Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
If I got there before they sent off the paperwork to the state, maybe this whole thing could just go away like it never happened. No paperwork. No actual physical proof of this idiotic drunken marriage to follow me for the rest of my life.
I mean, this whole town ran on money.
And I had a chips bag full of it.
More than most of the employees would see in a year, maybe more.
Surely one of them would take the bribe, find the paperwork, and shred it like it never existed at all.
There would be no need for lawyers.
No arguing over divorce paperwork.
Just… a reset button for the night before.
Did I think Harrison would be happy about it? No. The freak. But… if the marriage contract was gone, what leg did he have to stand on legally? None. If questioned, I could just claim I had no idea what he was talking about.
We’d hooked up, that was it.
No marriage.
No lifelong regrets.
Just a mistaken memory.
And I wouldn’t even feel bad about the lie.
He didn’t seem to feel bad about saying no to a divorce.
So why should I feel that way about erasing our mistake?
I sucked in a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and moved up the front path.
For the first time all morning, something dangerously close to hope unfurled in my chest.
Everything was going to be okay.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Mrs. Valentine!” a chipper voice chimed as I moved inside the front door, pretending to ignore the way the bell on it set off the sound of the Wedding March.
“What?” I asked, brows pinching.
“Mrs. Valentine,” she repeated with a big cherry-lipped smile.
Mrs. Valentine.
Well.
That made the world feel like it tilted off its axis.
But at least I knew Harrison’s last name now.
Not mine.
Not yet.
Not if I had anything to say about it.
The woman reached up, tucking some of her red hair behind her ear, likely not liking the look on my face.
But she made her smile stretch wider, even though it was no longer meeting her eyes.
“Are you here to pick up your package?”
“My… package?”
“Why, yes, Mr. Valentine splurged for our super deluxe package.”
“Super deluxe package?”
“Yes, of course!” God, how was she so chipper? “It included witnesses, a bouquet—though, you didn’t need that, not with that gorgeous one you brought with you!”
We brought flowers with us?
That was very premeditated, wasn’t it?
But, then again, so were the rings, if we’d gotten them before, not after, like I’d assumed.
I was hoping it had been a literal spur-of-the-moment thing, not something we’d discussed beforehand.
“And there was the videography and ten candid ceremony photos!”
Geez.
There was actual footage of this crime?
“You two were just in such a hurry to, well, anyone could guess,” she said with a wicked gleam in her eye. “And you forgot to look at the footage.”
“Oh, right. Actually, I need to speak to a manager. Or supervisor. Or… someone in charge. Immediately.”
“Oh,” she said, mouth going into a pout. Like maybe she knew what this was about. Like maybe this happened often. “Okay, well, Johnny isn’t in yet. But he will be soon. I could set you up to check out your footage while you wait, if you want. You two were so sweet.”
Her eyes actually went dreamy.
Had we been that cute?
Or was this woman just delusional about the ‘love stories’ that walked through her doors?
Either way, my curiosity was a little piqued. If I saw the footage, maybe it would knock some more memories free of the night before.
“Alright,” I agreed, sounding about as enthusiastic as I’d be about a root canal.
“Okay, come on, right this way. Oh! I remember that ring!” she said, coming out from behind the desk. “It’s even prettier than I remembered.”
She snatched up my hand to look at the ring for a moment before bustling forward toward the hall.
I followed, glancing at all the canvas prints on the walls, wondering how many of these supposedly happy couples were still married.
“Here we are,” the lady said, opening the door to an office and ushering me inside.
It was a small, tidy space with a desk empty save for the desktop computer.
I dropped down on one of the guest chairs as she moved to the desk.
“Okay. Let’s see,” she said, her long red nails tapping on the keys. “Valentine, Valen… there you are!”
She turned the monitor to me.
And there we were.
“Wait,” I said, zeroing in on myself. “I wasn’t wearing a black dress?”
That was the last thing I remembered: putting on the dress after hooking up with Harrison… then going down to the bar together.
But the woman in the picture I was looking at was wearing a white dress. A white wedding dress.
It was a simple one, something even a sober version of me might have picked out. It was white, sheath, with a V-neck and an ankle-length skirt. Nothing too fancy. But very clearly matrimonial.