I groan as the lancing pain in my head comes rushing back with a vengeance. I cringe and sit back on my heels, holding my head and trying to keep it together.
Fuck, I’m married. Me - the hottest, most in-demand bachelor in pro sports.
I need coffee.
Well, coffee or something ten times stronger. I need aspirin, or fucking Pedialyte or something. Fuck, I need something nuclear for this hangover.
But first thing’s first, I need coffee.
And then we need to sort this shit out, fast.
11
Natalie
The coffee burns through me like a cleansing fire, and for the first time since waking up to my nightmare, I’m at least feeling semi-human.
My head’s still swimming though, as I sit slumped in the diner booth, still feeling barely half-alive, as I take tentative sips from the mug in my hand.
I can’t believe this is happening.
This can’t be real - not in any rational world. There’s no real scenario where I somehow wake up to find myself actually married to the most notorious, crudest, scandal-ridden man in pro sports.
I have to be dreaming - at least, that’s what my brain keeps trying to tell me. I’m going to wake up any minute now, and I’ll still be the unmarried Natalie Ames, not the newly married Natalie Taylor. I’ll wake up back-
I frown; where indeed? Back with Vince? Back in my awful excuse for a life as someone’s life accessory?
I scowl into the mug in my hands - yeah, some choice.
But here I am, married. I got married.
In Las Vegas.
Austin looks about as terrible as I feel, which, though cruel sounding, does actually make me feel better. And he’s right - I’m fairly certain nothing happened last night. Well, aside from the rock on my finger. But psychically, I don’t think we actually got to that. I can remember kissing him – Lord, do I remember that much. In multiple bars and clubs, in that damn limousine, in the lobby of the hotel-
I cringe, suddenly wondering exactly how much of my night I’ll be reminded of in freaking tabloid papers, seeing as my new “husband” is apparently a world-famous sports star.
Yeah, I don’t follow sports of any kind in any way, but I’m kicking myself over how I could’ve managed not to put a name, or a face, or any of it to glimpses I can now recall on the cover of grocery store tabloid magazines.
“Okay, we can deal with this.”
I look up to see Austin rubbing his temples and staring haggardly into his own coffee.
“Uh, yeah, we get a divorce,” I mutter.
“Well, hang on now.”
I jerk my head up, narrowing my eyes at him.
“I mean, the deal was to get married, after all.”
My jaw drops. “For the last time, it was to get fake married,” I hiss.
Austin shrugs, waving his hand as if what I’ve just said is inconsequential.
“Whatever, yeah, but we were going to get fake divorced later.”
I make a face. “Oh were we?”
He raises a brow at me. “Uh, yeah, of course we were. This wasn’t for forever, obviously, just until I could get my image together a little bit. You’d meet someone else, leave me-”
I bark out a laugh. “You arrogant prick.”
“What?”
“I leave you?” I glare at him. “Why am I the heartless bitch who does the cheating and leaving in this scenario?”
He frowns. “Hey, I’m paying for my image, not yours.”
We glare at each other in silence, quietly sipping coffee as we shoot daggers at one another with our eyes.
Finally, he puts his mug down and steeples his fingers. “So we’ll wait, and get a real divorce later.”
I swear under my breath.
“I’ll pay for it, of course.”
I snort. “Damn right you will.”
Austin rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbles. “We’ll work out who leaves who and why later, but for now.”
He shakes his head, knitting his brow.
“Fuck, for now, we’re married.”
“Fine.” I glare down at the table and push an empty sugar packet across the plastic surface.
Austin clears his throat. “So, uh, this is a little awkward, but now that we’re legally married…” he trails off and I frown.
“What?”
He shrugs. “I, uh, I need to protect myself.”
I see red for a second as I debate throwing my coffee right in his prick face.
“Excuse me?! You’re the gross man-whore here.”
“No, not that,” he says, snorting out a chuckle. “I mean financially.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“I need a prenup.”
I laugh. “Fuck you.”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah, so am I. Do I look like a gold digger?”
He frowns. “Well, no, I’m just saying-”