Page 10

Thomas

“Mother fucker .”

Stella’s drawn-out curse confirms my thoughts. As she shoves the phone back into my hands, the reality of our situation slams into me along with it.

We’re married. Legally and officially married . And I have zero memory as to how or why it happened.

Motherfucker is absolutely right. I might even elect to go with something stronger, because we’ve just woken up in a nightmare. Or maybe even hell.

Stella paces the living room, still swearing, fury radiating off every inch of her. I always thought I was good at keeping my emotions under control, well trained by two sets of grandparents who believed in a stiff upper lip. But that idea of myself went to shit when the whole world heard my tirade against Lorenzo Castellucci, and it’s going even further to shit now as I sit down hard on the edge of the couch, lifting a fist to my lips to keep from saying something I know will make Stella lose it more than she already is.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself not to let my anxiety bleed into the air. Stella’s panicking enough for the both of us, her chest heaving as she stalks back and forth in front of the coffee table. I need to be the rational one, because I’m getting the distinct feeling that—intelligent as she seems to be—she’s not going to be smart about this.

“How the fuck did this happen?” she snarls, dark hair flying as she whirls on me.

Even in her wrinkled dress and smudged eyeliner, with pure fire in her gaze, she’s a vision. I may not know how all of this came to be—how it went from just trying to get her into my bed to marriage —but there’s no denying this is part of the why .

I’m well aware that’s not what she wants to hear, though, so I keep my mouth shut.

“How did we even get a marriage license?” she presses. “All of this happened in the middle of the damn night!”

I nearly shrug, but I might be able to answer this one for us. I type a few things into the search bar of my phone, wincing when I see the result. “Apparently, the license bureau here stays open until midnight. I’m guessing we made it in right before closing.”

Stella makes a strangled noise, hands lifting to clutch her head. If I don’t want her to have a stroke, then I need to do something to walk her back from the edge.

“We’re going to fix this,” I say as evenly as I can manage, despite wanting to vomit from nerves myself. Or maybe it’s the whiskey still sloshing around in my stomach. Either way, all of this has me feeling violently ill.

I can’t be married. I just… can’t . I’ve never even had a girlfriend, for Christ’s sake. So how did I end up with a wife ?

Fuck, this is a disaster. All I wanted was a night of no-strings sex with the hottest woman I’ve seen in ages—possibly ever. Instead, I ended up getting every string imaginable.

It’s bad enough I’ve already ruined my reputation and jeopardized my career with one mistake—now I have another fuckup to add to the list. What are the McMorris team bosses going to think when all of this undoubtedly leaks? What will my sponsors think? Will I even have any sponsors once they find out I drunkenly married a stranger? What’s to say they won’t think I’m some irresponsible wanker who is more of a liability than an asset and finally kick me to the curb?

Yeah, I’m definitely going to be sick.

Stella tosses me a scathingly skeptical look at the suggestion this can be fixed, and I can’t blame her. It sounded weak to my own ears. I have to do better. I need an actual solution.

“Look, we’ll clean ourselves up and then go back to the chapel,” I offer. That’s got to be the best course of action here. “They have our license, right?” I wait until Stella nods haltingly before continuing. “In that case, we just have to find the officiant who performed the wedding before they send the license to be filed. We’ll get it from them, destroy it, and be done.”

It’s the perfect solution, a way to prevent anything from becoming legally registered, something we can move on from without too much fallout. But Stella’s frown isn’t budging.

“I think it might be too late,” she says. I’m sure her stomach is sinking with her words, just like mine is. “An organization like that probably mails those off first thing in the morning. They do dozens of weddings every day, and people are anxious to get their marriage certificates as soon as possible.”

Shit. While there’s a chance that they could still be sitting on our signed license, it’s more likely they’ve already sent it back to be certified. Fucking America and their ridiculous laws that allow strangers to get married. This wouldn’t have happened in England, but this is what I get for spending time in this anarchic former colony.

“We have to figure out how to get this annulled,” she goes on, voice firm, like she’s finally come to terms with it all and is willing to look at this logically. She got to this point faster than I thought she would. “Do you think anything is out in the media?”

There’s a new shade of worry in her eyes as I admit, “I don’t know.”

“Well, check .” She glances pointedly down at my mobile.

My stomach curdles, grip tightening on the device. “Are you really going to make me google myself?” I don’t want to search my name and find more evidence of how much people all over the world loathe me, because I know that’s going to pop up first. It always does.

“Desperate times,” Stella says. “I’d do it myself but I have no idea where my phone even is.”

Well, I certainly don’t want her looking me up. I got through last night without her learning about my little rant, and I’d like to escape this situation without her discovering it.

“Fine, fine,” I huff, clearing out the search bar again and reluctantly typing my name in.

I hesitate for a moment before hitting enter and hold my breath until the page loads. And—oh no.

I clear my throat and then swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump that’s settled there. “Okay, so don’t panic,” I say.

Stella makes another choked sound. “I would suggest not starting a sentence like that if you don’t want me to panic.”

She’s right, but I really don’t know how else to broach this. “There’s no news about the wedding,” I preface, but before she can consider sighing in relief, I go on. “There are, however, photos of us from the strip club.”

A lot of photos, if the top few results are anything to go by. Some are of us innocently sitting beside each other and smiling. But most are of Stella in my lap, my hands on her body, her head thrown back, our lips locked—the money shots.

The articles only started hitting the media in the past ten minutes, which would explain why my phone isn’t blowing up with calls and texts from my manager and PR team yet, but I’m sure they’re on their way.

Stella’s hesitant to take the phone from me so she can see for herself, and I realize then that it’s not anger making her react like this. It’s fear.

“ Fuck ,” she exhales as she taps through everything. “You were right to be worried about this happening. I should have listened to you about being seen together.”

It stings a little to hear that, but I’m the one who brought it up in the first place, so I have no right to be upset.

“At least no one can see where your hand is in these photos,” Stella says, trying to be optimistic even though her voice is grim. “That’s one good—oh.” She shoves my phone back toward me. I hear it buzzing before I look down. “Figgy’s calling you.”

I almost make a sound of disgust, barely swallowing it back. The woman, determined to be the first at the scene of my crimes, must have a Google Alert set up for me, because she’s always right there when something happens. I used to appreciate her uncanny ability to know when I was facing something big, good or bad, but there came a point when it started feeling…overbearing.

It’s not a coincidence that it began around the time our families made it clear they wanted us together. The added pressure made me pull back from our friendship, but Figgy leaned in, trying to play the girlfriend role without having the title.

Seeing her name on my screen last night was a nuisance. This morning, it makes my shoulders sag with the weight of unmet expectations.

“You still ignoring her?” Stella asks when I don’t immediately take the phone from her outstretched hand.

Very much so. “I’ll talk to her later. I need to call my manager before this blows up into something bigger.” I have to make sure I’m still going to have a spot in F1 after this. “You should do the same with your people.”

If we get our teams on it now, maybe there’s something they can do to tamp it down. I’m almost certain it’ll be a lost cause, though. Once things like this hit the internet, there’s no taking them back.

I finally take my phone from Stella when it stops buzzing, but it starts up again seconds later, Figgy’s face filling the screen. I’m tempted to block her, just temporarily, so I can take a moment to think without her pushing into my brain. I’ve told her time and time again that I’m not looking to be anything more than friends. What is it going to take to convince her and my family that I mean it?

The answer hits me like a truck. I can practically feel the light bulb illuminating above my head. It glows brighter when it dawns on me that I could solve more than just this problem in one fell swoop.

“Actually,” I say, dragging out the word as the idea swirls and forms. “I don’t think we need to worry about this.”

Stella gapes at me before spluttering, “ Excuse me?”

I sound absolutely unhinged. Mad as a hatter. Like I’ve completely lost the plot. But if I’m going to go for it, I might as well hit full send.

“I think we should just leave all of this alone.” I take a breath and then go in for the kill. “We shouldn’t get an annulment. Not yet, at least.”

I take in her wide eyes and parted lips, her horror palpable. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Hear me out…” Before I say more, I motion for her to sit on the couch, but she’s not budging. Okay. Well. If she passes out after she listens to what I’m about to suggest, I’ll do my best to catch her on the way down. “Obviously something made us want to get married, right?”

“It would be great if we could remember what it was,” Stella snaps, folding her arms across her chest.

“Well, I think I know what my motivations were.” I take her in from head to toe, still gorgeous despite the circumstances. “I mean, first of all, you’re stunningly beautiful and incredibly accomplished. You’re a catch, Stella. Undoubtedly.”

She points an accusatory finger at me, calling out my game, even if I’ve done nothing but speak the truth. “Flattery is always appreciated but will not get you anywhere right now.”

“Understood.” I almost snort, though I make myself plow on instead. “Second of all…do you remember me telling you how my parents want me to marry Figgy?”

It takes a beat, but Stella puts my clues together and scoffs. “What, you thought that if we got married, they would stop pushing you toward her?”

I nod, because yes , I’m almost positive that’s what I was thinking last night. “Look, my family cares more about the illusion of me settling down than me actually doing it,” I explain. “If I showed up with a wife, especially one as perfect as you, the hounding would end, and Figgy could finally move on and find her own happiness elsewhere.”

Plus, if I showed up with a wife, maybe—just maybe—it might be something to endear me to some of the people who’ve taken to hating me. But if I admit that all of this was one big mistake instead and leave a woman who’s already been jilted once…Well, I wouldn’t blame anyone for loathing me more.

Stella’s squinting, like she’s trying to judge whether this is a strong enough reason for me to have proposed to her. Her silence lasts so long that sweat beads on my forehead. I’m about to get shot down—hard.

“I could see you married to a woman named Figgy,” she finally says.

It’s so matter-of-fact and unexpected that I have to run my tongue over my teeth to stifle my amusement, knowing she won’t appreciate it in a moment like this. But she’s so unintentionally funny that I can’t help it. I don’t even mind that her jokes are almost always at my expense.

“I’d rather not be married to a woman named Figgy,” I say as solemnly as I can. “Which is likely why I chose to marry you instead.”

She gives a disbelieving laugh this time, shaking her head. “Okay, sure. If that was your reasoning, then what the hell was mine?”

I try to think back to any of the conversations we’d had at that point in the night, but it’s all jumbled and incoherent. I have to come up with something , though, or else she’s going to walk out of this room and take my chances of fixing my Figgy and F1 problems with her.

“You said you wanted to show your ex you could move on,” I lie, though something niggles at the back of my mind that tells me it’s not too far off from the truth. “You wanted him to see how easily you could find someone else.” I pause, desperate to come up with more reasons why she’d want this, because I can’t imagine simple spite would be enough. “You also mentioned that your board members would prefer to work with a married woman instead of a single one. That being married would show that you could really commit to something.”

I know I’m pulling that reason straight out of my ass, but it could be real. I’ve seen it happen before. My eldest sister was always passed over for opportunities at our family’s company until she showed our father she could “settle down” and “be serious,” even though she was the most qualified candidate for the roles. Maybe Stella doesn’t have the same problem, considering she’s the big boss, but the way her expression darkens tells me I might have hit a nerve.

“Staying together could be good for us both,” I urge, careful to keep my voice low and soothing. “We could just think of it as a business arrangement. It doesn’t have to be forever—just long enough for the heat to pass and for us to fix our problems.”

Stella stays quiet. Dare I say it, but I think she’s actually considering my offer. If I could just—

“This is a terrible idea,” she says forcefully a moment later, dashing my hopes. “If we stay married, people are going to think I was cheating on my fiancé the whole time!”

It’s a very fair point, considering that breakup happened only a couple of weeks ago. Most people don’t move on to their next committed relationship so quickly, unless something shady was already going on.

There’s a twisting in my chest telling me to drop this. My life is too much of a mess to drag Stella into it anyway, and she isn’t even aware of how bad it is. She doesn’t deserve to be led unknowingly into the disaster.

Besides, maybe going our separate ways could still be a good thing. Maybe this drama will distract everyone from what I said about Lorenzo. As it stands, our wild night out is already replacing the previous headlines. Sure, it’s once again not a great look for me, but I’d rather it be news about this mess—followed by the reveal of my quickie wedding and annulment, if we can’t keep it secret—than me wishing death upon someone.

But as my phone continues to buzz, Figgy’s picture reappearing, I can’t help but try one last time.

“There are worse things for people to think,” I push. “This could just be one of those when you know, you know situations.”

The look I get this time is pure disgust. “You can’t be serious.”

“Okay, yeah,” I concede, sighing. “I don’t love that either.”

Eventually, her disgust fades and steely determination returns. “Even if we did stay married, we don’t have a prenup,” she points out. “That could make things messy in the end. I have no interest in that.”

“We could do a postnup,” I suggest, though I never thought any woman I married would be worried about that. Between my personal wealth and my family’s, I should be the one who’s concerned. “Simply agree that our assets stay our own.” I take another breath, prepared to press one last time. “I really do think we can make this work, Stella.”

I’m watching the cracks appear in her armor, my words seeping through and reaching her heart. She’s considering it, teetering between giving in and shutting it down. What’s it going to take to get her on my side?

Unfortunately, before I can offer up anything else, she shakes her head and steps back, arms tightening around herself.

“No, I can’t do this,” she blurts, looking anywhere but at me. “Everything last night…That’s not actually who I am, Thomas. I don’t roll with the punches, and I definitely don’t take up men I barely know on offers to stay married.”

I sag in disappointment, but I’m not going to push her any further. She’s given me an answer, a firm no. All I can do now is respect it.

“Okay,” I say, putting my hands up to show I’m done. “It doesn’t look like anything about the wedding has hit the media, so that’s good. We can get our publicists and PR teams in touch, and they can handle everything from here on out. Let’s get through today and then reassess tomorrow, all right?”

Some of Stella’s defensiveness slips away as she drops her arms back to her sides. “I can do that. Today’s about Janelle and Ron, not us.”

Right. The wedding we’re actually here for.

I point toward the console across the room that has the TV atop it. “Your bag is behind the television, by the way. And your shoes are under the chair.”

I get a quick nod in thanks before she’s off to collect her things. With her heels on, we’re back to being nearly eye to eye when she approaches again, clearly ready to get out of here without too much more chatter.

“We’ll figure this out,” I reassure, holding her gaze. “I promise.”

She sighs, resigned to our fate. “This was supposed to be easy. Just one night.”

“And now you’re stuck with me.” When I find myself on the receiving end of her glare, I tack on, “Legally. And temporarily.”

There’s an awkward beat, neither of us sure what to do next. Is she just supposed to…go? Feels kind of wrong considering our circumstances and conversations, but I guess that’s the next course of action after what was supposed to be a one-night stand.

“I’d kiss you goodbye if it didn’t taste like a small animal died in my mouth,” I tell her.

I wish I could take back the words as soon as I say them. Could I be any more embarrassing? Yet, somehow, Stella looks briefly amused by the comment before she forces it away with a frown.

“Disgusting,” she admonishes. “But…same.”

It drags a laugh out of me as I walk her to the door of the suite. She pauses and turns back to me when we’re standing on separate sides of the threshold.

“I’ll go call my people.” She glances at her phone, which she slipped out of her bag, grimacing when she sees whatever’s on the screen. When she looks back at me, I don’t miss the determination in her gaze. She wants this handled, and fast. “See you at the wedding?”

“See you there.”

I wait in the doorway until she disappears down the hall, then slump back inside as I unlock my phone, tapping on my manager’s name before Figgy can call me again.

“I know you’re not going to want to hear this,” I tell him on a sigh when he answers. “But I seem to have found myself with another PR problem…”