My gaze narrowed. “Okay?”
Liberty’s eyebrows shot up. “And you’d both already had a couple of drinks, and then you had a couple more...”
“And it basically turned into The Hangover from there,” Nathan finished for the girl. “You two were fucking insane, and the rest of us just tried to keep you from skydiving and shit.”
“Could you skip to the part where the rings appeared on our hands?” I growled, my patience already razor-thin and disintegrating at a rapid rate.
“I caught that on film, actually.” Sterling slid his phone across the polished cherry wood, and I caught it, putting it between Persephone and me.
She pressed play.
“Bigger,” I said, pointing to a ring case. “She has to have the best one you’ve got.”
“I like that one!” Persephone pointed to a spot on the glass.
“This one is going to set you back a pretty penny,” the attendant warned as he brought the ring out.
“I don’t care what it costs as long as she’s happy.”
“I love it!” Persephone slid it onto her finger. “And it fits! See? We’re meant to be, Cannon.” She smiled up at me adoringly. “But you need one too!”
The camera turned around, the frame filling with Sterling’s face. “Just for posterity’s sake, we’ve told you guys this is a bad idea at least two dozen times, but you’re pretty insistent.”
“Sterling! We need to get the license! Let’s go!” I shouted.
The video ended, and Persephone and I stared at each other.
“No way,” she said, turning toward Harper. “There’s zero way you guys let us get married when we were drunk and drugged out of our minds! This is all some really sick joke, right?”
“It’s not a joke,” Harper said softly. “I went with you to pick out your dress.”
Persephone blanched.
“But we’re not actually married, right?” she insisted.
“You are,” Liberty said gently. “It was the cutest ceremony by this little, old, singing Elvis, and you guys looked so happy—”
“There is no way I got married by a singing Elvis!” Persephone shouted.
Damn, I’d never heard the woman get that loud before. If this wasn’t Connell, I was going to have to give it to whoever had seen this prank through. It was some pretty realistic shit.
“Okay, if that really happened, then where’s the video of that?” I challenged, sliding the phone back at Sterling.
“They said we couldn’t record,” he answered with a shrug as he caught it. “But you bought their recording, and he said it would be mailed to you on disc within two weeks.” He thumbed through his phone. “Here, I have this one, though.”
He slid it back, and we repeated the earlier pattern.
“It looks so good on you,” Persephone said as her thumb stroked over my ring finger.
“What’s the silver part?” I asked.
“It’s meteorite. I figured it fit since you’re out of this world. Get it?” She giggled.
“You are incredible, Mrs. Price.” I hoisted her into my arms, fluffy white dress and all, and carried her into our hotel.
Suddenly it didn’t feel like a prank. My stomach twisted at the very real implications of what we’d done last night.
“I knew you were going to regret it,” Nathan muttered, shaking his head.
“Then why the fuck didn’t you stop us?” I snapped.
“Man, have you ever seen…you?” Nixon asked, gesturing to my torso. “You were really fucking goal-oriented, and we all have million-dollar contracts. You look like you could easily rip off my arms.”
I could easily rip his arms off, but I kept that fact to myself.
“And he’s a quarterback,” Liberty nodded slowly. “He kind of needs his arm.”
“True story,” he said to her with a grin.
“Okay.” Persephone sat up even straighter. “Let me get this straight. We decided that we should get married. How?”
They all exchanged looks. “None of us saw that part. You guys were sitting next to each other on the plane, and by the time it landed, you were on a mission,” Harper supplied.
“And you’re telling me that this isn’t a prank? That we actually bought rings, bought a dress and a tux, purchased a wedding license, and then got married by a singing Elvis?” Persephone restated what we’d already heard, keeping her voice miraculously calm.
“Pretty much,” Nathan agreed.
“Okay,” she sat back and folded her arms across her chest with a Cheshire cat grin. “If this is real and you’re not pulling our legs, where is the marriage license?”
They all exchanged knowing looks, and Nathan nodded toward Sterling.
The kid turned in his seat and grabbed a folder from the buffet table behind him. Then he slid it straight at me.
I caught the white and gold folder emblazoned with the name of a wedding chapel on the front and opened it slowly.
My stomach twisted into a hellacious knot.
“Oh God,” Persephone whispered next to me.
It was a perfectly executed copy of a marriage license, signed by both of us. A certified copy, to be specific.
“Where’s the original?” I questioned. This was fixable. It had to be.
“You guys were married at four p.m. and made it to the clerk and recorder by four-thirty,” Harper answered. “For being out of your minds, you were ridiculously thorough. The county took your original for recording and gave you the certified copy.”
“Let me guess, we’ll get that in the mail too?” I quipped sarcastically.
“Pretty much,” the scientist answered, then sipped her orange juice.
I stared down at the license, letting the reality of it sink in.
“Holy. Shit.” Persephone’s words were a breath of a whisper. “We did it.”
Three facts hit me simultaneously.
The first was that I was actually, really, completely married to Persephone.
The second was the way she’d signed, officially taking my name.
And the third—the most ridiculous out of all of this—somehow, I’d managed to kiss the very woman I’d fantasized about for the last two fucking years, and I couldn’t remember a single second of it.
Married. Bound. Chained to a woman I’d never be worthy of, a woman I’d destroy with my temper or my reputation. She’d never survive it unscathed, not in the debutante circles she ran. Her family had more blue blood than freaking aliens. She represented everything I hated about class warfare, and I was everything she turned her nose up at.
“Cannon, I think we’re really married,” Persephone whispered.
My reply came without hesitation. “Not for long.”
2
Persephone
This is fine.
I repeated the words over and over in my head as I calmly collected pieces of clothing scattered across the hotel room. My clothing.
A silk blouse here.
A sleek pencil skirt there.
My strappy black pumps over in the corner.
Sweet heavens, why had I hung my red lace bralette on the doorknob?