Page 22 of Sparks Still Fly

“Okay?” he whispers, mossy green eyes looking worried and confused. The word alone makes me pull in a ragged breath and I move away from him immediately, his touch feeling like tiny needles pricking at my skin.

I shake my head, bringing both of my hands to my temples, hoping I can ease the pain of the fucking pebbles and the thoughts slamming into my skull like a freight train. This can’t be real, right? Surely it’s just a joke. Yeah, we must have just bought cheap rings and this is obviously a joke. I bet Raf, Charlie and Taylor all have wedding bands on this morning, too.

I walk on shaky legs to the small kitchenette, reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water. I grab a second one and toss it in Owen’s direction as he follows after me.

“It’s nothing. I’m sure this is fine. Of course we didn’t get married last night. We couldn’t. We wouldn’t.” I drink some of my water, pacing around the living room as my dress drags behind me.

I press two fingers to one of my temples, willing away the pain and willing back some memories of what the hell happened after we left that club last night.

Owen finishes his bottle of water, and pulls his phone out of his back pocket and squints at it. I take him in for the first time.

His suit jacket has been removed and is nowhere to be seen. His charcoal trousers cling to his legs, emphasizing his muscular thighs. His soft gray shirt is still tucked in but the tie is gone and the top three buttons are undone, revealing hints of tattoos I’ve never seen underneath. The urge to see what’s hidden beneath his shirt is nearly unbearable.

He looks so relaxed, so far from the normally stiff and guarded posture he carries daily. It’s not fucking fair that he’s this easy on the eyes. He’s just come off a night of binge drinking and he’s still positively delicious.

No! Stop that right this instant! What is wrong with you?

I must still be drunk too, because I cannot be having thoughts like that about Owen.

I do a quick scan of the room, hoping my phone is in here somewhere, but I don’t see the glittery gold case anywhere.

“Hey, Owen, could you call my phone, please? I need to check in with Taylor and Charlie.”

He quickly taps the screen and I hear a buzz before “You” by Dan + Shay starts playing. I spin around quickly as the memories come rushing in like a tsunami, wave after wave of images of us. Owen and I giggling into a little white chapel. Him slipping a gold band on my finger as we both laughed. Us holding hands as we practically skipped outside. Stopping in front of a fountain where he set his phone down while this song played from it. The way he pulled me in, warm fingers splayed across my back as we danced and he twirled me, dipping me low as the song ended, a scorching kiss landing on my neck as he pulled me back up.

His wide stare tells me the same memory reel is playing in his mind, and when the song stops as his call goes to voicemail, we both jump into a panic.

“Oh fuck! Oh shit! Oh my god what did we do?”

“Did we get fucking married last night? Jesus, Maevey, how much did we have to drink? Did we each eat a whole pizza after?”

“I don’t fucking know! Stop calling me Maevey! Oh my god, I need to call someone. We need to fix this!” I lunge at the cushion where I assume the music was just coming from and grab my phone.

“Do you want me to stay? What do we do? Fuck me, I so did not need this right now.”

I whip my phone at him hard, hoping to inflict some pain after that last comment, but the asshole catches the phone like it’s a fucking softball.

“Believe it or not, Owen, I didn’t need to wake up married to you either, but don’t worry. I’ll get this annulled as soon as possible and we can be rid of one another. For good.” He has the audacity to look wounded. Fuck him.

“Okay, Maevey. Maeve. Sorry. I’m gonna go. Call me if I can do anything, all right?” He runs another hand through his hair and starts walking toward the door.

I’m not doing it. I’m not feeling bad for what I said to him. I don’t care how convincing his puppy dog eyes are.

I need to call my lawyer. I need to find Charlie and Taylor and ask them how the hell this happened. I need to sleep. I need to take this goddamn wedding dress off. I need a lot of things, but instead of doing any of them, I sit right there on the floor as a tear slips down my cheek.

I remember the nineteen-year-old who met a handsome blond with a buzz cut and emerald green eyes. The girl who practiced writing Maeve James in a notebook, but only once, because that felt like something only pre-teens do. I think of the girl who lit up at the sight of those green eyes on a computer screen for years. The girl whose heart was shattered after giving away something precious to her. The girl whose heart then hardened as it healed, whose mask had to become tougher and more convincing. I sit there, in my wedding dress and cry for that girl then and for this woman now.

15/

hubby?

maeve

After a long shower, I shoved that forsaken dress back into its garment bag, ready to be delivered to Taylor for me to never see again. I’ve been laying in bed wrapped in my towel for so long that my hair is nearly dry now. Normally I’m someone who jumps into action when there’s a crisis, but this... I don’t know how to handle this. I’ve already left my lawyer a voicemail. No one will know about this until I’ve got some answers on how to get an annulment.

I check my phone quickly and I’m greeted with a headache-inducing message.

MUM:

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