Charlotte
We spent the rest of the day nursing our hangovers by the pool, which was the only place on earth that
didn’t hurt. Trent had claimed a lounge chair under an umbrella, sunglasses on, hair damp from swimming,
one hand holding his phone while he scrolled through his credit card statement without even flinching.
I really hoped that meant we hadn’t gone absolutely feral at the casino last night. I’d half expected to wake
up to an alert from my bank saying congratulations, you are now the proud owner of a small island.
But no. Trent didn’t look horrified. Just mildly baffled. Meanwhile, I was floating in the pool with my
arms hooked over the warm concrete edge, my cheeks burning every time I dared glance over at him.
Which was often. Too often.
The man looked unbelievably good in nothing but a pair of black swim trunks, his body bronzed, and
ripped, and stretched out like temptation I wasn’t allowed to touch.
Why does my husband have to be so hot? This hangover was brutal. Clearly, it had migrated into my moral
compass and rewired my brain, because all I could think about was the line of muscle down his stomach
and what his hands looked like resting on his thighs.
He’d told me earlier that we were leaving for Dallas in a few hours. Apparently, that had always been the
plan, but hearing it and knowing it meant we’d be going back to that big house of his, all
alone as a married couple, had made something knot low in my belly.
Try as I might, I hadn’t been able to undo the knot just yet, the desire coiling like a freaking Anaconda. I
let my chin rest on my forearm, watching him from under the brim of my hat. He was scrolling again, his
jaw flexing a little.
Maybe he was making a list of chores he’d expect me to perform as his wife. I could sure think of a few
wifely duties I wouldn’t mind taking on right about now. My cheeks burst into flame again at the thought.
The stupid, reckless, body-before-brain thought. But here was the thing. Trent and I were married now.
Actually married. With rings and paperwork that was being filed under legally binding marriages.
So what does that mean for us? My face got even hotter and I ducked my head a little de eper into the water
like I could drown the thought before it grew legs, but it was too late. For the first time since all this
insanity had started and Trent had thrown me over his shoulder, declaring that we were getting married, I
wondered about what our marriage would actually look like.
Mostly, I wondered if Trent had thought about it yet. If he had some kind of plan for... physical needs.
My wildly inconvenient thoughts were cut off when he leaned forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on
his knees as he finally answered one of the ridiculous questions I’d been pestering him with all morning,
mostly to distract myself, partially to get under his skin. I’d asked this one so long ago I’d completely
forgotten about it.
“Charlotte,” he said, his voice rough with leftover sle ep and sun. “No, I do not think we adopted a turtle
last night.”
I barely heard him, because leaning forward like he was right now, every muscle in his arms and shoulders
flexed in a way that made my stomach tighten and my brain short-circuit.
Good Lord. He was just so big. Broad. Solid. He’s big everywhere. I’m sure of it. I sank under the water
like a submarine taking evasive action, holding my breath until my lungs screamed, hoping the chlorine
could smother whatever hormonal wildfire had taken over my bloodstream. I needed to stop thinking about
him like this.
He wasn’t thinking about me that way. Obviously. He’d been nothing but respectful, borderline grumpy,
and focused on logistics. Real, life-saving logistics that had k ept me from being on a flight to England right
about now.
I popped up out of the water, shaking my head. Trent was still leaning forward like that, his eyes suddenly
locked right on mine. “Are you okay? You went down for a bit too long that time.”
Oh, I want to go down, alright. I almost groaned out loud, but I managed to flash him a bright smile
instead. “Breathing exercises. They help ke ep me calm.”
He nodded slowly, but when my gaze dropped to the curve of his bic ep for just a moment before I
wrenched it away, the barest hint of a smirk took up residence on his lips. “Does it work?”
I blinked hard. “Does what work?” “The breathing exercises,” he said, his tongue sliding across his lips
before he continued. “Have they calmed you down?”
“Uh, well, I’m not actively freaking out right now, so yeah. I’d say they work.”
He held my gaze, heat flickering in his. “Maybe I should try it, too.”
“You need to calm down?” “Y ep.” He leaned back in his chair instead of getting up though, which meant
my stupidly pounding heart was going crazy for no reason.
My reason for having to calm down and his were clearly two very different things. Eventually, he did come
to join me in the pool, but only after a few long minutes of just sitting there, not even really looking at me.
By the time we’d packed up and headed downstairs to check out, I was convinced that the pool chemicals
had poisoned my brain. My body was on complete high alert today and it was ridiculous.
You need to stop wanting your husband like this, Char. It’s not going to happen. You’ll just end up giving
yourself blue ovaries for the rest of your life.
Halfway to the airport, Trent suddenly slowed the truck, breaking me out of my thoughts about my ovaries
and the methods he might use to go about putting children in me one day. He signaled and turned toward a
parking lot, and I frowned.
“Uh, what are we doing?” I asked. “I thought we were leaving, not shopping.”
He nodded toward the storefront. When I tracked his gaze, I realized we were at a jewelry store. A
high-end one, no less, complete with gleaming displays in the windows, velvet linings, and classy lighting.
“We need real wedding bands,” he said simply, pulling into a parking space. “Not whatever these things
are.”
He lifted his hand and wiggled the fake gold monstrosity, the one turning his finger a light shade of swamp
green. I snorted. “You say that like that isn’t couture.”
He shot me a deadpan look. “It’s cutting off my circulation.” “Mine’s giving me a rash,” I admitted,
holding up my hand where the gaudy plastic diamond was threatening to exfoliate my knuckle off. “I
thought you said you were never taking it off, though.”
“That was before I remembered that limbs need blood in order to stay healthy.”
“Right.” We climbed out of the truck, walking into the cool interior side by side. The saleswoman took one
look at our matching tacky rings and burst into delighted laughter before she slapped on a professional
smile.
“We, uh, had a theme,” I said, trying to sound dignified. Trent murmured, “Don’t lie to the woman,
Charlotte.” I elbowed him and he smirked, but somehow, this absurd little moment so far away from
Chicago, and my father, and any expectations, was like breathing fresh air for the first time in days. It just
felt like, right now, neither of us had to pretend or strategize.
We could just be two hungover idiots trying to upgrade the evidence of their impulsive Vegas marriage.
Trent picked up a simple gold band, turning it between his fingers.
As I watched him inspect it, a strange ache bloomed in my chest when I realized that I would see that ring
on him every day. On his hand. On my husband.
He glanced at me and something almost tender passed between us, but then he cleared his throat and
pointed at the display case. “Let’s try that one for you, yeah?”
I nodded, but I didn’t even glance at the wedding band he’d suggested until he slid it onto my finger. It was
stunning and regal, nothing like the bargain-bin set we’d grabbed last night, and I forgot how to breathe for
a second watching it slide into place.
I looked up at him, noticing that he seemed slightly breathless as he stared down at the ring too. Or maybe
that’s just me projecting. Yeah, that’s definitely what it is.
This was Trent I was looking at, the cowboy bound by duty... to me. His motivation for doing this wasn’t
that de ep. It had nothing to do with feelings.
Even though I still felt like I’d never actually climbed out of the de ep end of that hotel pool and was
currently drowning in too many feelings. He smoothed his thumb over my finger and murmured, low and
sure, “I think this is the one.”
Yeah, he is. I mean. The ring. The ring was fine. Just. Freaking. Fine.