Accidentally Yours novel Chapter 3

Oh, sweet Jesus.

The ache in my head rouses me from my very peaceful slumber: that and the distinct smell of coconut and passionfruit. I shift to roll onto my side and frown when I feel a heaviness on my chest. I force my eyes open and wince from the sheer brightness of the sun beaming on my face. I glance down at the head of silky brown hair and get another waft of the coconut, passionfruit concoction. It’s her. I shift my head to the side and study the face of the girl currently sprawled across my chest. Not bad. I’ve woken up with worse. Her lips soft and pink, long dark lashes, perfectly shaped eyebrows.

What the hell happened last night? I can’t remember a damn thing. Who is this girl? I peel her arm away from my chest gently, detangle our legs, and she moans as I roll her off me, and she snuggles into the pillow with a sigh. I let my eyes wander over her naked body, half wrapped in the sheets while she’s sprawled out on her front, her long dark hair splayed out on the pillow. I take a closer look at her face and frown. Nope, don’t remember a fucking thing. Complete blackout. I look around the room. Our clothes littered haphazardly on the marble floor. Where the fuck are we? I pull my boxers on and walk over to the window. Why does the view look so familiar? Wait. Am I in fucking Vegas? I rub my hands over my face and look at the scenery ahead once again. Oh yeah, I'm in Vegas all right. I pick up my jeans off the floor and stuff my hands in the pockets hoping I’ll find some clue of what the hell went down. I pull out a piece of paper from my back pocket along with my passport and unfold it. It’s damp— come to think of it, so are my jeans.

‘Marriage Certificate.’

I stare at the words blankly for a long moment. No fucking way. I did not go and get married to a random girl. I read the rest of the document and curse. Oh fuck. ‘Marriage of Tristan Cole Hoult and Shayla Hart.’

If the certificate wasn’t enough proof, I had a gold wedding band on my finger. I lean closer and look at the girl in the bed, and she’s also wearing a diamond ring on her finger. We got married. We flew to Vegas and got married.

“Fuck.” I find my phone on the table by the bed and walk out of the room. I have to call my lawyer. I’m hoping— no praying this marriage wasn’t legal.

“Mr Hoult. How can I help you?” Franc—my lawyer's sleepy voice came from the other end. Of course, time difference, it’s probably early hours there.

“Franc, apologies for waking you. Is marriage in Vegas legally binding?”

“Do you have a wedding certificate?” He responds. I snap a photo of the certificate and send it to him.

“I’ve just sent you a photo. Take a look.”

I hear him fumble with his phone on the other end. “Yes. It’s legal, Mr Hoult.” He questions and my heart sink to the pit of my stomach. I stare at the certificate in my hand and sigh.

“Jesus Christ. I don’t remember a damn thing. We were so drunk. Surely there a legal loophole to get me out of this?”

“I’ll look into it. We’ll get the marriage annulled on the grounds of you both being intoxicated.” He says, and I nod pacing back and forth.

“Great. Keep me updated.” I say and end the call. What the fuck were you thinking marrying a girl you don’t even know, you absolute idiot. This is so unlike me. I don’t drink this much. Ever. Hell, I don’t even go out. My life is all about work, and when I do have time to blow off some steam, I have a couple of scotch’s then leave with whatever girl catches my attention that night. No, this is reckless and irresponsible, two things I most definitely am not. I’ve never gotten so drunk that I blackout and have no memory.