by Iris Morland
I held up my left hand. “Do you know what this is?”
“Is this a trick question?”
I pointed to the plastic ring. “What. Is. This?”
“A ring, clearly.”
He was toying with me, the jerk.
“Why am I wearing it?” I tried again.
“Why the bloody hell would I know that?”
Once again I tried to place his accent—it sounded American at times, but then he’d roll his r’s, as if he were savoring the consonants with his tongue.
Based on his exasperation, he didn’t know what had happened last night any more than I did.
“Well, I’m wearing a ring on my left hand. That leads me to think…”
Liam turned pale right as the jangled pieces of memories in my brain began to assemble themselves.
Oh God. Oh God, no, no, we couldn’t have done that.
Memories once again flashed across my eyes. Hands gripping me as I was pressed against a brick wall outside. The sound of slot machines, and Liam yelling when he won a round of blackjack.
White flowers that had been abandoned somewhere between the chapel and the hotel after our wedding ceremony.
Wedding. Ceremony. The ring on my finger. Wedding night.
No, no, no, no.
I trembled. I wondered if I was going to swoon at Liam’s feet, and I’d never fainted in my entire life.
“Did we—?” My voice croaked. I couldn’t say the words, because then it would make them real.
Liam looked like he might faint, too, which would’ve been funny if not for the circumstances. He then swore in a language I didn’t recognize. And then he went to my bag—the one filled with various sex toys—and pulled out a piece of paper. He swore again.
“What? What is that?” I said.
He handed it to me. It was a marriage license, and the two signatures at the bottom?
Marigold Wright and Liam Gallagher.
“Oh my God. We’re married?” The marriage license fluttered to the floor.
“Seems so. Christ.” Liam began to pace.
Right then, my foot hit the bag of sex toys, setting off the vibrator. Its buzzing sound filled the room like an alarm. Danger, danger, you married a man you don’t even know!
I rubbed my temples. Despite the ibuprofen I’d taken, my headache threatened to return in full force after this revelation.
“Can you just tell me what happened last night? After we got married? Because I can’t remember if we slept together or not. That’s the one piece that’s a blur.”
“Now I’m offended,” said Liam, stopping to stare at me. “That my brand-new wife can’t even remember if she slept with me last night.”
“So we didn’t have sex?”
Liam snorted. “You’d remember. I’d make sure of it. Women never forget when I’ve fucked them.”
I would’ve laughed at that outlandish statement, except Liam seemed completely serious. And I had a feeling he wasn’t boasting, either.
All of these revelations felt like someone launching a dead, smelly fish at my face. Kind of like the fish they throw at Pike Place Market in Seattle, except the fish were slimy, old, and smelled like garbage and intense regret.
Liam was my fish. He was my stinky, disgusting, rotting fish who also happened to be sinfully handsome and had a huge, delightful cock.
Now my mind was imagining actual fish with actual dicks, and my gorge rose. Penises and fish just did not mix.
Liam’s face creased. “You okay?”
I was going to—I didn’t know. Puke, cry, laugh. Could you do all three at once? Was there a word for that?
Under the dictionary, there should be a word for what I’d done last night. Synonyms would include: idiot, moron, and imbecile. Antonyms would include: Mari Wright up until she got drunk last night and married a stranger.
Liam glanced at his watch, sighing. “Whatever the fuck happened last night, we can’t talk about it now. We need to get going.”
At my obvious confusion, he said almost blithely, “Isn’t there a wedding we’re supposed to attend? If I do recall, you’re the maid of honor.”
Now I was really going to vomit. Jenna and Sam’s wedding was today. And if I didn’t leave this room now, I’d be late to get my hair done for their evening ceremony.
Oh, and now I remembered: Liam was Sam’s best man, and I was walking with him down the aisle.
Great, just great.
I pointed a finger in Liam’s direction. “Don’t say a word about this to anyone. You got that? Because if you do, I’ll murder you. After the wedding is over, we’ll figure out how to make this right. Okay?”
“You think I wanted this any more than you?” He helped me off the floor, and his touch on my arm was electric. “That I marry random women in Vegas just for fun?”
“I don’t know you, so maybe you do it all the time.”
His grip was firm, his hands warm, and gazing into his eyes, the spark I’d felt two days ago returned. Liam seemed to sense it, too, because he caressed my cheek with surprisingly gentle fingers. He then touched the hickeys dotting my neck.
“Now I do remember making these,” he said ruefully.
I couldn’t do this. I pushed his arm away, which was pointless because he was made of either bricks or marble and it did a grand total of nothing.
My stomach lurched right then. I ran to the bathroom, slammed the door closed, and puked my guts up until I was pretty sure I’d vomited up at least one internal organ in the process.
It was just too bad I couldn’t puke Liam Gallagher—my husband—from my stomach.
One click He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not now!
Also by Iris Morland
The Heir Affair Duet
The Prince I Love to Hate
The Princess I Hate to Love
Heron’s Landing
Say You’re Mine
All I Ask of You
Make Me Yours
Hold Me Close
The Flower Shop Sisters
War of the Roses
Petal Plucker
He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
Oopsie Daisy
Love Everlasting
including
The Youngers
Then Came You
Taking a Chance on Love
All I Want Is You
My One and Only
The Thorntons
The Nearness of You
The Very Thought of You
If I Can’t Have You
Dream a Little Dream of Me
Someone to Watch Over Me
Till There Was You
I’ll Be Home for Christmas
About the Author
A coffee addict and cat lover, USA Today bestselling author Iris Morland writes sparkling, swoon-worthy romances, including the Flower Shop Sisters and the Love Everlasting series.
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If she's not reading or writing, she enjoys binging on Netflix shows and cooking something delicious.
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