Page 16 of Hot Mess Wedding

“I’m her husband. Who the fuck are you?” Ian asks, his tone quiet and deadly.

“Just a fan.” The man holds his hands up like he’s innocent. “Sorry, man; her bio doesn’t say she’s married.”

Ian wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to his muscular frame. “That’s because we’re newlyweds.”

“Newlyweds!” a reader shrieks from the next table. “Oh my gosh, y’all are just so cute I can’t stand it. Can I take your picture?”

Ian kisses the top of my head. “What do you think, love bug, okay for her to take our pic?”

Love bug? What the hell is wrong with this man? Isn’t he the same one who was insisting I had it all wrong and we weren’t married?

I smile at the reader. “Of course.”

The number of people gathered in the general area of my table is kind of amazing. Gotta love that about romance readers; they really love romance. Even of the real—though obviously fake—variety.

Gah. Look at me!

I’m in a fake relationship! With a handsome stranger!

My life has become a plot line full of tropey goodness.

It’s just too much. Sadly, I know this won’t result in a happily ever after.

I know that. My mind and my heart know it. Lola, on the other hand, seems to be getting onboard with the idea.

One ticket to fake-relationship orgasms, please!

Not that I'm going to let that horny bitch make decisions for me. Clearly, she was in charge while my brain was tripping out on Xanax-margaritas and that’s how I got in this situation in the first place.

But it’s fine.

I’m sure everything will be fine.

I just need to make it through the weekend, figure out how I ended up quickie-married to a stranger, remember what losing my virginity was like, figure out how to get a quickie divorce, and then return home as if nothing happened.

It’s fine.

I can do all that.

100% chance of success.

Can I do it without accidentally falling in love with my accidental husband?

Um … 80% chance of success.

Can I do it without accidentally impaling myself on that pipe-sized weapon he was hiding in his underwear this morning?

Um … 80% chance of failure with a chance of orgasms.

Why am I thinking like a TV weather girl?

Please, let there be orgasms.

No. Wait.

That’s Lola talking again! No orgasms!

No falling in love!

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