Sophie was silent for a moment, her green eyes looking straight into his. They were blurry, her pupils a bit dilated, either due to the alcohol or because of lust. Who would even know at that point? Slowly, her lips curled into a devious smile, her gaze now sparkling with a new emotion.
“Then why don’t you?”
Chapter 2
Jonathan covered his head with the duvet, waves of nausea assaulting his body. His stomach churned and grumbled, bile rose to his mouth even in his sleep. The massive headache hammering against his skull was beyond description. It felt as if the thin bone casket had shattered, the small shards poking his inflamed brain. Jonathan groaned, his fingers reaching for the duvet once more. It was too hot for his liking, beads of sweat resting on both his spine and forehead.
He’d slept in his suite; he knew that from the second his mind had regained consciousness. But that was all he knew. His mind was blank beyond that. He wished to go back to sleep, but the pain was too intense, the sharp talons of the massive hangover dug deeper into his body with every passing moment. He needed an Advil–maybe two. But how was he to get it? The medicine cabinet was way too far for his fragile state.
His phone started to ring, the familiar sound scraping on his eardrums. He meant to turn it off, but the noise came from somewhere across the room.
He was just about to throw off the duvet and pray to God that he could at least manage to crawl to the cabinet when something else captured his attention. A small, barely noticeable movement beneath the covers. Jonathan was more than eager to shrug it off and resume his crawl to the Advil box, but that was before something jolted from beneath the covers, talking the duvet with it.
Alarmed, with the feeling of his heart in his throat, he jumped from the bed, all previous symptoms vanishing as if they’d never existed. He wasn’t sure, but Jonathan could swear he swore loudly, the sound of his own voice muffled by the buzzing sound of adrenaline.
“Sophie?” he breathed out, his voice a mere whisper. He looked at the wide-eyed woman and then back at his clothes. He was fully clothed, as was she. So, what was the woman doing there?
She seemed to be just as puzzled as he was, her hands holding the duvet tightly to her chest, although she was still wearing her pants and loose shirt. Her hair was a mess on top of her head, the electrified strands cascading past her shoulders into knots.
Jonathan tried hard to remember the events of the night before. But the memory was foggy, the images a blur past the moment they entered the club Sophie had suggested. He remembered dancing and drinking, but nothing beyond that.
Sophie opened her mouth to say something, her green eyes still heavy with sleep. Jonathan, however, silenced her. His finger raising, asking for a moment, while he reached for his phone. God knew what the hour was. He must’ve missed the morning meeting and his interview with the local newspaper. Malcolm must’ve been searching for him the entire morning. Jonathan was definitely more determined not to be eaten by board members than discovering what stupid decisions he’d made while drunk.
By the time he found his phone, beneath the piles of clothes he’d been accumulating over the past few weeks, in that one single armchair in front of his bed, it had stopped ringing. Silence once again filled the air. He heard Sophie gasp in disbelief, before she proceeded to search for something, probably her shoes and bag if his instincts were correct.
The major headache he’d been having prior to the scare of his life had returned, slowly but definitely. It once again hit against the tender parts of his head, particularly his temples. However, instead of some Advil, Jonathan wished for coffee and a cigarette that would ease the stress that was slowly piling on his shoulders. With dread piling in the pit of his gut, he dialed his secretary’s number. Jonathan didn’t have to wait for it to ring twice, the angry voice at the other end came almost instantly.
“Where the–” Malcolm half-shouted before stopping. He heard him take in a deep breath, probably reminding himself who he was talking to. “Where are you? And what in the world did you do last night?”
Malcolm was trying to calm himself, his voice edgy, and definitely too loud for Jonathan's tender hangover temper. Pissed as he was getting, Jonathan tried to keep his calm, dreading what he meant exactly by ‘do last night.’
“I went for a few drinks,” Jonathan said, scratching the back of his neck, while a loud thud echoed from behind him.
With a deadly glare, he turned around, his eyes widening at the sight of Sophie. She’d stumbled and fallen, face first, in the two pillows that had fallen on the floor. Sophie struggled to stand up, her feet wiggled in mid-air before she was finally able to do it. Her hair had fallen all over her face, but she recovered quickly, mouthing a word he couldn’t exactly make out. Jonathan struggled to muffle the chuckle that unconsciously rumbled through his chest.
“A few drinks?! That’s not what the tabloids are saying! Jonathan, you are on the front page of every magazine and newspaper. How in the world did you end up getting married? In front of an
Elvis impression nonetheless!”
Jonathan’s eyes shot open, all traces of humor vanishing. He stared emptily in front of him, Malcolm’s words booming in his head. He had no idea what his secretary meant, but what difference would that make? Even without knowing, Jonathan could guess he’d gotten himself
into a lot of trouble.
Jonathan’s hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, then rub his eyes. He was about to ask Malcolm what he meant by ‘getting married’ but he stopped. The words froze in his throat as the weird but familiar feeling of metal pinched his skin. Hesitantly, as if afraid, Jonathan withdrew his hand so he could look at it, his phone still in hand, Malcolm’s incomprehensible words at the other end of the call.
“Malcolm, send me the links to those tabloids. I’ll call you back.” His voice had been low, cold even to his own ears. His secretary said something, but he hung up before he heard.
His phone fell from his hand, the sound of metal and glass colliding with the floor reaching his ears. His eyes stared blankly at the wedding band on his ring finger, his own reflection staring back at him. Slowly, he turned his attention to Sophie, who had stopped going through the room in search of God knew what. She’d tied her hair on top of her head, but her bangs still fell wildly over a pair of wide green eyes. She knew something was wrong, he could tell by the way she stood in the corner waiting.
His eyes traveled from her eyes, down to her arms, specifically her left hand. His heart was pounding so loudly that he swore he could hear it in his eardrums, however, the moment he laid eyes on a similar wedding ring, it stopped. His jaw dropped, lips parting as a loud breath left his lungs.
“Tell me you had that on before,” Jonathan breathed out, both his hands buried in his hair. His eyes plead with her, begging her to nod, to approve his statement in any form or shape. But instead, all she did was gasp and look puzzled. Just like him, she seemed to be clueless.
“What’s going on? It’s just a ring. We probably bought it or worst case–stole it.”
Or, gotten married, Jonathan meant to correct her. But he didn’t bother to. Instead he groaned and picked up his phone, ignoring the little crack on the left corner. His finger hovered over the screen, pressing on the first link Malcolm had sent him.
“God! Why are you acting so strange, we didn’t even sleep together! I wanted to make things less awkward, but you’re clearly not helping,” Sophie said, picking up her bag once again.
Jonathan had only gotten through the first tabloid title by the time she’d headed for the door, but it had been enough for him to be sure and finally speak up. The words had left him before his mind processed them, they’d been simple and plain, but enough to summarize the situation they had gotten themselves into.
“We got married,” Jonathan said, before he walked past her and into the open-space living room.
His apartment was small and close to the office. He didn’t like living in the huge mansion his
family owned, especially after his father died. Instead, he chose to live in that one-bedroom apartment, big enough to fit his needs.
“What did you just say?”
Sophie was behind him, following him into the open kitchen. The sound of her loud footsteps was ten times louder in his ear, and for a second, he wished he could make her shut up. But he knew that silencing the woman would require far more energy than actually ignoring the sounds.
“I don’t know what happened, okay? I just wanna have some coffee and go over the tabloids. Maybe someone else knows what I’ve been doing.” Jonathan hoped, however, that that wasn’t the case. He knew in his heart that something wasn’t right, so having the board members knowing he was so irresponsible as to get married while drunk, was not something he wanted. Not when his position was hanging by a thread.
“Why would it even be in the tabloids?”
It hadn’t occurred to him up until that moment, that the woman had absolutely no idea who he was. Of course, why would it? His face had been on the cover of newspapers for months now. His fame exceeded his own expectations.
“I’m the owner of the casino. I thought you knew that, sorry.” Jonathan’s voice had lowered to a normal pitch, mainly because he had no energy left in him.
“Wait! Are you actually Jonathan Hunter?”
“Oh, so I do ring a bell,” he sarcastically said, while handing her a coffee mug. “Coffee?” Sophie seemed to hesitate, but eventually thanked him, eagerly reaching for the mug.
“Do you have some Advil? My head feels like it’s going to explode.” Jonathan nodded while he poured himself some coffee as well.
“In the bathroom. The medicine cabinet is there.” Sophie nodded and turned on her heel, taking a second to orient herself, before disappearing into the bedroom again.
While she was away, he took the opportunity to take the first sip of his coffee. The brewed liquid was strong, black, just the way he liked it. The feeling of caffeine was like a blessing to his body, even before it properly got to kick in. He closed his eyes and nodded–indeed, coffee was the best cure for a hangover, no matter what people said.
The sound of footsteps brought him back to reality, and he opened his eyes again. Sophie had abandoned her bag once again, probably somewhere in the living room, her hands now busy with the stubborn cap of the Advil bottle.
“So, what now? We get a divorce? Is the wedding even official?”
“Well, I didn’t see any certificate. We should look for it so we can know if it’s official.” Jonathan gestured with his hands, his eyes already scanning over whatever flat surface he had in sight.
“My bag!” Sophie exclaimed, already sprinting to wherever she’d thrown it.
Jonathan couldn’t wait for her to come back, his heart was in his throat right now, so he followed her. The time between reaching and opening her bag had been an eternity for both of them. But like everything else in life, it had dawned on them eventually. Sophie’s bag wasn’t very big, and unlike other women he knew, it was incredibly tidy. Everything was tucked in pockets or other small bags, nothing left loose, except that one single piece of paper. It was folded, but by the texture and color both of them knew what it was. Neither even dared to reach for it, their mouths agape and eyes wide open.
They stared at one another, realizing, for the first time since they’d woken up, that they were truly married!
“It’s okay! We don’t need to panic! Things like this happen all the time in Vegas.” Sophie said in between large breaths, more to herself than to him. “All we have to do is go and annul the wedding. Right?”
Jonathan looked at her, his own eyes meeting the woman’s green ones. He shook his head. It wasn’t that simple. Not for him. The room was suddenly very, very small, the walls closing in on him. It was hard to breathe, the telltale symptom of a well-known panic attack.
He was sure everyone must’ve heard what happened by now, given the numerous phone calls he’d gotten since Malcolm’s. Everyone knew that he had gotten married, but no one needed to know that he was drunk and that it was to a girl he didn’t even know. No, those were minor details that he would have to take to the grave.
“No.”
“What do you mean by no? Of course that’s what we need to do?”
He’d been so stuck in his own world, dealing with his own problems, fearing for his own career, that he’d failed to see that she was battling her own set of demons. Her eyes were filled with fear of the unknown, coated with the same thin layer of helplessness and anxiety that he knew he was experiencing.
“My father died recently. So, by nature, I’ve only inherited his position recently.”
“For God’s sake, what does that have to do with this?” she cried, rolling her eyes, her red nails frantically combing through her hair.
“It has everything to do with this. Don’t you see? I can’t get a divorce now! I can’t let anyone know I had been so drunk that I got married. They’ll use it against me. I’ll lose everything!”
Jonathan was more than sure Sophie didn’t give a crap about all that. Why would she? She had her own life to care about.
“They already know. It’s on the front page of every crappy newspaper!” She juggled the marriage contract in the air.
“But do they know we were drunk? They don’t!” he exclaimed in exasperation, making no absolute sense to her. “Everyone probably thinks we’ve had a secret wedding. That you’re my secret fiancé or something.”
“Look, Jonathan–” Sophie’s voice was back to a regular tone, her chest inflating as she took in a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re implying. I have a major hangover and I am really freaking out, so you better call things by name, or so help me–”
Jonathan had no idea what he was doing. He was on pilot mode, his mind adapting to an emergency situation. All his instincts told him one thing, to stop the board members and the press from discovering the truth about his sudden marriage. But at what cost? He had no time to weigh the consequences of such a plan. Still, with no clear plot in mind, he opened his mouth to make a proposition.
“How about we don’t get a divorce immediately? Maybe wait a couple of months, a year?” Jonathan sounded crazy even in his own ears, but still went on. He ignored the look of disbelief on Sophie’s face and continued. “I will pay whatever sum you want, whenever you want. Anything.”
“You’re crazy!” She shook her head, her face mirroring emotions Jonathan would rather never recall again.
With wide eyes, and panic rising in the pit of his stomach, he watched Sophie turn on her heel, her bag tightly held in hand. He tried to think of something to say, something witty that would make her at least stop and consider, but nothing came to mind. He wondered what his cousin would do, but then stopped wondering. Sebastian would’ve never done anything as stupid as
that.
“Wait–” he hastily said, grabbing onto her arm. “Just think about it? You won’t lose anything.”
Sophie looked at him through his lashes, probably annoyed by his childish pleas. Eventually she sighed, nodding in annoyance, and Jonathan saw a spark of hope for the first time that morning.
“I’ll think about it.” Thinking back, Sophie might’ve said that just to get out of there, but at that moment, it was all Jonathan needed. With a brighter smile across his lips, he handed her one of his business cards, praying to God that would not be the last time he saw the woman.
*****
The soft music washed over her body, it enveloped her, the tune of the piano mixed with the other instruments lured her body into the familiar steps. Unconsciously, she moved, her legs following the steps they’d already known. She lifted one foot, balancing her weight on the other as she twirled. She didn’t close her eyes while she rotated beneath the studio’s lights, she kept them wide open, a smile on her face, her mind conjuring images of a crowd.
A few strands of hair had fallen from her twisted bun. They clung to her sweat-stained face tightly, but they d
idn’t bother her. Under the euphoric feeling of the dance, she felt nothing. It was just her, the blinding lights, and the spectators she’d imagined.
The room spun with her, the colors melting into one another even after she’d stopped twirling. Sophie took in a deep breath as she fell in another pose, her pointe shoes grazing the smooth surface of the floor before she propelled into a high and elegant jump.
She’d been at it for hours. Her calves were nearly cramped, her toes hurting and blistered. But the pain was good; it distracted her from the mess that she called a life. Everything had been going so well, her dreams were right on track, her hopes so high they could reach the sky. But her entire world seemed to have crumbled in just a couple of days. If she knew what a mess she’d turn into after just that one audition, maybe–No. She knew it in her heart that nothing would’ve changed. She would’ve gone to it no matter what.
With the memories of the audition brightly displayed at the back of her mind, she lost control of her ensemble. Just as she was about to land on her other foot, she lost her balance and fell. With both hands supporting the weight of her body, she stayed there, her head bowed, the loose strands of her hair now framing her oval face.
She felt like crying. She’d prepared so much for that audition, not for weeks and not for months, but for years. It’d been her dream since the beginning. The worst part about her failure, was that she had known she stood no chance even before it started. Every single girl that showed up that day had already known the place in LaRouge Ballet had been priory reserved–not based on talent, she mentally added.
As if having her dreams set on fire hadn’t been enough, she had gotten married too. Of course, the solution to that would’ve been easy, had she not gotten married to one of America’s greatest bachelors, and the richest man in Nevada. Especially since, he seemed to have no intention of getting a divorce any time soon.
The Married One Page 2