Page 1 of Marrying Mr. Majestic

ONE

WAYLON

Nobody sets out to marry a stranger by accident in Vegas. Sometimes, and I’m speaking hypothetically here, sometimes a person sets out to marry a friend. To do someone a solid. To help solve a difficult situation.

And then gets horribly rejected and ends up drinking himself into oblivion.

Which then causes him to marry a stranger.

I was several drinks into my rare quest for oblivion when I realized the businessman on the stool next to me was enjoying a laugh at my expense. The first time a lady at the bar sent me a drink, he’d huffed out a silent laugh. Now, as I accepted my third—possibly fourth?—drink from the bartender, whiskey this time, he was outright snorting.

So I side-eyed the guy. You know, as you do when a businessman gets all up in your business.

The man was clean-cut and sharp-looking. Probably a corporate type in town for a conference on balancing stocks and bonds in a well-curated portfolio. Short brown hair, likely styled by someone who’d never seen the inside of a ten-dollar quick-cuts place. Well-fitting button-down shirt with cuffs folded meticulously up muscular forearms. An Apple Watch that probably kept track of his fitness goals and net worth at the same time.

He oozed money and influence. He probably hadn’t looked at the prices of the drinks before ordering whatever he wanted. And he wasn’t even pretending polite disinterest in my situation. “May I help you?”

“I can’t decide if you’ve got game or you’re oblivious.” His voice was as deep and smooth as the gold-boxed chocolates my sister loved. Cultured. Expensive. “Either way, it’s entertaining.”

I took a sip of my drink and felt it burn down my throat. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“The cowboy schtick is really working for you. You’re incredibly popular with the ladies.”

I took another sip of whiskey while trying to pretend ignorance. I wasn’t proud of what I was doing, and the idea someone had noticed didn’t sit right with me. “What ladies?”

He laughed and tilted his head in the direction of the older woman down the bar who’d sent me my latest drink. “Well, her, for one. Or the gaggle of college girls who sent you the pink and purple test tube shots. Or the waitress who ran her hand across your shoulders. Or the woman who asked if you preferred red over white. You don’t seem interested. None of my business, but?—”

My face flooded with heat. “Oh… that. Well, I mean, no, I’m not interested in a… a casual encounter, but…” It was embarrassing to admit, but my tongue had been loosened enough to be less worried than usual. I leaned in and lowered my voice, noticing belatedly that he smelled nice. “I can’t really afford this place. The free drinks are nice.”

“Casual encounter?” His bark of laughter startled me. “Where the hell are you from?”

His amusement only made me blush harder.

“Wyoming,” I said, feeling a little annoyed at his condescending tone.

I shifted the cowboy hat on my lap and rubbed the edge of the brim where some of the buffalo felt had worn smooth after years of me fiddling with it. The man probably thought I was in Vegas to blow off steam and I was doing it wrong. The truth—that I’d come to marry my good friend, like an idiot—was even worse, so I didn’t bother correcting him.

I also didn’t bother explaining that casual encounters weren’t a thing when you were the mayor of a very small town where everyone already knew everyone. I’d heard about hookups in big cities, but I’d never been a party to one of them. Where I was from, you dated and got married. Period. Or else your mama, sisters, and aunt heard every last detail before the sun was up the next day.

“Ahh, a real cowboy, then.” The man’s grin faded. “Sorry. I can see I plucked a nerve. Didn’t mean to. Sometimes I’m an asshole. And tonight… well, let’s just say my own nerves got plucked like a motherfucker. Let me buy the next round as an apology.” He grinned again. “No casual encounter necessary.”

I was tempted to ask him what had happened, but then he might want to know why I was in here tying one on, and that was way too embarrassing to admit…

Until three quick drinks later, when my liquor-lips decided to tell the story my pride had been too crushed to let loose.

“So I proposed to her,” I explained, trying not to slur. The alcohol had hit my empty stomach and spread like prairie fire, making the whole world seem a bit warm and blurry—though unfortunately not blurry enough to let me ignore the fact that I’d flown hundreds of miles only to make a fool of myself.

The man in the button-up squinted at me. As the bar had gotten warmer with the addition of more bodies, he’d opened his top two buttons. I tried not to stare at the little patch of chest hair poking through the gap, but for some reason, my eyes kept going there. “Some guy got your friend pregnant, so you offered to?—”

“No,” I corrected belligerently. “That’s just it. Eden’s not even pregnant! She got her period when we landed in Vegas. But I told her it could still work—I mean, we were high school sweethearts, you know? And after high school, too, occasionally, here and there. And the whole town prob’ly figures we’ll end up together, so it just makes sense. That’s what I told her. It just makes sense.”

It was definitely making less sense now that I was trying to explain it to a stranger.

“Are you in love with her?” The question in his deep, calm voice made me stop and think.

“Well… no. I do love her. She’s a good person. Funny, smart. Hard worker. She’s an outdoor racer, you know? Like the wilderness triads?”

His forehead crinkled. “No, I don’t know. But she sounds great. What did she say when you told her your idea to get married?”

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