Sandy curled her hands back around the mug, wishing the warmth made her feel better. “Vegas.”
Skillet held aloft, Adele stared. “Are you serious?”
“We took a helicopter from here to the airport in Lawley, where his private jet flew us to Las Vegas. There was a lot of champagne.”
“I guess that explains the hangover. What did y’all do there? Gamble? See some shows?”
Sandy hesitated, sipping coffee to buy more time. She could tell Adele. Adele wouldn’t judge. She’d been there. “We got married.”
The egg fell from Adele’s hand onto the counter and cracked, oozing across the granite. “You did what?”
“I should say, we woke up married. Neither of us much remembers the wedding.”
“Then how do you know you got married?”
“Well, there were the rings.” She’d taken off the wedding band on the flight home—the most awkward three-and-a-half hours of her life, during which she and Trey had both been on the phone, taking care of their respective businesses and all the issues that had arisen in their unplanned absence. But she could still feel the imprint of it on her skin, like a brand.
“Also, the naked.” That long, warm, male body all tangled up with hers.
“Vegas is a crazy place. You could’ve gotten rings without actually getting married.”
“Trey tracked down the chapel and confirmed before we left yesterday morning. We got married.” Saying it aloud didn’t make it feel any more real.
“So, you got married in a wedding you don’t remember. What about the wedding night?”
She could still feel the soreness of muscles long unused and that particular loose-limbed sensation of having been well loved. And she couldn’t remember a damned thing. Well, okay, that wasn’t true. Bits and pieces had come back. Erotic snapshots that made her inner muscles clench. But not the whole. That seemed like the worst part of it all—that her punishment for such a reckless decision was the loss of almost all knowledge of whatever pleasure they’d brought to each other.
“I remember less than I like but enough to know I broke my drought in spectacular fashion.”
“Well, congratulations, Mrs. Peyton.”
“Don’t say that.” Sandy shook her head and wished she hadn’t. “It was a mistake.”
“Are you sure?”
“What do you mean, am I sure? In what world is a drunk Vegas wedding not a mistake? You, of all people, should remember that.”
“Ah, yes, but I married a virtual stranger. You married the guy you’ve spent thirty years secretly carrying a torch for.”
“I have not been carrying a torch for thirty years.”
“You haven’t let yourself admit it, but you absolutely have. I know you. No matter how drunk you may have been, you’d never have gone through with it unless some part of you actually wanted to do it.”
Was that true? Was she blaming the alcohol for a decision she had, on some level, consciously made? Had it made her foolish, or had it simply removed the mountains of inhibitions and doubts so she got out of her own way?
“What did your family say?”
“We certainly haven’t told them. The last thing I need is to be judged for yet another hasty marriage. One I put even less thought into than saying ‘Yes’ to my high school sweetheart.” Thirty years of pitying glances and looks over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t screwing up again was quite enough.
“You and Waylan were both young.”
“We were. Painfully so. But the young don’t have the market cornered on foolish mistakes, as my weekend has made evident.”
“What does Trey say about all of this? Does he think it was a mistake?”
>
This is one of my college fantasies fulfilled…Marrying you.