Page 21 of Miss Understood

And even though the two words probably hit us both at the same time, he’s the one who says them.

“Marry me.”

8

Luce

WhatwasIthinkingwearing these stilts to work? Like I’m not on edge enough already, let’s add balancing on four-and-a-half-inch pumps to the mix. Fake it till you make it, or fall on your face trying, right?

It’s been forty-eight hours, and my brain still isn’t processing. Is it possible to go into total mental overload? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening every time I try to go over what happened this weekend.

Time skips.

From standing in my hotel room with Jesse, to sitting on the plane, to getting ready for work this morning. My body’s moving, but my brain can’t quite seem to catch up.

Married.

How is this even possible?

People go to Vegas to fuck and party, not to tie themselves down to the most infuriating man they know. The one man who believes in love and marriage less than I do. This is the kind of shit they make those lame-ass movies about, the ones my clients watch to convince themselves romance is still alive and well.

I know better.

At least, I thought I did. I was destined to be the last bachelorette standing, still screwing hot guys while my friends popped out babies. Enjoying dates with the sexiest men in the city and having a good time.

So how is it that I’m the first one of the three of us with a ring on my finger?

Breathe.

I need to breathe.

It’s going to be okay.

Even if Jesse’s massive dick has decided to claim a reoccurring role in my best dreams lately, I’ve got a plan. After all, Vegas weddings are meant to be temporary. There’s no way Jesse isn’t regretting this as much as I am. He’s probably out of his mind worried about it at this point. We just need to sit down, draw up the annulment paperwork, and put this messy mistake in the past before anyone finds out about it.

Bring on the coffee, and let’s put this weekend—and all those annoying, twisty feelings between my legs—to rest.

“She lives!” Mateo cheers, bags under his eyes as he climbs into the elevator with me. “I honestly wasn’t even sure you made it out of Vegas after that night we had, but here you stand.” He bows his head and hands at me.

“I barely did,” I say. “But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Maybe Mateo doesn’t remember much from that night either, another loose end neatly tying itself up. Now if only it can be that easy with—

“Morning.” Jesse’s hand slips between the elevator doors, the weight of his strength stopping them so he can join us.

He peels them open with those strong arms.

Massive biceps.

I really need to stop thinking about his massive everything.

His tall frame and those thick shoulders take up all the space in this cramped elevator, and when the floor moves upward, I’m not sure if it’s the elevator or my head that makes my stomach weightless.

Jesse sinks his stare in my direction at the same time as I get a hit of that spicy aftershave.

Fuck, he smells good.

“Rough morning?” Jesse asks, turning his face straight ahead once more.

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