Page 35 of Mr. Big Mistake
This is some kind of joke, right?
I heard scuffling beside me before shadows laid across my body. I didn’t pay attention, though. The only thing I focused on was sliding those pristine papers out of their confines. My eyes danced across the top of the first page, and I recognized the document. It was the waiver I had been instructed to sign last night. I couldn't catch my breath. I replayed that scene over and over in my mind’s eye.
Congratulations!
“That’s why she seemed so sincere,” I whispered.
I looked back down at the paperwork as I felt my body being shifted in my seat. I felt my arm press against the wall before something warm wrapped around me. A soft kiss was pressed to my temple, but it didn't pull me out of my trance. Because right there, at the top right-hand corner, was the official City of Las Vegas raised, embossed stamp.
Holy shit. The papers were real.
“What is it beautiful? Talk to me,” Brenden whispered in my ear.
But, all I could do was show him the papers. I couldn't get my lips to start working with me.
“Bre--Brend--it--they’re, uh…”
His hand pulled from around me as he took the papers from my hands. I lifted my eyes and stared off at the wall on the other side of the restaurant while our food grew cold. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't see straight. It felt like I had dropped into another dimension. I felt Brenden tense beside me before he slammed the papers down against the booth table.
And finally, something startled me out of my trance.
“We’re married,” I breathed.
He ripped his phone out. “There has to be a mistake. There’s no way.”
I slowly looked over at him. “Look at the stamp.”
He held the phone to his ear. “Come on, assholes. Pick up.”
I placed my hand on his thigh. “Brenden. Look. At the stamp.”
I watched his eyes fall to the glossy stamp at the top of those stapled papers. He let out the breath he had been holding.
“They aren’t picking up. We have to go see them. Now. There’s clearly been a mistake.”
He took my hand and pulled me from the booth. I snatched up the papers just in time as we abandoned our breakfast and headed straight for the doors of the Bellagio. He whistled for a cab, and one screeched to a stop in front of us. Then, we practically shoved our way inside.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Pristine Angel Wedding Chapel. As quickly as you can,” Brenden said.
The driver chuckled, and I wanted to wring his neck. It wasn’t funny. None of it was funny. None of it was supposed to be real! And yet, there I was, clutching papers that apparently proclaimed the fact that we’d actually gotten married the night before!
I felt myself growing sick.
“I can’t--I can’t breathe.”
He rubbed my back. “It’s okay. We’ll get this sorted out.”
I placed my hand over my heart. “I can’t--it--oh, God. I can’t--.”
“Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh. In through your nose, and out through your--.”
“That shit doesn’t work, Brenden! It never works!”
His hand fisted my hair, and he pulled my eyes to meet his. The command of his touch forced my lungs to inhale. He glared down into my eyes before they softened. I felt his hand relinquishing my tendrils, but something in the pit of my gut didn’t want him to.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
