Page 41 of The Proposal
I go back to the article.
File this under—we didn’t see this coming.
Our sources confirm that the Tennessee Royals own Renn Brewer married friend and teammate Brock Evans’s sister last night in a surprise Vegas wedding. Witnesses say the rugby phenom and his fiancée stood in line with other couples eager to get their marriage licenses. Afterward, they made their way to King and Bling Chapel and said theirI do’s. This is a developing story. We will keep you posted.
“Oh my God,” I say, almost dropping the phone. My hand shakes as I hand it back to Ella. “That … can’t be right. We didn’t …” I look at a half-naked Renn. “I wouldn’t …”
I mean,I would,but notmarriage. Marriage?Marriage?
There’s no way.
I shuffle to the bed and sit on the edge.
“There are pictures,” Ella says. “If it helps, you look beautiful.”
“No, that doesn’t help.” I look up at her. “Who lets two inebriated individuals get married?”
“The State of Nevada.” Brock comes out of the bathroom with a towel. He throws one to Renn a little harder than necessary. “You are legally married. I had my lawyer check to be sure before I came up.”
Renn’s phone rings again. He plucks it out of the heap of sheets and cracked wood, sighing as he looks at the caller.
“Why don’t you take that? I need a few minutes alone,” I say, finding it hard to breathe.
He wipes the towel down the side of his face. “Okay. I’ll be back, and we’ll figure this out.”
I nod.
He walks by me, pausing to grab my shoulder for a moment. The look he gives me—like he’s as bamboozled by this news as me—helps.
I look at Ella. “Could you get me something for this headache? And could you,” I say to Brock, “leave me alone for a little while? I need to … think.”
Brock doesn’t look pleased but appears slightly less angry than before.I’ll take it.
They form a line and leave the room, Ella shutting the door softly behind her.
I head to the bathroom to throw up.
CHAPTER10
Blakely
Irinse my toothbrush and look at my reflection.
My hair is ratty, matted in places by what I’m hoping is ice cream. Eye makeup is smeared across my face. The evidence of red lipstick is hidden on an earlobe.
I can’t decide if it looks like I’ve had a good night or if I was mauled by a bear. A very large, muscled, handsome bear.Ugh.
“How do you run off and get married after dinner, Blakely?” I shut off the tap. “Marriage isn’t an after-dinner snack.” I set the toothbrush in the travel case. “Renn might be a snack, but marriage is not.”
I groan, mentally lambasting myself for making light of the situation.Because light, it is not.
There must be something no one has caught—a lie, a misstep in the paperwork,some freaking reason two people can’t just accidentally get married. This is Vegas, for Pete’s sake.Doesn’t this happen all the time?
Ella comes in, offering me a pain reliever and a sports drink. “Here. This will help.”
“Thanks.” I toss the pill in my mouth. The drink makes me want to hurl when it splashes into my stomach.
Ella runs a bath, adding a squirt of shampoo for bubbles. “Okay, this feels like a rough start to the day, I’m sure. But this isn’t the end of the world.”
