Page 14 of Marrying Mr. Wentworth (Austen Hunks #3)

Friday morning — Ariana

T he first thing I felt was my head pounding. The second thing I felt was regret. The third thing…was a ring.

On my hand.

I glanced down. A gold rhinestone ring?

I blinked, sat up, and immediately regretted both decisions.

The room was spinning gently. My mouth tasted like tequila and bad judgment. I reached for the water bottle on the nightstand like it was a lifeline and chugged half of it before I noticed what was sitting next to it.

A folded piece of paper.

Wait, no.

Not paper.

Cardstock.

My stomach turned before I even opened it.

“TRUE LOVE WEDDING CHAPEL” was printed across the top in swoopy, delusional font. There were tiny hearts stamped in glitter ink.

My name was on it.

So was his.

Christopher. Wentworth.

Oh. My. God .

I screamed.

I launched the cardstock across the room. It bounced off a chair and fluttered to the floor like a taunt from the universe.

We got married ?

A brief image flashed through my mind. An officiant who looked starstruck. He probably thought he was marrying two drunk impersonators until he saw Christopher’s real name on the license. Then again, maybe rock stars getting hitched at two a.m. wasn’t even that unusual around here.

My thoughts were interrupted when a soft knock came at the door. “Ariana?”

Holy hell. Christopher was out there. And he knew. He knew ! And he let it happen?

My rage hit DEFCON 1.

“DO NOT SPEAK TO ME THROUGH A DOOR RIGHT NOW, CHRISTOPHER.”

Silence.

Then, quietly, “Can I come in?”

“Unless you’ve brought a time machine or a damn annulment attorney, you better not. ”

The door cracked open anyway. He peeked around it cautiously, as if I might be armed.

I was not. But I was dangerously close to throwing the water bottle at his head.

He stepped inside, hands raised. “You’re awake.”

I sat up straighter—then immediately realized how little I was wearing.

Tank top. Panties. His eyes flicked down, just for a second, before he looked away like a gentleman with a guilty conscience.

I stood and yanked my silk robe off the end of the bed, pulled it on, fast and furious, tying the sash so tight that I nearly cut off circulation.

“Yes, I’m awake,” I thundered. “And I see I got married last night. A miracle, considering I don’t remember a damn thing. ”

He winced. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?” I growled. “After the honeymoon? Or maybe at our first anniversary dinner , when you surprised me with a slideshow of our vows?”

“I was waiting for you to wake up.”

I crossed my arms. “I have one question for you.”

He watched me, cautious. “What’s that?”

“Were you sober?”

He hesitated. “Not…entirely.”

“But sober enough to know what we were doing?”

He winced, then nodded. “Yeah. I knew. And I wanted it.”

My heart thudded once, hard. Damn him.

“Ari—”

“No,” I snapped. “Do not call me that right now. You lost nickname privileges somewhere around the point when you LET ME DRUNK-MARRY YOU.”

“You said you wanted to,” he argued, as if that was even remotely the point. “You looked me in the eye. You said, ‘Let’s do it.’ You were smiling.”

“I smile at waiters when they forget my side of fries. That doesn’t mean I want to legally bind myself to them!”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it, and then you did, and I— I don’t know. I thought maybe?—”

I held up a finger. “No. Do not maybe me right now. Do not give me wounded puppy eyes. I don’t care if I climbed up on a table and screamed MARRY ME, CHRISTOPHER, RIGHT NOW OR I’LL FIGHT ELVIS, it was your job to say no.”

“But I didn’t want to say no.”

Oh.

Oh no.

I blinked. “You…what?”

He stepped closer. “I didn’t want to say no. I never wanted to say no to you. Not then. Not now.”

I took a step back, hands up. “You don’t get to make this romantic. You don’t get to turn this into some Nora Roberts plot twist. This is real, Christopher. You married me without my consent?—”

“You were consenting plenty at the time,” he said, too fast.

I went still. Dead quiet.

“You want to rephrase that?” I asked, voice cold enough to freeze a volcano.

He blanched. “I mean—you were joking, but also serious, and I didn’t— Shit, that came out wrong.”

I stalked over and grabbed the fake marriage certificate off the floor, waving it like evidence in a trial. “Well, congratulations. You got what you wanted. But I am filing an annulment today. ”

His jaw tensed. “You don’t have to?—”

“ Oh, I do. I’m an attorney, Christopher. I know exactly how fast I can get this overturned. And guess what? It’s gonna be fast. Like Guinness Book of World Records fast.”

He looked at me like I’d just punched him. I kind of wanted to.

“You really don’t remember anything?” he asked softly.

“No,” I said. “And even if I did—I’d still want out.”

I stormed past him, into the bathroom, and slammed the door.

I stared at myself in the mirror.

Glitter in my hair. A smudge of mascara. A tiny rhinestone heart sticker stuck to my neck.

And a ring.

Still on my finger.

I yanked it off and set it on the counter like it was poison.

Then I turned on the shower, stepped in, and tried to scrub away the worst mistake I’d never meant to make.