by Holly Rayner
Focus. I gotta focus here.
“Okay,” I say, “we were dancing. And then we… got married?”
Max cringes. “I remember saying that I wanted to keep enjoying your company. That I never wanted it to end.”
I moan. “And then what? We decided to get married to make that a reality?”
“I also recall taking a shot off of your stomach.”
“I don’t remember that part.”
Covering my face with my hands, I work to regulate my breathing.
What on earth is wrong with me? No matter how drunk I got, how could I have thought marrying a stranger was a good idea?
“There’s confetti in my shoes,” Max announces.
I drop my hands to see him turning one upside down and pouring confetti onto the floor.
“Party,” I mutter.
He fixes his gaze on me. “I’m sorry.”
“We don’t know for sure that we’re married,” I protest. “We’re wearing rings. That doesn’t mean anything. We could have gotten them for fun.”
“We could have,” he agrees, though he looks uncertain. His gaze becomes unfocused. “I’m recalling something else. Going to an all-night chapel.”
I gasp. “One that had a gift store in it?”
“Exactly.”
“And a red leather sofa?”
“Precisely.”
This time I have to hold back every curse word I’ve heard over the last twenty-seven years.
“That doesn’t count, right?” I ask. “It’s like one of those Vegas weddings. You can go and do it, but you have to take the certificate to the records place afterward and have it notarized or whatever. If you don’t do that, it’s not a real marriage.”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean not exactly?”
I can’t stand how calm he’s being. I’m about two seconds away from ripping my hair out. I have to be at the airport in a matter of hours. This isn’t something I can deal with right now.
Or ever.
“I don’t know about America,” Max says, “but Copenhagen is known for its rather liberal marriage laws.” He pauses. “If we’re married, there should be a certificate somewhere.”
I gaze around the room, searching. Nada.
Wait. My purse.
Leaping from the bed, I grab the purse from the floor and turn it upside down. Gum, lipstick, mascara, my wallet, my phone charger, and a dozen other this-and-thats hit the floor, along with a folded piece of paper that I’m pretty sure wasn’t in there yesterday.
I swear, my heart starts beating in reverse.
Everything is in slow motion as I pick up the paper and unfold it.
I try to talk, but my mouth is too dry, so I hand Max the paper.
He reads it. Reads it again.
“Is that…” My voice cracks. I try again. “That’s your signature?”
“Yes.” He eyes me over the paper. “And is that yours?”
“Sure is.”
I belly flop onto the bed and bury my face in a pillow. “We got married!” I scream into the fluff.
Rolling over, I look at the ceiling and fake sob. “Why would we do this?”
“To keep the good times going,” Max says.
I sit up and glare at him. “Are you kidding me?”
He smiles, and my jaw drops.
“This isn’t anything to joke about, Max. We’re married, and we don’t even know each other.”
“It is somewhat funny, though, don’t you think?” he asks.
“No! And I don’t appreciate you treating it like it is.”
He chuckles, and my hands ball into fists.
“Look at us,” he says, “having our first fight as a married couple.”
My fingernails cut into my palms. I want to hit something.
“Poppy.” He places his hands on my shoulders, and even though I’m still furious, his touch has a calming effect. I don’t want him to ever remove his hands.
“Max?”
“It will be fine. This is nothing.”
I shake my head hard. “How can you say that?”
“Because, remember what I said about Copenhagen’s liberal marriage laws?”
“Uh-huh.”
He winks. “We will get it annulled. It should be no problem.”
A heavy sigh cleanses my body and soul. I’ve never felt any relief like this.
“Of course. Annulled.” I look him in the eye. “We have to do it today. Like, right away.”
He nods once and drops his hands. “We will go right now.”
I kind of wish he was still touching me, but I can’t be thinking that way right now. I have a marriage to annul and a flight to catch.
“How long will this take?” I ask, wanting to bite my lips, my fingernails, anything just to distract myself from the anxiety coursing through me.
“I can’t tell you for sure.” He gives me an apologetic look.
“Okay. Well, it’ll be fine. Let’s get there and see.” I’m saying this, but I’m also wringing my hands. Going to my dresser, I pull out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that has a Jersey band’s logo on it. I may have left the tristate area, but some things, like my love of indie rock, have followed me around the world.
“Need anything?” I ask, not looking back at Max. I can’t. If I do, my insides might start acting all funny again, and I might do something stupid.
Like kiss him.
“No,” he says. “I just need to get dressed.”
There goes that stomach. Flip-flopping all over the place.
“Great,” I mutter. “Be right back.”
Clothes balled in my fist, I close the bathroom door behind me. Instead of dressing right away, I close my eyes and lean against the door.
I can ask myself a hundred more times how this happened, and I’m sure I will, but there will never be an answer.
Still, I’m suddenly wanting to believe in destiny and signs again. And not just because Max has eyes that remind me of 85% dark chocolate and that feeling you get when you sink into a warm bubble bath at the end of a hard day.
I want to believe what happened means something because I don’t want to leave Europe. I want some kind of excuse that’s large enough, that will allow me to stay in Copenhagen with barely two coins to rub together.
But there’s no reason that’s big enough to become basically homeless. Max and I aren’t really married. Or, at least we won’t be for long, so that’s really the same thing.
Opening my eyes, I catch sight of my reflection and gasp.
Mascara bleeds under my eyes, and it looks like a rat slept on the left side of my hair.
Perfect.
I can’t get the water running and the face wash in my hands fast enough.
Once I’ve scrubbed my face, I run a brush through my hair and put it up in a loose ponytail then get dressed. I haven’t once checked the time since waking up, and I’m dreading it. It’s always later than you think it’s going to be when you wake up from a binge, and the minutes are ticking until I have to be at the airport.
Finally ready, I emerge from the bathroom. “All good?”
Max is facing the door, looking down at his phone. When I speak to him, he turns around, and for a second I don’t remember how to breathe.
It’s something in his eyes. The way he’s looking at me, like in the few minutes I was in the bathroom he forgot what I look like, and now he can hardly believe I’m here.
Or maybe I’m projecting, because every time I set eyes on him, it seems he’s gotten better looking.
“Yes,” he says, sliding his phone into his pocket.
“Do you know where we’re going?”
He nods once. “I looked up the office. It’s only about a ten-minute walk from here.”
“Excellent.” I breathe out a sigh, grabbing my purse.
At the door, I pause.
“One more important thing,” I say.
“Yes?”
“I have the hangove
r headache from hell, and we’re going to need to stop for coffee on the way.”
“God, yes,” he says with a moan.
Chapter 5
Poppy
The cafe I’ve been frequenting the past couple weeks is right around the corner, and luckily for us the line is short. It’s not as late as I feared. Not yet noon, anyway, but we’ll get there in approximately an hour.
The girl at the counter, a friendly blond who learned my usual drink almost right away, greets me.
“Two today,” I tell her.
Her gaze slides over to Max, and she tries to hide a smile as she turns to get our drinks. When she turns back around though, Max is preoccupied with something on his phone, so she raises her eyebrows at me.
I smile and nod, because having her think I’m hanging out with this super-hot guy is much easier than telling the truth.
I don’t know that I’ll ever tell anyone the truth. Except Laura. She’s going to laugh her butt off when she hears about this.
We take our coffees and I start for the door, but Max touches my elbow.
“Would you sit for a minute?” he asks.
I hesitate. I still have some packing to do and who knows how long it will take to get this marriage annulled, if we can even do it in one day.
The look on his face stops me from immediately saying no. His expression is so hopeful and kind. The last thing I want to do is let him down.
And so I nod.
He pulls a chair out for me at a table by the window, and I murmur thanks. I’ll definitely miss his manners once we part ways.
Max sits across from me, and we both take sips of our coffee. He’s studying the table, his jaw flexing and his hands running up and down the length of his cup. It seems he’s working out what to say.
“What’s up?” I ask. “Is everything okay?”
He smiles, but it’s so obviously forced.
My heart beats a little faster, and I don’t know what I’m afraid of, but I am afraid. I don’t even know what he could say right now that could hurt me, seeing as we have no future together.
“I am a stranger to you, yes?” he says.
“Um.” Is this a trick question? “I mean, we’ve known each other since last night.”
“Yes, and you had never seen me before then. You didn’t know who I was.”
“Right,” I say slowly.
“Poppy, I must tell you something.”
Reaching across the small table, he takes my hands in his. “You know of Stromhaer?”
“I do.”
It’s a tiny island country not far from here. Super cute. I went there for a weekend a couple years ago and have always meant to go back.
Max’s throat rolls with a swallow, and when he speaks his voice is lower. “I am Prince Maximillian Ostergaard of Stromhaer.”
I blink. “O-kay.”
He just looks at me, like he’s waiting for more.
And I guess I am too, because…
“Wait.” I pull my hands from his. “What?”
“I don’t usually tell people. That is, if they don’t recognize me first.” He laughs once. “I rather like it when they don’t recognize me first.”
“So you’re what? Undercover?”
“How do you mean?” he says.
I rub my temples and take as large a drink of coffee as the hot liquid allows. Still, I burn the roof of my mouth.
“That was the wrong way to put it,” I say. “Wow. So you’re a prince.”
He casts a self-conscious look around the cafe. I don’t think I’m being particularly loud, but I bring my voice down anyway.
“Sorry,” I say. “It makes sense that you wouldn’t want attention. I wasn’t thinking about that.”
I don’t think he could look more surprised. “You believe me?”
“What reason do you have to lie to me?”
He lifts his palms. “None. It’s only that half the time when I tell people they do not believe me. I don’t often travel in a manner befitting royalty. Excepting my private jet.”
He says the last part so casually that if I had any doubt in the truthfulness of his claim, it would now be gone.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
His hands are still on the table, and I’m regretting withdrawing mine. Is there any way I can put them back where they were without it seeming weird?
“Do you remember the family troubles I mentioned last night?” he asks.
“Yeah…”
Max clears his throat and ducks his head. His eyes are on my face, but his posture makes it seem like he wants to fold into himself.
“My father has arranged a marriage for me.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I stay quiet.
“With a woman who is basically a stranger,” he continues.
“So it’s a lot like you and me.” I smile. I was getting angry at him earlier for making jokes, but I get it now. Sometimes when you’re confused and overwhelmed, the only thing you can do is poke fun at a situation.
Max laughs. “Believe it or not, you and I know each other better.”
Hearing this shouldn’t make me happy, but it does.
“Why?” I ask. “I mean, why did your father arrange a marriage for you? I didn’t even know that was still a thing.”
He nods, downcast. “It happens. He believes that I am not devoted enough to my royal duties, and a marriage will encourage me to settle down and take my obligations more seriously.”
There are so many questions I want to ask. What obligations? Why is he telling me all of this?
But I just sit there, my head buzzing with it all.
Max watches me cautiously.
“Poppy? Have I disturbed you with this?”
“No,” I quickly chirp. “This is… interesting news. I just don’t get why you’re telling me now.”
He takes a deep breath. “I believe that what has happened between you and I might actually be a fortuitous thing. My father has arranged this marriage with a Spanish princess—”
“Wow.” I breathe out quickly.
He keeps going. “And while he sees her as a fitting match, if I were already married…”
We sit still and look at each other.
“You’re trying to shake your dad off your trail?” I ask.
“Is that how you would put it in Jersey?”
“Are you… Max, are you saying that we should…”
“Stay married,” he confirms.
My muscles go weak, and my shoulders hit the back of my chair.
“Please hear me out,” he says.
I chug coffee, but there’s not enough caffeine in the world to help me wake up and greet this situation with a sunny disposition. I don’t even know what I think right now. I’m talking to a prince who wants to marry me.
Wait. I mean stay married to me.
It’s too much to handle, way more than I’ll ever be able to process. I don’t even make the decision to leave, but suddenly I’m standing, my feet carrying me to the door.
“Poppy?” he calls after me in confusion.
I don’t answer. I’m on the street, the noon sun striking my face. Draining the last of my coffee, I chuck it into a nearby trash can. I go to cross the street, but Max steps in front of me.
“Poppy. Please.”
I freeze up.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he says. “That was not my intention. Will you please allow me to explain myself?”
“You didn’t offend me, I’m only…”
Operating in flight or fight. I didn’t know what to do with all the information Max was throwing at me, and so I ran.
I gesture at a tiny park at the end of the street. Max nods gratefully, and we wordlessly make our way to the bench there. Once we sit down, I turn to him.
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“I want to stay married to you,” he says, “in order to evade my marriage to the Spanish princess.”
A man walking past catch
es the statement and throws us a funny look.
“Rehearsing lines,” I tell him with a smile.
The man shakes his head and mutters something in Danish that loosely translates to “theater people.”
“Max, I’m missing a lot of info here,” I say. “Like, why would you want to marry me and not a princess? And, also, you and I don’t know each other. We can’t stay married. That’s insane. And I know you said you don’t really know her, but that’s different. At least you have that royalty aspect in common.”
He’s been nodding through everything I say, and it seems he already has his answer prepared.
“It would not be a traditional marriage,” he says. “It would only be for show.”
I wait for that to sink in. “What, like a fake marriage?”
“For a time.”
My eyes narrow. “For how long?”
“I regret that I cannot give a definitive answer right now. My goal is to convince my father that I am already married, as I have said. Once a comfortable amount of time has passed, you and I can separate, if that is what you wish.”
“You think being married to some random girl for a little bit will make your dad happy?”
“It will buy me time, certainly.”
“Time for what?”
He clasps his hands behind his head and looks at the trees above us. “Time to travel. Energy to devote to my charities. The freedom to live my life the way I see fit without restraints or anyone else’s stifling opinions.”
My throat lumps up. I know exactly what he’s talking about.
“I don’t know,” I say.
He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “Is there someone in your life?”
It takes a breath for me to realize he’s talking about a boyfriend.
“No,” I say. “There’s no one else, but that doesn’t mean I can just say yes to this.”
“I would pay you very well.”
That shuts me right up.
“Oh,” is all I can manage. I wasn’t even thinking about money up until this point.
“I do not participate in royal affairs as much as my brother or some other princes. The most you would need to do is convince my father of our relationship and show up for the occasional dinner or event. Other than that, you would be free to do as you wish, with certain limitations. We would need to at least present the facade of living together, and if you were to see other men, you would need to be painstakingly discreet.”