Page 24 of Sparks Still Fly

“Well, at least you married someone you know and already probably spend time with. Just stick it out for a little while. That’s my best advice to you, because either way this will be public information and you’ll have to answer to it. Which would you rather? Admit to a drunken night in Vegas or announce a divorce and ask for privacy on a personal matter?”

Damn, she’s good.

“Are you sure you don’t also work as a publicist? Because as much as I hate what I’m hearing, Jen would love it.”

Lauren laughs, and it pisses me off a little that she can laugh at a time like this, but she surely deals with much more pressing matters than a drunken night filled with mistakes in Vegas.

“I’m just giving you my best advice. Do with that what you will and call me when you know how you want to proceed, okay? I can have a postnuptial agreement ready within a few hours.”

“Yeah. Thank you, Lauren. Speak soon.”

I drop my phone onto the couch and promptly settle my ass on it, too.

“I need to talk to Owen.” I look to the three people still staring at me from the other side of the room.

“Might want to put some clothes on first, babe.” Taylor points at the towel barely covering my crotch and I shoot him a scathing look.

“I love you all, but I need you to leave now so I can speak with Owen about this. We did not mean to get married last night. Bon, I’m so sorry we did this at your bachelorette party.” I look at my best friend, guilt gnawing at my insides, because what kind of best friend does this?

“Oh, Mae. I’m not mad. You two will figure this out.” She smiles sweetly at me over her shoulder. “Let us know if we can do anything.”

Charlie mouths, “sort this out,” and then the door shuts behind them.

I shoot Owen a text asking him to come back to talk about this and quickly throw on a sundress.

OWEN:

Be right there

Within ten minutes, there’s a soft knock at the door. When I open it, Owen is back to his usual attire of jeans and a T-shirt and his dirty blond hair is wet, falling in chunks over his forehead. And he smells... oh shit, he smells good. Like soft leather and mint.

Focus, Maeve!

I open my mouth to say, “Come in,” but the words stick to the roof of my mouth. I give him a brief smile and an apologetic head tilt and close the door.

“I spoke to Lauren, my lawyer, earlier.” I follow him into the seating area. I can see the slight bob of his head from here as he nods, but I need to see his facial expressions.

We both take a seat, me on the chair, him on the sofa. He still hasn’t said a word, which isn’t exactly unlike Owen, but I expected him to have more questions.

“She said it’s unlikely that we can get this thing annulled. One or both of us would have to admit to things like mental instability, being under the influence of drugs or alcohol, or a slew of other unappealing scenarios.” His green eyes are on mine, head still bobbing as I speak. “Since these are public records, she didn’t think it would be wise for us to use one of those reasons. She recommended?—”

“I need us to stay married.” His jaw is clenched shut, lips pursed in a tight line as he peers intently at something on the far side of the room. His usual bronze complexion has faded to an unnatural pallor, and his eyebrows are knit together in a mixture of fear and worry.

Wait, did he just say we need to stay married?

“Maeve, we can’t get an annulment. We can’t just dissolve the marriage. Please. I know we’re not friends, but I’ve never asked you for anything before. I’m asking you for this.” He rests his elbows on his knees, head falling onto his hands as he runs his fingers through his damp hair. All I can hear is the sound of his labored breathing.

“Please, Maeve,” he whispers.

I’m frozen to my spot on the chair not understanding his reaction. This isn’t about wanting to be married to me. We hardly even talk.

After a few seconds of confusion, I need an explanation for this behavior so I move to the sofa, careful not to touch him. It’s never a good idea to touch Owen. The sparks that I feel whenever we make contact are practically visible. I swear I hear their crackling sound in my ears every time.

I take a deep breath and steady my tone, despite the erratic beating of my heart. “Owen, what is this about?”

“I... There’s... She’s...” He’s making no sense.

“Take a deep breath. Try again,” I urge him on, placing my hand on his shoulder against my better judgment. He flinches at the contact, but takes a deep breath, then two.

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