Page 73 of Billionaire Devil

Thud.

Thud.

I need some Tylenol pronto. And enough water to drown a camel.

Once Monday morning rolls around, young lady, you are not touching alcohol for a month.

Agreed.

I get to the ridiculous marble and gold bathroom and close the door. I should be used to this by now, but this hotel room is our most luxurious yet. Our bed even rotates. I vaguely remember spinning around on it last night. Jumping on it.

Jesus, Lila. You need to calm down.

The thought of spinning around makes my eyes water and my stomach lurch.

Oh no.

I barely make it to the toilet in time, hurling not just once but twice. It’s mostly liquid. Alcohol, hopefully. I don’tremember eating dinner. All I remember is that they were serving endless free drinks at the casino and I obviously partook in the debauchery like it was going out of style.

Damn it.

I actually feel a little better now.

I flush the toilet, wash my hands, rinse out my mouth, take two Tylenol, drink two glasses of water, brush my teeth for around ten minutes, pee (realizing only then that my thighs are still wet from Colton’s overflow), decide to take a shower and?—

Wait a minute.

What the hell?

What the hell is this on my finger?

The biggest, shiniest diamond ring I’ve ever seen in my life.

Oh my god.

I’m getting flashbacks now.

We wandered down the strip, laughing.

There was a wedding chapel.

And a Tiffany’s.

He bought me the biggest ring they had.

Wait.

We got married.

No.

No no no no no no no no no no.

Holy shit.

We got married.

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