Overnight Wife

By: Penny Wylder

“Well, thanks for the painkillers, clearly needed, but I’ll—” I stop talking, realizing John has wandered off. Oh well. Probably for the best. I glance past the bed at the bathroom door, and the one look reminds me all over again how fancy this room is. What does this guy do? Maybe he’s got a trust fund or something. He’s older than me, that much is clear, but not by a lot. It’s hard to imagine a guy his age having enough money to throw around that he can afford a swanky penthouse in one of the most expensive hotels on the strip. Then again, I’m not about to complain. This will probably be the only time I’ll ever see the inside of a suite like this.

I slip out of bed and pad toward the bathroom. Inside, I rub sleep from my eyes and squint blearily at my surroundings. I have to check twice, just to make sure I’m not imagining it. Nope. Full bathtub with jacuzzi jets, an enormous rain shower that could accommodate a small family… complete with a one-way mirror looking out over Vegas. We’re at the top of one of the tallest buildings in the city. The view is breathtaking.

I turn on the shower and rinse myself off, all while gaping at that view. It’s almost enough to distract me from my memories of last night.

Almost, but not quite.

But there’s one memory in particular bugging me. The red room with Lea in tow…

I’m still thinking about that when my hand catches in my hair. I curse under my breath and struggle to disentangle it. Then I frown at my fingers. There’s a big diamond—gotta be fake—on my left hand. It sparkles when I move it, catching the light, almost like a real one… Impressive.

But why am I wearing it?

Shaking my head, I finish toweling off and check my phone. Several dozen missed texts from Lea.

Photos, I realize. I open them and click through. And with every successive photo, my stomach sinks lower, my jaw dropping, my knees going weak.

No. Oh, fuck no. We didn’t.

But there it is, right in photographic evidence. A series of pictures of me and John, in a red-painted chapel with Elvis serving as the officiant and… marrying us! There are processional pictures, too. Lea giving me away, some selfies of Lea and the guy she took out last night. And then a series of shots of me and John. Holding hands, kissing… then me leaping up to wrap my legs around his waist and seriously make out.

At that point it goes back to selfies of Lea giving me a thumbs-up. She labeled that one “YOU GO GIRL.”

I cannot fucking believe this.

I stumble back into the bedroom, forgetting I’m only wearing a towel.

“There you are.” John catches my eye with a grin. He’s carrying a tray in his arms. Breakfast, I realize. He must have ordered room service for us. I can smell bacon and eggs from here, and my stomach growls with desire.


“Did we get married last night?” I blurt, unable to stop myself.

He goes quiet, his expression suddenly serious.

I hold up my hand accusingly, diamond facing out. “I woke up and found this on my finger. And… and… I’ve got all these pictures that Lea just sent me, of us in a chapel with an Elvis impersonator. I mean… fuck! Is this real?”

“What do you think?” he asks softly.

“I fucking hope it’s not!” I yell, flinging my arms wide. “I can’t get married, least of all to some rando I met in a club in Las Vegas for God’s sake.”

His expression shifts into a scowl. “Is there something wrong with me?” He arches one eyebrow. “You didn’t seem to think so last night when you were begging for my cock.”

My cheeks flare red hot. “I didn’t—I mean…” I groan. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Last night was fun.” I pause. Blush again. “Really fucking fun.”

His smirk widens, and he glances down at my towel, setting the breakfast tray aside. “Then why don’t you drop the towel and we can continue the fun. I seem to remember something about you wanting me to fuck you in the shower, although it seems you beat me there this morning…”

My breath hitches. Tempting. Oh, how fucking tempting. But my head is still throbbing, and this conversation is hardly helping. “That’s not important right now,” I mutter. “What’s important is fixing this. How do we…” I can’t even believe I’m about to say these words. “How do we annul our marriage? Get it invalidated or whatever.”

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