Page 6 of Accidental Wedding

“Sweetheart, if we’d had sex last night you would be feeling it this morning.” Shane’s soft accent is back. That’s what I notice before what he said registers.

Fighting my blush, I respond with “Okay. That’s good.”

We’re both quiet for a moment. I run my hand through my bedhead. Something snags. There’s a ring on my finger and I usually don’t wear rings. They’re too likely to get lost or ruined in the clay.

Wait.

I meet Shane’s eyes. “I remember what happened last night. We got married?!”

“Yeah… we did.” He winces.

“Well, that’s easy. If we didn’t have sex, that means we can get an annulment, right? And isn’t that a lot easier than a divorce?” At least, that’s what I saw on television. Not that I plan to admit that.

“I haven’t got a damn clue. You want some breakfast?” Before I can answer, Shane heads over to call room service. Well, that confirms that television stereotype: Men are all about their stomachs.

I spot my purse on the dresser and am about to go for it when I remember my state of undress. Then I take note of what Shane’s wearing. Well, he isn’t paying that much attention and it seems like he probably saw it last night anyway.

“Kim, you better pick up. You owe me,” I mutter to myself as the phone rings. If anyone will know what to do, it’s her. Well. Her lawyers will know what to do. She doesn’t pick up. “Bitch!” I whisper, fighting the urge to stomp my foot in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” I turn around and Shane is right there. He was this close to me last night when we were at the casino, but it’s very different when he’s mostly naked.

“Oh um… that friend I told you about, the one who paid for my trip? I was hoping she could put me in touch with her family’s lawyer but she’s too busy with her new boyfriend to pick up the phone apparently. I was thinking that—”

I’m interrupted by a knock at the door and a call of “room service!” that makes Shane spring forward to answer. A bellboy pushes a cart loaded with fancy breakfast food into the room. Shane holds a quiet conversation with him, but all my attention is on the food in front of me. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now. The food doesn’t just look good, it tastes amazing. To be honest, one of my least favorite parts about being a waitress is serving fancy food to people who don’t even seem to appreciate. Right now, I’m savoring every last bite.

Distantly, I hear the door close and Shane makes his way over, grabbing a few strips of bacon. “So, the bellboy gave me an overview of what happened last night. I’m still a little foggy on the details.”

I nod for him to go on because I am too. I can remember having fun with him at the casino but making our way back to the hotel and ending up in bed together is a blur… as is the little trip we must have took in between to get married.

“So, we showed up incredibly drunk, but the concierge said that we were very friendly drunks who were telling everyone we saw that we had just gotten married. The concierge was nice enough to have our rooms switched to this one, which is one of their smaller honeymoon suites. As the bellboy tells it, we had a lot of money on us—I guess we won big?”

Huh.

That’s a lot of information to process all at once.

I can’t help but hope that I was being practical, even in my drunk state and had maybe tucked a little bit of that money aside to take back home with me. Speaking of home.

“Okay, so we know what happened but now how do we fix it?” I ask Shane. I hope he knows because I haven’t got a clue.

Chapter 7- Shane

April and I spent a significant amount of time over our extensive breakfast trying to figure out what, exactly, we should do. Apparently, our marriage is legally binding, as is evidenced by the paperwork on the nightstand, sitting under my wallet and phone. I was happy to find both items, and April has her purse with all its contents. At least we both have our belongings. It wouldn’t be good if decorated Green Beret Sergeant Shane Gilman’s wallet was found on the streets of Las Vegas. Somehow, I doubt that’s what my commanding officer had in mind when he sent me on vacation. Then again, he probably wasn’t expecting me to get married to a young, pretty artist that I met at a bar either.

While neither of us was super clear on the details, between the two of us and what the bellboy had told me, we had a pretty good understanding of what had happened last night. I know I should tell April about the one piece she hadn’t put together—the tattoo of her name on my shoulder. I haven’t yet, for a very selfish reason. I don’t want her asking to see it and getting a close look at the scarring on my back. While the scars don’t physically hurt anymore and they don’t hinder my movements—I was cleared for physical duty, after all—they don’t look pretty.

I’m not a vain man, but I’m used to being in top shape. I have to be fit, to do what I do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as fit as I’ve ever been, but the smooth muscles of my back and upper shoulders are mottled. The second degree burns from the vehicle exploding at my back has left a path of skin that turns from too rough to strangely smooth.

April’s skin on the other hand—goddamn, this girl is gorgeous.

After we talked and ate, she went to the bathroom to take a well-deserved shower. I finished getting dressed in jeans and my boots, stuffing my wallet and phone in my pockets. I was just rereading our marriage paperwork when April stepped out of the steaming bathroom suite. She hadn’t taken her suitcase in with her, instead relying on the hotel’s complimentary toiletries, like I had done. I try my best not to read too much into the fact that we now smell the same, like sandalwood.

She’s wrapped in a fluffy white towel, damp hair draped over one slender shoulder. I know I shouldn’t, but I stare at her as she darts self-consciously to her suitcase. Bent over, one arm placed on the knot of the towel to make sure it stays in place, she doesn’t say anything. The towel creeps up the back of her thighs and I’m not seeing anything I didn’t earlier this morning, but this feels so much more intimate… almost like we’re a real married couple.

April is just standing up with another sundress in hand when I see it.

The red dot of a laser sight. The type that’s attached to a sniper rifle.

I don’t even yell, I just move, diving across the room to slam her to the ground. The bullet hits the wall at the level April’s head was at with a loud thwump. Still pressed on top of her, I don’t move, and she doesn’t say anything. I’m waiting for another bullet to pierce the window when the sniper realizes that they’re target is still alive. I don’t think April has fully released what’s happening just yet.

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