Page 18 of The Accidental Honeymoon

“No. I knew that going through with the wedding was a mistake. I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that something would go wrong.” I pause, shaking my head. “You know what I thought when I saw Blake run away from me at the altar? I thought, yeah. Makes sense. I’d run too.”

Grady looks surprised. “You knew she was going to run out?”

“No. But when Blake was gone, I felt like a heavy weight was lifted off my chest. I felt relieved, Grady.”

Grady looks at me like I just called his mother a filthy name.

“Let me tell you something, kid. Your Instagrammable life’s held together with credit lines and influencer collabs. Cancel the sponsorships, and next month you’re auctioning off Blake’s stupid porcelain unicorn collection to pay property taxes.”

“That’s not true. I own this house outright. Things are not as precarious as you’re making them seem.”

“Oh no? What do you have to fall back on? Have you got some family money that I’m not aware of or something?”

Swallowing, I stare him down. As a matter of fact, I do have a trust fund. But that’s not any of Grady’s business. And besides, I’ve been completely financially independent since college.

A cold trickle slides down my spine. I lean forward and my thumb finds the chip in the black quartz coffee table where Blake tried to “open champagne like a Parisian” last New Year’s.

At last, I reply to Grady’s question with a weak, “The apartment complex at the end of the block. That’s solid equity. Passive income.”

He gives me a tired look. “Refi the house, sell the rentals, or start filming budget reels in your childhood treehouse. Or, you can get your head out of your ass and call Blake. Those are your choices, Jay.”

His words are tough to hear.

“But Alto & Ash has three million followers!” I protest.

Grady mimes pressing a gun to his temple. “Face it. You’re one algorithm change away from being that guy who hawks waist trainers between bar trivia nights.”

“There’s got to be a third option.”

“Option three involves chloroform and a Vegas chapel, but kidnapping laws cramp my style.” Grady straightens his cuffs. “Call Blake and grovel. That, or find a replacement wife by Monday. Those are your lifelines.”

“Right.” My chuckle tastes like battery acid. “I’ll check Wife Depot. Aisle seven, between lightbulbs and light treason.”

He doesn’t smile. He just slides his phone across the counter, the contact list open to BLAKE (ICE QUEEN) in all caps. “Fire me last if you want, but Anna’s insurance portal locks in three weeks. James’s husband…” His throat works. “They’re prepping for another round of chemo up at Emory.”

“I’ll fix it.” The lie slips out smoother than my morning matcha. “New plan. Better plan. I’ll come up with a clever way around it. You’ll see.”

For a heartbeat, Grady pauses. “Don’t make me the villain here, Jay. I’m trying to save your ass.”

“Okay.” The word sounds defeated coming from my mouth.

Grady says goodbye. Soon, the front door clicks shut.

What the hell am I supposed to do? I’m between a rock and hard place. God, if I told Grady that I didn’t marry Blake yesterday but accidentally married Calla, his head would probably explode.

Calla’s sultry laughter rings through my skull. It sounds throaty and unpracticed, the opposite of Blake’s performative giggles. I screw my face up.

What if…

I pull out my phone and text Ryan without thinking. “Hypothetically, how illegal is staying pretend married to a complete stranger for brand sponsorships?”

Three dots pulse.

“Illegal? No way. Immoral? Depends. Is this stranger hot?”

A notification pops up. @BlakeDoesItBetter just posted a poolside selfie titled #LivingMyBestLife. Diamond anklet glinting. It’s the piece of jewelry that she insisted I gift her for our engagement party.

That’s the moment that breaks me. I hurl the phone and it skids under the $4000 leather sofa Blake chose because it elevated the room’s feng shui.

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