“I think I’m going to die.” I sit up and groan, resisting the urge to vomit, and shield my eyes from the nasty sunlight streaming through the windows. “Really, this time, my head’s going to explode and I’ll get blood and brains all over these expensive sheets.”

My best friend Claire is sitting at the end of my bed, and her expression isn’t exactly sympathetic. In fact, it’s fair to say that she’s looking amused at my misery, which isn’t a very nice way for a best friend to behave.

“Claire! You could at least pretend to care!”

“You’ve only got yourself to blame, Tess, you sneaky little liar! You told me you wanted to get an early night, and then you slink away and have the wildest night of your life.” She fixes me with a stern look and folds her arms in front of her. “Without me.”

The wildest night of my life? That’s a pretty high standard to beat, seeing as I’ve already survived a mobster husband.

I reach for my handbag, every single movement pure agony, and rifle through it until I find some Tylenol. There isn’t any water, so I just swallow them down dry. That doesn’t help my nausea any, but I don’t think I can manage the walk to the bathroom just yet.

“What are you talking about?” I croak. “What did I do?”

Last night is still a complete blank, as my mind struggles to catch up through the hangover.

Claire looks at me with a mixture of pity and amusement.

“Oh, Tess, this one’s a doozy, it really is. I think you’re going to struggle to ever top it, to be honest. What do you remember?”

I frown, trying to think back, then immediately stop because it hurts too much.

Okay, no frowning. In fact, no movement or facial expressions at all.

“I uh . . . we had dinner, right? Yeah, and then some guy came and started chatting you up, and I left once the two of you started eating each other’s faces instead of your food.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Wow, you have such a way with words. Anyway, yeah, that’s a crude and gross representation of what happened. Thanks for that. You said you were going to go up to the room and soak in the tub, then get an early night, which is the most blatant lie I have ever heard in all my life.”

She picks up the TV remote and flips through the channels, as if she’s looking for something specific.

I remember all that stuff. And I remember really looking forward to that bath and then relaxing in this ridiculously comfortable bed with its 1,500-thread-count sheets. It’s not every day I get to experience luxury like this, and I wanted to make the most of it.

I’m more of a couch-surfing kind of gal. I love to travel, but I don’t have the kind of income that allows me to live it up everywhere I go.

To be honest, I’m cool with that, and even kind of enjoy the random people and the cool experiences you can have in hostels, but I’m visiting Vegas with Claire this time. Claire would not be found dead in a hostel—she’d freak out at the mere concept.

She insisted we stay at the Bellagio, penthouse suite, her treat. Well, her Dad’s treat. She has access to his credit cards, and she is not afraid to use them.

The fanciest restaurants, spas and massages, room service whenever we want . . . I’ve actually started to feel kind of guilty imagining the running cost of everything in my head.

Claire invited me to visit her in celebration of me getting the new job I’d been angling for. It’s an admin/PA role in one of the big Fortune 500 companies. The salary isn’t anything to write home about, but the opportunities for advancement are amazing.

After working dead-end jobs for so long, landing it was A Big Deal. I finally feel like a real grown-up with a real job, and of course the first person I called to tell was Claire.

“Oh my Goddd, that’s amazing!” she squealed down the phone. “When do you start?”

Upon finding out that I still had two weeks to go, she immediately, and without consulting me, booked me flights to visit her in Vegas. And so that’s where I find myself—here in this fancy hotel room, nursing the hangover from hell, and wondering just what the hell I’ve done last night to get her so excited.

Claire is still flipping through channels, until, with an exclamation of excitement, she finds what she’s looking for. She points at the TV and giggles. “Look!”

My eyes are still kind of blurry, and I blink to try and clear them.

On the screen, two people. It looks like they are coming out of a chapel. Wait, not just any chapel, one of those tacky 24-hour Vegas chapels.

“. . . billionaire investment mogul Luke Alder was spotted last night, around 2 a.m., exiting the world-famous Chapel of the Flowers in Las Vegas, with a mystery woman on his arm. The couple looked happy, and appeared to have just gotten married. How will Luke, who has previously been named ‘America’s most eligible bachelor’, break the news to his legions of devoted fans? Stick with us for . . .”

I tune out the rest of the presenter’s spiel, because I’ve just noticed who the “mystery woman” is on this apparent billionaire’s arm, grinning like a loon.

It’s me.

My blood runs cold in my veins, and I feel like vomiting.

“Does thing thing have DVR?” I yell at Claire. Forgetting my throbbing head for a second, I lurch forward and wrestle the remote from her hands, rewinding the footage.

Yep, still me. I look a little wild-eyed and crazy, and definitely a little unsteady on my feet. Not surprising considering I had enough to drink to forget I’ve married a complete stranger.

“Oh my God,” I groan, sinking back into the fluffy pillows. “This can’t be real. It just can’t. What in the name of all that is holy have I done?”

Claire is grinning at me like this is just the best thing ever. “I know, right? It’s amazing! Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you, Tess. You’ve always been one of those dependable friends, you know? Someone that I know isn’t going to do something crazy and wild and unpredictable. But this? This is just delicious.”

I’m on the verge of tears. What are my parents going to say? How can I even face them? If this guy is a big enough deal to be appearing on TV, they might have already heard the news.

“Claire, please. This is a crisis. You can’t just go around marrying strangers in Vegas.”

She laughs. “But, don’t you see? This is Vegas, baby! You can just marry a stranger . . . and you did!”

She glances back at the screen, the image of me and my new husband frozen in time.

“And, to be honest, it’s goddamn Luke Alder. Holy shit, girl! The dude is hot as hell and richer than God.”

A sly look comes over her face, and she grins at me.

“So, uh . . . I don’t want to pry or anything, you know me, but . . . how was the wedding night? Did you two lovebirds consummate your marriage, if you know what I mean?”

Her eyes are shining and she’s just having the best time.

At least one of us is.

I groan.

“I don’t even want to think about . . .”

My voice trails off as more fuzzy memories of the night enter unbidden into my mind. Of limbs tangled together in the dark, of soft lips crushing mine in a passionate embrace. A man with a rock-hard body, built like a brick wall. Arms bulging, abs chiseled from stone. And a huge . . .

So that’s why I’m kind of sore down there too, huh? Well this just keeps getting better and better.

I howl in anguish and pull the covers back up over my head. Everything had been going so well. I finally got the job I wanted, finally got some semblance of security and a plan to move my life forward, and now I’ve gone and done this.

I feel Claire come and sit next to me.

“Hey, Tessa babe, it’ll be okay. All you need to do is get the marriage annulled, forget it ever happened, and move on with your life. People do it all the time.”

Her voice is a little more sympathetic now, and I emerge from under the covers, peeking up at her.

“Really?” I sniff. “Is it as easy as that? I can just sign some forms or something and make this all go away?”

She shrugs. “I’m not a lawyer, but that’s how it happens on TV shows, isn’t it? You just go down to the county courthouse or something.”

She isn’t exactly inspiring confidence in me with her expert legal knowledge, but there’s probably some truth to what she said.

Claire stands and strides over to the windows and pulls the curtains open. The full glare of the desert sun streams in, searing a hole in my head. I dart back under the covers again until Claire strips them off of me.

“C’mon, lazy! We only have a couple more days until you need to fly home, and we can’t let something like a silly, little, shotgun wedding throw a spanner in the works! Get up, get yourself cleaned up, and we’ll order some breakfast. And maybe a couple Bloody Marys. Everything looks a little better after a Bloody Mary.”

The thought of alcohol is almost enough to make me hurl on its own, but she’s right. I’m not going to get anything accomplished by laying here feeling sorry for myself all day. Once I’m showered and feel a little more human, I’ll be able to handle this.

I roll out of bed, wincing at that ache between my legs, and stumble toward the bathroom. Claire is already on the phone ordering room service by the time I’m undressed and have planted myself under the luxuriously hot shower.

The hot water helps immensely, and I’m grateful for Claire’s Daddy’s credit card. For a moment, I even forget about my predicament.

Just for a moment, though. As I step out and look in the mirror at my severely hungover face, a sense of despair washes over me again.

What the hell am I going to do?