Chapter 15 Grace Nash

My Already Misfiring Brain Completely Malfunctions

The Morning After the Wedding

I open my eyes and feel my stomach as it rolls.

I'm definitely going to throw up.

"Oh shit!" I say, and I jump out of bed and run to the bathroom. I make it just in time before I heave up whatever I ate last night.

Where the hell am I right now?

I can't seem to think clearly as the heaving stops and the loud thundering of a headache steps into its place.

I spot clothes on the floor. Black pants, a black jacket, a white shirt…

Is that…a tuxedo?

I'm wearing a T-shirt that's about four sizes too big, and when I glance in the mirror, I see makeup smudged all over my face.

I can't remember the last time I got so drunk that I didn't wash my face before bed. I don't know if I ever have, and I live at a freaking winery.

I wash my hands, and as I'm scrubbing them under the water, I freeze as I spot a shiny gold band on my left ring finger .

I also see what looks like a veil on the counter, and I can't quite put the pieces together in a way that makes them make sense.

Is this a joke?

I don't even see my toothbrush. Is this my room?

I walk out of the bathroom and find Spencer Nash standing next to the bed.

Naked.

He's naked.

He's not wearing any clothes at all, and my already misfiring brain completely malfunctions.

My eyes meet his, and he reaches down and pulls whatever's on the floor beneath him up to cover himself.

"Um," I say, and my voice is hoarse after losing last night's dinner a moment ago. I clear my throat as I try to understand what's happening, but I drank way too much last night for any of this to make sense. "This may be a dumb question, but is that a wedding dress?"

He looks down at the dress in his hands. "I, uh—" He clears his throat, too. "I think it is."

"Oh, okay," I say as I try to keep calm. My head continues to thunder. Exactly how much tequila did I drink last night? "That may explain the wedding ring on my finger, then."

His eyes meet mine. "Um, I'm wearing one, too." He shifts and draws in a deep breath.

"Yeah. Uh…this is kind of embarrassing to admit, but I can't remember a thing from last night," I say. "Can you fill me in on what happened? Did we get married?" I vaguely remember coming here to ask him to marry me, and I definitely remember him telling me he couldn't marry me.

But now…it sort of seems like we're married.

"I'll be honest, Newman. I have absolutely no idea."

"Right." I twist my lips. So I might've married the guy my sister was supposed to marry…and I don't remember it?

"Can you, uh…can you turn around for a second?" he asks.

"Sure." I turn toward the bathroom and put my hands over my eyes.

"Okay. I have shorts on," he says a second later .

I turn back around, and my jaw drops. It's those damn abs. I remember those abs from yesterday when I first arrived here in Vegas.

I clear my throat one more time. "Maybe a shirt, too?"

He glances at his abs and back up at me. "A shirt?"

"Yeah. Those are making me…" I try to find the word as I gesture to his stomach. "Uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable? We're both wearing wedding rings, and there's a wedding dress on the floor, and the abs are making you uncomfortable?" he asks.

"Don't forget the tuxedo on the bathroom floor."

He must not know about that one yet. He walks over toward the dresser and murmurs, "Oh, fuck."

"What is it?" I ask, walking over toward him.

He hands me a piece of paper, and even in the darkness of the room with the curtains still drawn, it's light enough to see what it says.

State of Nevada Marriage Certificate.

Spencer Thomas Nash. Grace Marie Newman.

"Is this real?" I ask.

"I have no idea. It looks like it."

Oh my God. We actually did it? We're married ? "How did this happen? And why can't either of us remember?" I'm starting to panic that I missed out on my own wedding.

"I don't know."

I need to sit. I walk over to the bed and collapse for a beat, sucking in a few deep breaths. "Okay. Let's go get some coffee, and then we can try to figure it out."

"Okay, wife," he says.

I glance up at him…nearly with a glare.

He looks at me innocently. "Too soon?" he asks.

Considering we don't even know for sure if this is real, and even if it is real, it's nothing more than a business deal between friends…yes. " Way too soon. Let's just go get that coffee."

I realize too late that I don't have any clothes up here except what I arrived in yesterday and apparently a wedding dress, so I put my clothes from yesterday back on. I spot my purse and grab a hair tie, and it's just as I'm twisting back my hair that I hear Spencer's curse.

"Oh, shit."

"What is it?" I ask.

He's staring into his closet where two empty garment bags are hanging.

"The dress that's currently crumpled in a ball in the middle of the floor? Yeah…that's Ava's."

All the blood drains from my face. "Your brother's future bride?" I whisper.

"Future as in three days from now. And the tux in the bathroom is the groom's."

"Oh my God, Spencer. What the hell did we do?"

"I remembered something," he says, turning to look at me. "Drunken shrimp."

"Drunken shrimp?" I repeat. What the fuck is he talking about? Were we the drunken shrimp? "We were pretty drunk, but we weren't shrimp."

He shakes his head. "No. We had an appetizer. Drunken shrimp. It had mustard in it."

"Oh! Right! We're both allergic to mustard!" My words are riddled with way too much pride as the memory seeps through the haze. "Oh! So we took Benadryl! Two each."

"Yeah…chased down with tequila." He squints a little as he thinks back. "Evidently not a smart plan given that neither of us is clear on what came next."

"I guess mixing Benadryl with tequila equals complete memory loss."

"And making choices that are, uh…" He pauses as he searches for the right word. "Out of character."

I'm pretty sure he was going to say stupid, and I'm not entirely sure he'd be wrong about that.

He pulls out his phone and scans something for a beat. "Fuck," he mutters.

"What?"

He jerks his head to indicate that I should come over and look at his phone with him, and once I'm standing beside him, he opens the email from the Now or Never Vegas Chapel .

There's an attachment to a website, and when he clicks it, we see the first photo.

It's Spencer kissing me in front of Elvis.

I'm wearing Ava's dress. He's wearing Grayson's tuxedo.

Okay, yes. It was a wild, crazy plan that I never thought he'd really agree to.

He did, and we're married…but we did it in someone else's wedding attire . In our defense, I'm not sure we knew what we were doing.

But that's not much of a defense.

I feel terrible—not that I'm married to Spencer, but that we used Ava's gown and Grayson's tux when they trusted Spencer to keep them safe.

I must gasp or sigh or something because he glances over at me, and he turns off the phone before we look at any more of the photos.

I rush over to where the dress is in a ball on the floor, and I pick it up. It has a few wrinkles, but it doesn't look worn. I didn't spill anything on it, at least.

Still, we have photographic evidence that I wore it last night, and photos are meant to be shared. There's no way in hell the Now or Never Vegas Chapel is going to keep those photos private given that Spencer is an actual celebrity.

Wait…did we sign a prenup? Did we even think about that?

My guess is absolutely not.

We weren't thinking clearly about much of anything.

Spencer is panicking a little, but the panic that was starting to rise in me has gone south now as I realize my big plan actually happened. I might actually get my vineyard.

He hangs up the tuxedo, and we each zip the garments we wore into their bags before we head downstairs.

The walk does me some good. The elevator is empty save for the two of us, and he glances over at me. "Let's come up with a plan over breakfast, okay? How to make this up to Ava and Grayson, what we're going to do next…all of it."

I nod. "Okay. "

By the time we get to a café, I even feel like I might even be able to put down some sausage links and eggs. Or maybe whole wheat toast, plain.

We follow the hostess through the restaurant, and we both hear it. "Spencer! Over here!"

He turns and spots his brother, Grayson, sitting in a booth on the same side as a woman I assume is his bride—you know, the woman whose dress I got married in last night.

Well, I guess breakfast isn't going to be the time we figure out what comes next.