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"Your credentials and a team information packet are in your room. Take the credentials whenever you leave. Feel free to order anything you need from room service. It’s covered by the team.

" She checks her watch. "I'll come for you at ten forty-five tomorrow for the meeting with Coy. Dress is business casual."

"I'll wear my Sunday best," I mutter, earning a small smile from Claudia.

"Get some rest, Maiken. Things will seem clearer in the morning."

I doubt it, but I nod anyway.

A bellhop takes me to my room. It’s a suite with soaring arches, velvet upholstery, and more gold accents than Liberace’s underwear.

There’s a separate living area, a bathroom bigger than my entire apartment, and floor to ceiling curtains that must be hiding a helluva view.

Right now though, I'm too tired to admire any of it.

I drop my bags and immediately spot the closed adjoining door.

Is Reece really asleep on the other side, or is he avoiding me?

Which is worse?

My phone buzzes with an incoming video call from my mother. I'd texted Frankie from the airport when we landed, promising to explain everything.

I kick off my shoes and collapse onto the massive bed, answering the call.

Frankie's face fills the screen, her expression a mixture of worry and fury. At thirty-eight, my mother still looks young enough that people often mistake us for sisters. Right now, she looks like a very pissed-off older sister as she yells, "YOU FUCKING GOT MARRIED ?"

"Hello to you too." I try for casual, but I just sound raspy and exhausted.

"Don't you 'hello' me, Maiken Violet Lange!” Her dark blue eyes are wide and burning with the flames of maternal outrage. ”What the actual fuck?

Reporters were crawling up my ass when I got home, asking me about your 'whirlwind romance' with some race car driver! " She wields air quotes like weapons.

Fuck-fuckity-fuck. “They were told to get off the property.”

“Well, Tanya made that abundantly clear when she called the cops on the assholes. Now, answer my question. What the shit is going on?”

"It's complicated." I glance up at the ceiling, then stare. Floored. I’m floored by the unbelievable ceiling.

"Complicated? Obviously!”

The ceiling is a dome lit from within, like the inside of a shell.

Pale gold curves meet in delicate inlaid patterns, glowing with a soft, impossible light.

Not a chandelier, not a fixture. The whole thing glows , moonlight trapped in plaster.

It’s quiet, but not silent. I swear I can hear the hum of money in the walls.

“Maiken? Did the video freeze?”

“Hmm? Oh. No, sorry.” Her voice snaps me back to my insane situation. “So, yeah, complicated.”

“Christ, Mai, you've known this guy for, like, five minutes!"

"It was a drunken decision, okay? Now I'm in freaking Qatar trying to figure out what to do about it."

“Cutter? Where the fuck is Cutter?”

“Not Cutter. Qatar, as in the Middle East.”

“What?”

“Yeah. For the Qatar Grand Prix.” God, I’m so fucking exhausted. And screwed.

“Oh.” Mom's face softens slightly. "Baby, are you okay? Really?"

"I don't know. It's been a weird day." I hold up my hand to show her the ring.

"Holy shit . That's not a rock, it’s a boulder." Her eyes widen. "Wait, is the wall gold? Where the hell are you staying?"

"Some five-star hotel. I have my own room."

"Your own… You're not staying with him?"

"He's next door. He has a race to prepare for."

Frankie studies me through the screen. "Okay. I want the whole story and the fucking truth, Mai. How did this happen, and how do you really feel about… Cripes. What’s his name? "

I laugh because the alternative is to cry and no fucking way I’m gonna cry over him and this.

“Reece Pritchard.” I take a long, deep breath.

"I barely know him, so I don’t know how I feel about him.

But. Last night was the best night ever.

He was — is — totally different from any man I’ve ever met.

He’s sweet and funny. Like, he was interested in me and what I think about things.

I mean, he seemed genuine, and we had an amazing time, but… I was really shit-faced."

“You slept with him?”

“No, actually. We slept in the same room, but we didn’t fuck. We didn’t even make out.”

Frankie’s face screws up. “What’s wrong with him?”

I laugh. “He’s a gentleman, I guess?”

Mom’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t think those still existed. The last asshole you fell for sure as hell wasn’t one.”

I sigh. "Yeah, well, then Reece’s father burst into the room this morning, called me a whore, and everything went to hell."

"His father did what ? I don’t think so. What’s that piece of shit’s name? I’m gonna cut off his dick. No one talks to my baby like that."

God, I love Frankie. "Don’t worry, Mom. Reece defended me, but... I don't know. It felt like I'd stumbled into some family drama I want no part of."

"Hmm. So what's your plan?"

"I meet with the team boss tomorrow. Figure out if I want an annulment or..." I shrug.

"Or what? Stay married to a guy you just met?" Frankie scoffs. "That's a one-way ticket to heartbreak."

"No, Reece isn’t like that." My defensive tone surprises me.

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh? How would you know after only one drunken night?"

She has a point, and I'm too tired to argue. "Look, I'll figure it out, okay?"

"You’re not seriously thinking of trying to make this shitshow work, Maiken. That would be the dumbest thing ever.” I can always count on Frankie to make her opinions crystal clear.

I’m fiddling with the ring again. "I don’t know him well enough to know if that’s true."

"Well, you better figure it out soon." Nurse Frankie’s practicality kicks in. "These things get messier the longer they drag on."

We talk for another ten minutes, mostly with me reassuring her that no, I haven't been kidnapped or brainwashed, and yes, I'll be careful.

She alternates between maternal concern and sisterly outrage, the way she has since I was old enough to realize most teenagers don't have babies.

By the time we hang up, I'm roadkill — flat, desiccated, and soulless.

I glance at the adjoining door again. Still closed. No sound from the other side.

I should shower and change. Instead, I kick off my shoes and lose the belt, set an alarm for the morning, then curl up on top of the covers, still in my clothes.

Twenty-four hours ago, I was waking up to a man who'd put a ring on my finger and smiled at me like I was the answer to a question he'd been asking his whole life.

Now I'm alone in a foreign country, trying to decide whether to stay married to a stranger or go back to my regular life and pretend none of this ever happened.

What a difference a day makes.

Jeez, I guess that song really is true.