Chapter 2

Sweet Jesus, oh.

My very pleasant sleep is disturbed by a headache, as well as the fragrance of coconut and something foreign. And what is that? exotic fruit? A heaviness on my chest causes me to shift to my side and scowl. I grimace as I force my eyes open due to the intense glare of the sun's rays. I take another whiff of the concoction of coconut and passion fruit as I cast my eyes down at the head of silky brown hair. It is she. I turn my head to the side and look at the girl's face which is presently strewn across my breast. Very good. I have had worse nightmares. Her lashes were long and dark, and she had wonderfully arched eyebrows.

How the hell did last night happen? I have no memory of anything. Which girl is she? She groans as I move her over me and then snuggles into the pillow with a sigh as I carefully peel her arm away from my chest and untangle our legs. She is laid out on her front with her long, dark hair spread out on the pillow, her bare body partially covered by the sheets. I scowl as I study her features in more detail. Nope, I have no memory of anything. entire blackout. I survey the space. The marble floor was covered with random piles of our clothing. What the hell are we doing? I put on my boxers and move toward the window. Why does the scene seem so recognizable? Wait. Am I really in Vegas? I smear my hands across my face and take another look at the image in front of me. Oh, I'm in Vegas, that's for sure. In the hopes of discovering some information about what exactly happened, I pick up my jeans from the ground and stick my hands in the pockets. I take my passport and a piece of paper out of my back pocket and unfold it. It's damp, and my jeans are too, now that I think about it.

Wedding Certificate.

I give the words a long time of blank attention. No way in hell. I didn't go out and wed a random woman. I swore as I continued to read the document. Oh, sh*t.

Tristan Navas Hoult and Vivian Helen were wed.

If the certificate wasn't sufficient proof, I also wore a gold wedding band. I lean in and take a closer look at the girl in the bed; she is also donning a diamond ring. We tied the knot. We took a plane to Vegas to get married.

I call my phone from the table by the bed and leave the room, saying, "Fuck." I need to contact my attorney. I fervently hope that this marriage was not legal.

Hoult, Mr. How can I assist you? On the other end, a drowsy voice identified itself as "Franc." Of again, given the difference in time, it's probably still early there.

I apologize for waking you up, Franc. Is a Vegas intoxicated marriage enforceable under the law?"

"Do you have a marriage license?" He answers. I email him a picture of the certificate that I took of it. "I recently emailed you a picture. Please look.

On the other end, I can hear him fumbling with his phone. "Yes. Mr. Hoult, it's lawful," he affirms. My stomach turns into the pit of my chest. I groan as I ponder the certificate in my possession. Christ Jesus. I can't recall a single thing. We were inebriated. There must be a legal way out of this, right?"

"I'll investigate it. He continues, "We'll get the marriage annulled because you both were drunk," and I assent while pacing back and forth.

"Great. Keep me informed," I say and hang up. You absolute moron, what the hell were you thinking about getting married to a girl you don't even know. I am not like this. This is not how much I drink. Ever. I don't even leave the house. My life revolves around work, so when I do have some free time to unwind, I drink a few glasses of scotch before leaving with whichever girl grabs my interest that evening. No, this is reckless and irresponsible, and I am neither of those things. I've never been so drunk that I lost all memory and blacked out.

When I hear footsteps in the other room, I turn around. I observe Vivian pacing the dining room of the apartment while wearing a sheet over her body. She has a horrified expression on her face as she tries to identify her surroundings. Her eyes caught my attention right away since they were darker than mine. Her lashes were natural, not the synthetic kind that females wear, and they were a shade that was almost olive green. She had long, lustrous hair that fell in loose beach waves down the back of her head, but it was tangled from a night of racy sex.

She is gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window as I approach her from behind and lean against the doorframe. I say, "Good morning." She jumps startled, puts out a cute little squeak, and turns to face me. Her eyes are wide and perplexed as they sweep over my topless chest before returning to my face. "You're awake at last."

Who are you?"As she leans back against the window, she inquires. I lick my lips as I drink my coffee. She was caressing her head, and my head was still thudding uncomfortably. She wasn't feeling much better, I'm assuming. She blinks at me when I walk over to her and say, "I'm Navas." She turns her head away from me and wraps her arms securely over the sheet as if to protect herself from my probing eyes.

Where are we, exactly? She looks around the penthouse and asks.

"Vegas, I think,"

Vivian widens her eyes and fixes her gaze on me for a considerable amount of time. She crows sharply while shaking her head.

"Vegas?" She exclaims incredulously, and I nod in agreement. "How in the world did we get to Vegas?"

That beats me, I shrug. I have almost no memory of yesterday night. My sole recollection is of exiting the club with a girl. The rest of the page is blank. Do you have any memories?"

"No, I don't remember anything," Vivian replies, shaking her head. I was absurdly inebriated. I don't remember ever meeting you," she says, nervously biting her lip. She averts her eyes from mine and runs her thin fingers through her voluminous locks. Why am I wearing a ring, I wonder?"

I touch the back of my neck as I show her the wedding band on my finger and hold up my hand. Her expression dims. She casts a glance down at the ring on her finger before turning back to face me. Say that we didn't. Did we exchange vows? How in the world did this occur? How did we get married in Las Vegas after getting married at a bar in central London?"

The strong tone of her speech causes my head to start to hurt, and I groan. "Take it easy on the volume, my love. I groan and rub my temples, but my head is still pounding. "I'm sorry, I have no idea how this happened. I certainly didn't intend to get wasted and wed a stranger I met in a bar.

Oh, and I did? Vivian frowns at me. Now it was my time to stare at her, "No offense, but you're not exactly my type." Is this girl here? She doesn't know who I am at all. I've never met a girl who I wasn't into.

Oh, is that accurate? I point out, "I sure as hell seemed like your type last night. " She moves closer to me as her eyes close to slits.

As she points her finger in my direction, she says, "You...you said you didn't remember anything." I roll my eyes as I stare at her finger and then back at her.

"I don't. There was a trail of clothes from the door to the bed, which means we were completely lost in our passion to not give a damn about anyone's type, I say matter-of-factly and wink at her. "But the state of the room, when I woke up this morning, was a clear indication of a good night," I take a step closer to her, and she cranes her neck to look up at me. Not to mention that you have my trademark "fucked out" face.

The emerald eyes of Vivian enlarge. She hunches forward and steps back, creating some distance between us as she furiously runs her fingers through her hair.

"Wow. She sighs, stops pacing, and turns to face me once more. "I'm not even going to dignify that remark with a response." What actions are we taking? Is this union even legitimate?"

She sags her shoulders and shakes her head, saying, "I'm afraid so."

They can't possibly marry us if we were that inebriated, right? She glares at me and asks. I put my cup of coffee down and shrug as I pick up the marriage license off the table.

"In Vegas, anything can happen. She takes the paper from me and unfolds it, saying, "Here, this is what I discovered in my pocket this morning.

What is that?"

Our marriage license. I inform her, and she scans the document before she looks at me, "signed by us both hastily but signed."

She murmurs, leaning on the dining table, "Oh my God, we're married." I sigh and clumsily stroke the back of my neck. I don't do well with comforting girls who are sad since she appears to be inconsolable and is simply staring at the ground. I become uneasy and withdraw.

Hey, look, the world is not going to end. I reassure her, "We'll get a divorce or annulment and get on with our lives as if this never happened. She raises her head to look at me, and I'm convinced that the anguish in her eyes made me tremble.

She ultimately agrees and sits up straight, saying, "Yeah, I suppose you're right," as she sighs and looks about the room in confusion. She then frowns a little and uncomfortably scratches her head. "Uh," she says, biting a little of her lower lip. I let my eyes rove the room, "I can't find my dress." I also need to determine how in the world I'm going to return home.

Oh, I took care of that. I tell her that our flight to London takes off in two hours, and she nods. "I've also scheduled delivery of some clothing for the two of us. You appear to be a size ten. Co ee?" I o er. She nods and looks at me with her mouth open before sitting down at the dining table. I pour her a black coffee and place it in front of her on the table.

She keeps looking at me while knitting her brows. "I'm grateful. You were not required to do that. She raises the mug to her lips and takes a long sip before closing her eyes and sighing, "Please let me know how much I owe you, and I'll pay you back." Yes, the first sip of co ee after a night of drinking is like nirvana. When she looks up at me and frowns, I realize I've been glancing at her all along.

I shrug and shake my head. "Don't stress over it. There is no issue. You probably want to take a shower and change. I tell her, "I didn't order breakfast because I didn't know what you would like to eat," and then I leave for the restroom. Why don't you go ahead and place a room service order for us? She blinks and nods nervously as I suggest.

VIVIEN AND I ate breakfast to help us digest the booze we drank the previous night after taking a long, much-needed shower and making a few phone calls for work. The avocado toast I had helped to calm my sick tummy. After taking a shower, Vivian put on the clothing I had chosen for her. She wore a low-cut black top and a pair of tight-fit light blue jeans when she emerged from the restroom. We checked out of the hotel and headed for the airport. As we approach my private jet, Vivian exits the vehicle and peers up at it in confusion. "Is that yours?" She inquires as we approach it.

I reassure her, "Sure is, sweetheart," and motion for her to proceed up the stairs. Sincerely, I am eager to return home. I'm not feeling well, and I have a ton of work to catch up on. I take a seat on the aircraft and observe Vivian as she moves about. She exudes apprehension, and I begin to wonder if she has anxiety when flying. "Do you intend to remain still for the duration of the flight's ten hours? Seat yourself. I tease, "I won't bite unless you ask. " She shakes her head and mumbles something as she hesitantly gets into the seat next to me, glancing out the window and fidgeting with her fingers as she anxiously chews on her lower lip.

Right now, I wish I could read her mind. This gal has a certain something. She's different from the women I typically go for, and this is by far the longest I've ever spent with any girl I've slept with. I couldn't put my finger on it. Even worse, I don't spend the night with them. Usually, I depart shortly after we complete the task.

You fuck and duck out, as my best friend Josh likes to say. Sounds terrible, I know, but I don't have time for relationships. There is simply no time for a partner or any form of social life because of my employment and travel schedule. I put my job first when my previous three-year relationship ended disastrously almost a year ago.

When I overhear the captain's voice on the intercom, I start to get out of bed. I must have slept off while I was reading. Vivian was asleep on my shoulder with her head on me, her arm over my bicep, and mine on top of hers. I carefully comb a hair strand from her face. She looks beautiful without any makeup.

Vivian suddenly jolts awake as the plane's wheels contact the tarmac and gently lifts those olive-colored eyes to glance up at me. When I smirk at her, she flinches. She jerks away, sits upright, runs her fingers through her hair, and clears her throat before realizing her head was on my shoulder. She then looks around uncomfortably. I've been asleep for how long?"

She glances at me, frowns a little, and says, "A good few hours." She then leans over and puts her shoes on.

"Oh. So sorry again. I grin and shake my head as I watch her straighten while stroking her neck, saying, "You should have woken me."

"Stop worrying. I was also dozing off. Vivian sighs and nods as she moves toward the exit through the cabin of the aircraft. "We must have been more exhausted than we realized.

"Explain it to me. As we down the plane's stairs, she remarks, "It's been a heck of a weekend. Did we use this automobile last night? she asks as she abruptly stops and turns to face me before turning back to the car."

She blinks and takes another glance at the automobile as I nod. "We left the club last night in this,"

She retorts, frowning, "Huh, I remember the car but nothing else." She then turns to face the driver. "Actually. Gerald grinned at her and gave her a quick nod, then he opened the door for her to enter.

Before getting in the car, Vivian gives him a dubious look as he says, "Evening, Miss." We get to the address she gave Gerald one hour later. She exits the automobile, and I follow her outside as I circle the car.

She says, glancing up at her building and then back at me, "Well, this is me." I appreciate you getting me back home.

"Don't bring it up. Here is my business card. My attorney has already begun drafting the divorce documents. We'll get together soon so you can sign it. All right?"

Vivian grabs my business card, examines it, then frowns as she turns to face me. "Tristan? I mistook your name for Navas. She inquires.

"It is. Outside of work, I like to go by Navas," She nods in agreement with my response and tucks the card into her pocket. She has no idea who I am, wow. That is a welcome change.

"Well. I'll probably wait till I hear from you. I agree, "I'll text you my number," and we exchange awkward looks for a bit as we contemplate our next move. Do we extend our hands? Do you hug? Which manners are appropriate in this situation? We've never met before, right? Vivian turns to go but stops abruptly, pulls the ring off her finger, and passes it to me. She asks, her eyes narrowing as she scans my face.

I shrug and shake my head. "I don't believe that. I reply with a smirk, "I would have remembered meeting you. " She blinks up at me in surprise, her cheeks beginning to blush. Oh, sh*t. If not the sexiest thing ever, that is.

In between breaths, Vivian says, "Thanks again."

I say with a smile, "Thank you for a fun weekend, Vivian Helen," and she nods and turns to leave. She pauses, turns around, and gives me a sour look as she says, "I guess I'll be seeing you in a few days...wifey."

I chuckle and watch her walk inside her apartment complex, saying, "Don't call me that." What forty-two hours have been.