2. Dia

TWO

Is this motherfucker on drugs?Seriously, like, is he an LSD user? Can he hear colors right now? Because I refuse to believe that he's not completely zonked, suggesting that we get fucking married.

"You can't be serious," I scoff. I look over to see a boyish grin, complete with those goddamn dimples, without an ounce of trepidation in his dark brown eyes. "Dalton, we can't get married just because we're in Vegas. That's unhinged. We don't even like each other," I remind him.

"I like you," he says, raising a brow. "And you can say you don't all you want. But I know you kind of like me, too."

Balls. Am I that transparent?

He's right. I do like him. I knew right from the moment I met him at the birthday party that if I wasn't careful, I'd get caught in his web. I'm normally cool and collected around guys when they introduce themselves, but for some reason, Dalton knocked me off balance just for a moment. I drank in every detail of his flawlessly symmetrical face, not understanding how a human being could look so perfect. I noticed his chiseled jaw with the faint stubble of a five o' clock shadow that screamed ‘I woke up like this.', which made me think of what it would be like to open my eyes in the morning and see that face instead of an empty pillow across the bed. It was so unlike me to have all those thoughts, especially about a guy I just met.I can't really explain it, but I found myself wanting to be on his radar that night, even if it could never be more.

Don't get me wrong, he's cocky and annoying, but he's hot as fuck and he treats me like I'm the only girl in the world. Like I'm special. I've never had that from a guy before. Actually, the last person I dated broke up with me specifically because he didn't think I was capable of being a good wife. His cruel words play over and over in my head every time I consider dating again. I was naive enough to fall for him, thinking he loved me despite my flaws, and he made me feel like such a fool for giving my heart away. I'm transported back to that conversation, remembering it like it happened just yesterday.

"Do you want to get married someday?" I asked Josh as we watched a rerun of Fear Factor. I'd always hated that show, but getting him to spend time with me was difficult sometimes, so I tried to do whatever I could to keep his interest.

He blew out an annoyed breath. "Yeah, someday. I guess," he responded, not taking his eyes off the television, where some stupid moron was in a casket with about a hundred spiders crawling all over him. Gross.

"To me?" I said. I didn't want to seem like some crazy, desperate girlfriend, but we'd been together for almost a year, and we'd never talked about the future. If there even was one. I'm sure to him, it seemed like the topic was coming out of left field, but it was something I'd been thinking about a lot at the time. I loved him and he said that he loved me, so I just figured we should discuss it at some point.

He turned, looking at me with a brow raised. "I, uh…didn't know that's what we were doing here. I thought we were just having a good time."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to act unaffected. "We are," I said with a shrug. "But I want a family of my own someday soon. At this point, I feel like we should at least be able to talk about what our future looks like. I'm not saying you need to propose today, but I want to know that we're on the same page."

The longer he stayed silent, the smaller I began to feel. Seconds felt like hours as he tried to come up with something to say in response. I knew I shouldn't have brought it up. He clearly wasn't there yet, and me pushing wasn't going to make him ready any faster. I wished I could take the words back as I felt tears prick at the backs of my eyes.

He reached forward, picking up the remote and turning off the TV before turning to me. "Dia, I like you. We have fun together and the sex is off the charts. But if you want complete honesty, I don't see you as my wife or the mother of my future kids. The reason I was so drawn to you is because I didn't think you even wanted those things. With all your family and abandonment issues, I assumed you weren't looking for that kind of thing. You seemed like you were cool with just having fun until it was time to move on and be grown-ups."

The words felt like a knife to my heart. Did I really read him wrong the whole time? No, I couldn't have.

"But you tell me all the time that you love me," I said, trying my best to keep my emotions in check. The last thing I needed was to cry in front of him.

He rolled his eyes. "I do. I love how sexy you are and how you're always down for whatever. We have a blast together. But, Dia," he said, pausing before delivering the final blow. "You're not wife material."

"Dalton," I say, trying to ward away the emotions this whole situation is stirring up. "Even if this wasn't the craziest idea I've ever heard, you don't want to marry me. Not even just for a night. I'm not worth wasting your first marriage on."

His smile fades. "Don't tell me what I want, Dia." He must notice my inability to look him straight in the eyes because he steps directly in front of me, bending just enough at the knees so that we're face-to-face. Gripping my chin between his fingers, he forces me to look at him. "Why would you think I wouldn't want to marry you?"

Fuuuuuuuuck.

I hate this. I hate feelings. But from what I know of Dalton, there's no limit to how annoying he can be when he wants something. So, I pull up my big girl panties and rip off the band-aid, if only to shut him the fuck up so we can get out of here.

"I'm not wife material," I tell him, echoing the words that were so carelessly thrown at me like my feelings didn't matter. "I'm just for fun. Not forever."

He stiffens, hands balling into fists at his sides. "Who told you that?" I stand there wordlessly, suddenly very interested in the small rock I'm kicking with the tip of my shoe. Feeling his stare burning into me, I can't help but peek at him. "Who, Dia?"

I blow out a breath. "It was my ex, Josh," I blurt. "Someone I thought cared about me. I let my guard down one time and was reminded who I really am. Never again."

He stares at me for a moment before abruptly picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder, making a beeline for the entrance of the chapel.

"Dalton, put me down!" I squeal. "People will see my kitty!" I reach back to cover my butt that's surely on display, but he already has his hand there, yanking my dress down. I kick my feet to no avail right as he lands a hard slap to my ass, making me go completely still.

"Did you just…spank me?"

"Yep." His voice rumbles against my body. "Talk back to me again and you'll get another one."

I'm in shock. I've never been spanked before. And between you and me…I didn't hate it. Maybe Mads is onto something, although I can never see myself being as submissive as she is with Blaze. That's just not who I am. I have an attitude. When I'm pushed, I push back twice as hard. My therapist would probably say that's a defense mechanism to prevent people from getting too close, but I like to think I'm just a badass bitch who doesn't need anyone. People leave. I need to know I can take care of myself.

With me still hanging over his shoulder like a ragdoll, Dalton comes to a stop before carefully sliding me down his body. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I right my dress before slapping his chest. "What the fuck?" I yell, not caring who hears. This guy is straight up nuts if he thinks we have any business being in here.

Looking past me, clearly unaffected by my outburst, he addresses the woman at the front desk. "You guys sell rings here?" he asks. "We need a big one. I'm rich."

"What a douchebag," I mutter under my breath. I know they both hear me, but neither reacts.

"Right this way, sir," she replies, leading us through an archway. "You're in luck. Our jeweler was supposed to leave early tonight, but you got here just in time." I follow, because what the fuck else am I supposed to do, as she introduces Dalton to a man who looks like he stepped straight out of an Al Pacino movie. They talk for a while before he turns to me.

"What's your ring size, Wifey?"

Is this real life?

"My ring size, Dalton?" I whisper-shout. "That shit is the least of your worries. What's my favorite color? My favorite movie? What size shoes do I wear?" I say, throwing up my arms. "All things you should know about a woman before you marry her!"

"One moment, please," he says to the jeweler before turning to me. "Purple. 10 Things I Hate About You." He looks at my feet. "Probably like, a seven and a half." I gasp as his eyes meet mine again. "Now, what's your ring size?"

"Six and a quarter," I whisper, almost inaudibly. Am I doing this? Am I really going to marry Dalton Davis for the night?

Fine. Fuck it. When in Vegas, right? We can be married by midnight and have it annulled by brunch. Maybe the asshole will give me a few good orgasms before I send him on his way. None of this means anything anyway. May as well add some casual sex into the mix.

Maybe if I'm bad, he'll spank me again.

Dalton swipes his credit card for a total of eighty-five thousand dollars, which I hope he can get back in the morning, and drops down to one knee right in the middle of this janky wedding chapel. I allow myself to live in the moment, pretending that this is really forever, not just for tonight, as he takes my hand in his. I hate that my body reacts to such a simple touch as my knees threaten to buckle under me.

"Diamond Spencer," he begins. He almost looks nervous as he thinks about his next words. "From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to make you my wife. Unfortunately, I only get you for tonight. But I'll take whatever you give me. Will you marry me?"

I roll my eyes, but mainly because I feel like if I don't, some other emotion will show on my face. And we can't have that. I have a reputation for being stone-cold and I'd like to preserve it. It's just easier when people think I'm unapproachable. If they never approach me, I can't get attached. "Depends," I sass. "Do I get half your shit?"

"Baby," he replies. "Say yes and you can have all my shit."

This man. He's too fucking good for me and he doesn't even realize it.

"Yes," I say with a defeated exhale. I don't know what's happening, but I'm allowing Dalton to talk me into going along with this crazy ‘full Vegas experience' bullshit. And, okay…maybe I'm just a teensy bit excited about it. After the week I've had, and have been trying to forget about, I deserve a night of fun.

Twenty minutes later, I thank the woman from the front desk as she zips the back of my thigh length strapless tulle wedding dress. As she walks out, leaving me alone in the room, I look over the shoe and jewelry options that were included in the full-service wedding package Dalton bought. Everything in here costs more than I pay for rent in a year. I couldn't imagine living this lifestyle. Blaze bought Mads a fucking Mercedes for her birthday…and he's a hell of a lot more financially responsible than Dalton. Case in point, the four-carat emerald cut ice-skating rink I'm wearing on my finger right now.

I hold out my hand, admiring the beautiful engagement ring. He didn't even ask what style I liked, yet he couldn't have nailed it any harder. It's a shame I'll be giving it back in the morning after we hit the courthouse.

I fasten the straps of my white stilettos before choosing a simple pair of diamond studs for my ears. I decide to forgo any other jewelry, opting for a short, fluffy veil with a jeweled clip in my long, black hair. If I ever planned on getting married for real, it would be exactly like this. Well, my best friend would be standing beside me, but other than that, this is like a dream.

Guilt washes over me when I think of Mads. This will for sure be the only wedding I ever have, and I didn't even bother to tell her. It would be as easy as shooting her a quick text and she'd be here in minutes, even if this whole thing isn't real. She'd dress up right beside me, all the while telling me how ridiculous it is that I'm marrying Dalton for a few hours. But when it came time to stand at the altar, she'd be there to hold my bouquet. Or my puke bucket. Whatever.

I'm an asshole.

I guess it's better this way. I can do this to say that I was, if only for a night, ‘wife material', then move on with my life. Maybe this will help me through the hang-ups I have about dating. Probably not, but a little delusion never hurt anyone.

I look over myself one more time in the mirror before there's a soft knock on the door. Front Desk Lady pops her head in, prompting me to turn toward her. "Look at you," she says, like a proud mother. Not that I know what that is. "Your fiancé is going to lose his mind when he sees you! He's out there, pacing like a caged lion. I don't think I've ever seen a groom so nervous, and I've been here twenty-seven years. He sure does love you," she tacks on.

"Oh," I say. "We're not really?—"

"Off you go!" she interrupts, opening the door fully and ushering me into the hallway. "Can't keep a man with an ass like that waiting long. Someone will come and snatch him right out from under you."

I chuckle quietly as I make my way toward my fiancé.

Let's. Fucking. Go.