find comforting at this point.

I close the closet door and lean against it, clearing my throat.

“It’s not legal, right? Like, you can’t just get married . There are processes and stuff you have to follow. You can’t just show up the night of and do the damn thing. ”

Sierra crosses her arms and glares at me. “Why are you looking at me like I should know that? I have no idea.”

“You work at a law firm. And didn’t you go to law school?”

“I flunked out of law school! Which is why I’m an assistant to the assistant of a business lawyer. In Washington. Believe it or not, Nevada marital law doesn’t come up much.”

I cover my face with my hands. She’s so goddamn loud. “Could you maybe shout a little louder?” I mutter and hold up a hand when I hear her sharp intake of breath, presumably readying for another rant. “We have to stay calm so we can figure this out.”

“Given what Vegas is known for, I think it’s safe to assume that you can just get married on a whim here,” she says, more quietly, after a moment. “Whether that means it’s legal, I don’t know. I assume if it was, we’d have paperwork or something.”

She looks around, presumably for the paperwork, but aside from my dress on the chair, hers on the floor, and our shoes in a pile by the door, there’s nothing out of order.

With a sigh, I yank open the closet again and crouch down to type the code into the safe.

Sierra hovers behind me. “I know you like things in their proper place, but do you really think you’d go to the effort of putting something in the safe when you were blackout drunk?”

The safe beeps and swings open and, sure enough, even blackout drunk, I’m still me. Me enough to make sure important documents go in the safe—not me enough to make sure I don’t get fucking married in Vegas, apparently.

I grab the folder and hand it to Sierra, not sure I could actually read with my dry-ass contacts in. I can make out the giant pink letters on the outside of the wallet of documents, though:

Congratulations Mrs. & Mrs.!

Sierra blows out a long breath. “Well, at least they’re inclusive, I suppose.”

“Sierra,” I groan.

She ignores my exasperation and flips the wallet open. A purple poker chip flies out and rolls across the carpet, stopping when it hits my foot. I bend down, the room spinning, and pick it up as she scans what appears to be an information sheet.

“It says here that our official marriage certificate will be mailed to us within ten business days, but there’s a temporary one in here until then.

” She leafs through the papers and pulls out the temporary certificate, listing two brides: Sierra Kimiko Hayashi and Rose Charlotte Cannon, married on August 21 st , at Dearly Beloved Chapel in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Shit.

Sierra sits on the bed, dropping the paperwork on the nightstand and pressing her palms into her eyes.

I sit on the other side, trying to force the wave of panic threatening me to recede.

Panic isn’t going to get us anywhere. I unclench my palm, inspecting the poker chip.

Dearly Beloved is printed across the center in a pretty silver script, and there’s a magnet stuck on the back.

As far as tacky Vegas wedding favors go, I can think of worse, I suppose.

Sierra eyes it, and I drop it into her palm. She reads it and laughs, the sound mirthless. “More like dearly un beloved. How the fuck did this happen?”

“I’m pretty sure ‘shots sound perfect’ might have something to do with it.”

She whirls on me, her eyes narrowed. “Are you seriously blaming me for this? I didn’t force you to drink, and I didn’t force you to sign the fucking marriage license.

This is as much on you as it is on me.” She laughs, the sound humorless and sharp.

“I guess Little Miss Perfect can fuck up like the rest of us mere mortals. Who knew?”

Her words sting, but I can’t let her see that. Mask firmly in place, I roll my eyes—ouch—and ignore her comment. “Pass me my phone so I can figure out how we can undo this.”

Sierra grabs my phone from the nightstand and all but tosses it at me. It’s clinging on for dear life, but eight percent should be enough charge to find what I need to. This has to be a common issue here.

Sure enough, one quick Google search later, and I have the details for a nearby twenty-four-hour annulment service. For five hundred dollars, we just have to show up and wait to be seen, and someone will put an end to this whole ordeal for us.

Sierra goes to her room and we both get dressed quickly, determined to get out of the hotel before we’re spotted by Jazz or Maggie.

If all goes to plan, my sister never needs to know that I accidentally married her assistant.

Because if Jazz finds out, everyone will find out.

She’s a pro at keeping her own secrets, but no one else’s are safe.

I meet Sierra in the lobby, and we drop our bags at the front desk, in case we’re not back for checkout. We still have a couple of hours, but I have no idea how long this is going to take.

I use the paperwork to shield my eyes from the blazing sun as we walk ten minutes in silence to the annulment office.

It’s bigger than I expected, and there’s a short line waiting at the desk when we step inside.

Thankfully, the line moves quickly, and a smiling elderly woman greets us when we’re up.

“Welcome in. How can we help today?”

I clear my throat. “We’re looking to get an annulment,” I say quietly, like it’s embarrassing. Which it is, but presumably everyone is here for the same reason.

The woman—Cherry, according to her name tag—points to a sign sitting in a plastic frame on the counter. “Do you have everything listed here?”

Temporary marriage license, ID of both parties, evidence to prove a reason for annulment… “What counts as evidence?” Sierra asks.

“Well, that depends on your reason for annulling. Intoxication is a common one?—”

“Yeah, that’s us.”

“Do you have a receipt or credit card statement to show you were in a bar or club prior to the wedding?” the woman asks, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I keep all my receipts, just in case.

I nod, and she smiles widely. “Excellent. Here’s the paperwork you’ll need to fill in before they see you.

You’ll have plenty of time—we’re a little busy today.

” She hands a clipboard and a pen over to Sierra.

“Your number’s at the top of the page. They’ll call you when it’s your turn.

Just head up the corridor. The waiting room is the last room on the left. ”

We thank her and head up the corridor. The navy carpet is worn and patchy in places, and there’s a faint smell of tobacco, but it’s not as seedy as I expected from the website.

Sierra pushes the waiting room door open and stops so suddenly that I walk straight into her.

“What the hell are you—” I look over her shoulder, and the words die in my throat. There have to be a hundred people in here.

We’re a little busy today . I’d hate to see what really busy looks like to Cherry. Jesus.

I follow Sierra, and we find two seats in a corner. There’s a screen above the door showing the next number to be called: 13.

“What number are we?” I ask, and Sierra holds the clipboard up: 68.