Page 22 of The Accidental Honeymoon

Finally, I get the door open and head up the dark, rickety staircase.

I burst into my apartment with enough energy that the door slams against the wall. The resulting bang makes my already throbbing head threaten to explode. The sound echoes in my skull like a bad punk rock concert.

Okay, I haven’t actually been to a punk rock concert. But I have been to the Red Masque, a dingy goth club, and danced my ass off. I think that counts for something.

I wince,rubbing my temples.Aspirin. I need all the aspirin.

This has been the craziest twenty-four hours of my entire life. I still can't believe it.

Married.

To Jay Rustin.

And now a honeymoon? Is this whole thing a colossal mistake? Did I make a mistake just because I have a wretched hangover?

I dump my purse on the kitchen counter and rummage through the cabinets, knocking over a tower of Tupperware and a bag of quinoa. When I finally find the bottle, I dry-swallow a handful of pills. Here’s hoping they'll work some kind of immediate, miraculous magic. I don't have time for a hangover. I don't have time for any of this.

On the walk home from Jay’s place, my mind bounced back to the night before, and Jay's charming smile as he slid the ring on my finger. It was supposed to be a joke, the kind of silly, drunken dare that gets laughed off the next morning. But here we are, with a marriage license and viral wedding photos.

Guess the joke’s on me.

I groan and pull up the biggest of my three suitcases from the hall closet. What does one pack for a fake honeymoon?

I hold up a bikini, examining its bright orange ruffles. It’s an unflattering color, but it was on clearance. And it actually fits my body like a dream. As someone who is bigger than a size six, I always jump at the chance to find something that actually fits.

And a bikini that is flattering is the holy grail!

I’m still considering the garment when the door bursts open. I nearly jump out of my skin.

"Calla!" My sister Cora storms in, all five feet of her bristling with righteous fury. She holds up her phone. Even from across the room, I can see the familiar image of me and Jay at the chapel, my mouth open in a surprised O, his in a confident, almost cocky grin. She grimaces. "Explain this. Now."

I sink onto the edge of my bed, bikini still in hand. "Cora. I was about to call you."

“You were not. You’re packing, apparently. Now tell me what is going on!”

She crosses her arms and taps her foot. I've never been able to lie to my big sister. The problem is that I know she's not going to like the truth.

I take a deep breath and launch into the story: how Jay got dumped at his wedding, how we ended up drinking way too much tequila, how the whole thing was supposed to be a funny, temporary distraction from his real-life drama. Or at least, that was my logic when I was drunk as a skunk. I tell her about Jay's proposal to turn our accidental marriage into a publicity stunt, about the fake honeymoon and his promise that it will boost my business.

As I talk, Cora's expression shifts from anger to something like disbelief. “You can’t stay married to him! You barely know him!!” She waves her hands to emphasize her point.

My neck heats. Pinching my mouth, I shoot her a glare. “I know him enough.”

“Really? What’d his middle name? How about his favorite color? What was his high school superlative?”

“I… I don’t know that stuff just yet. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who he is. We just get each other.” I smile, trying to bolster my weak-ass explanation.

“Calllllaaaaa….” Cora rolls her eyes back in her head. “You’re being impatient, trying to make a square peg fit in your round hole. You’ll meet someone in your own time. You don’t need to go to extremes to make some dudebro pay attention to you.”

I gasp. “I am not!”

“So you’re saying that you don’t have a secret plan that involves the two of you ending up together?” She gives me a hard stare.

"What? No!" I protest, maybe a little too loudly. "This is all for business. You know how important exposure is."

Cora makes an exasperated sound. "You have a history of making these grand gestures for complete losers who don’t see you the same way. You know you do."

I blush. It’s too hard to hold my sister’s accusing gaze, so I start shoving clothes into my suitcase with more force than necessary. "This is different!"

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