Page 8 of Dearly Unbeloved
When I wrench my head around to look at Sierra, her black hair is a knotted mess. But that’s not what knocks the breath from my chest. She’s lying face down on top of the covers, wearing nothing but black underwear. I drop my chin, looking down at myself. Unlike Sierra, I’m tucked under the thin hotel blanket, but I’m also sans clothing.
“Sierra.”
“What?”
“Why are we basically naked?”
Sierra turns her head and cracks her eyes. Fake lashes I didn’t even notice her wearing last night are barely hanging on. I hold the blanket tight to my chest as she runs her gaze over me, her expression pained, like she’s trying to wrack her memory.
“We probably were so wasted last night that we just stripped off and climbed into bed. It’s no big deal,” she says dismissively.
“You don’t think we?—”
“Definitely not.” Her voice is firmer. She sits up, folding her arms across her chest. I try not to look, but how did I not know about the tattoo covering her sternum? A detailed black snake winds its way down her skin, wrapped around a thorny rose. It starts between her breasts and stops rightabove her belly button. “If we had, I’d be able to tell. I’m always calmer the day after a good orgasm.”
I raise a brow. Or I try to, anyway. My eyes are so fucking dry that even the tiniest movement hurts like hell. What was I thinking, falling asleep with my contacts in?
“Nice to know no matter what you think of me, you believe I’d give you a good orgasm,” I reply sarcastically.
“I mean, if you didn’t, I’d have done it myself. I don’t care about your feelings enough to fake it.”
“Of course you don’t.”
Since she’s lying on top of the covers, I grab a pillow to shield myself before trying to stand up. But before both of my feet are solidly on the ground, Sierra grabs my hand and tugs me back down.
“Ouch. What the?—”
“What the fuck is that?”
She’s gripping my left hand firmly, and when I look down, my stomach drops. A plain silver band with a clear, glittering oval stone is hanging out on my ring finger, where it definitely doesn’t belong.
I swear Sierra is moving in slow motion as she drops her left hand from her chest and holds it beside mine. Her ring is gold and more ornate, with a rich purple pear-shaped stone surrounded by a halo of tiny dark blue, sparkling stones.
Sierra snatches her hand back. “Shit. I’m going to be sick.”
She rushes to the bathroom, and I perch on the edge of the bed as I listen to her retching. The nice thing to do would be to keep an eye on her or offer to hold her hairback, but she doesn’t sound like she’s choking or anything. She’ll survive.
I take a closer look at the ring. It looks expensive—more expensive than I’d expect for a potential drunken wedding. Fuck. I don’t do this kind of thing. Hell, no one actually does this kind of thing. There’s no way it’s real. I don’t remember anything after Jazz and Maggie left last night, but there’s not a chance in the world Sierra and I got married. Not for real, anyway.
My head spins as I cross the room and push open the curtains, inspecting the stone in the sunlight. It shines suspiciously diamond-like, and something tells me I probably don’t want to check my credit card statement anytime soon.
Sierra steps out of the bathroom wearing a robe—my robe—and wiping the sleeve over her mouth. She stops short, taking me in, and I realize I’m still only wearing underwear. My dress from last night is folded neatly on the chair by the window. Sierra’s is crumpled by the side of the bed she was sleeping on. Both of them are covered in glitter, and if something scratchy touches my skin right now, I’m going to die.
I walk past Sierra and open the closet, my fingers closing around my favorite sleep shirt. It’s usually a comfort to feel the soft cotton falling over my body, but I’m pretty sure there’s nothing in the world that I’d find comforting at this point. I close the closet door and lean against it, clearing my throat.
“It’s not legal, right? Like, you can’t justget married. There are processes and stuff you have to follow. You can’t just show up the night of and do the damn thing.”
Sierra crosses her arms and glares at me. “Why are you looking at me like I should know that? I have no idea.”
“You work at a law firm. And didn’t you go to law school?”
“I flunked out of law school! Which is why I’m an assistant to the assistant of abusinesslawyer. In Washington. Believe it or not, Nevada marital law doesn’t come up much.”
I cover my face with my hands. She’s so goddamn loud. “Could you maybe shout a little louder?” I mutter and hold up a hand when I hear her sharp intake of breath, presumably readying for another rant. “We have to stay calm so we can figure this out.”
“Given what Vegas is known for, I think it’s safe to assume that you can just get married on a whim here,” she says, more quietly, after a moment. “Whether that means it’s legal, I don’t know. I assume if it was, we’d have paperwork or something.”
She looks around, presumably for the paperwork, but aside from my dress on the chair, hers on the floor, and our shoes in a pile by the door, there’s nothing out of order.
