I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at it gently as I pull it back into order.

These flashes of last night just keep coming. It’s all happening so fast, but in such great detail that I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle myself.

I can see Sammi, Becky, and Mysti waiting for me at the stoop. But rather than going right to them, I turn back toward the door. Inside, I approach the woman running the brothel.

“Could I use your restroom? I’ve been holding it for hours.”

“Yes, absolutely. It’s just across the way, over there,” she responds, pointing right past the place I shagged my mystery man.

“Thank you.”

As I pass by the window, a chill rolls down my spine, and I exhale slowly, still processing everything I just saw before my own eyes.

It was all so real.

The touching. The kissing. The sex. There’s no denying it happened.

I’m thrown right back into the memory, seeing flashes of everything in my head as I walk across the room.

As I snap back into reality, I quiver. I think back hard to last night, trying to remember my mystery man’s face. It’s all a blur.

I just remember that phenomenal cock and how he made me shudder at his touch.

I sigh in frustration, wishing I could confront him. I desperately need to know what happened last night, and he seems to be the common link.

I can’t imagine that I’d have married this guy last night unless we had some entirely insane connection. I know myself.

Or at least I thought I did.

I walk into the restroom, locking the door after I entered. I put my hands against the edge of the sink and give myself a good hard look in the mirror.

Sweat. I’m fucking sweating right now.

I really need to get my shit together.

I turn the faucet on and let water on to my hands, splashing it against my face.

Staring into the mirror, I reach down for a hand towel and pat my face dry before letting myself out and returning to the front door of the brothel.

“Thank you for your help,” I tell the woman as I exit.

She watches me as I walk down the steps.

As my gals come into view, now down the street, I make my way over to them.

I have so much to fill them in on.

I walk, thinking all over it again.

It’s so much to remember. God, there’s so much to explain.

How can I spare them the slutty details while still getting the point across?

But then, I realize there’s really no tiptoeing around this.

At least they’d understand. I’ve never been a shy person about my sex life, but when I’m literally remembering it all as I’m telling them, as unbelievable as it is for me, I’m a little embarrassed and vulnerable.

But I know I have the right group of friends. They’ll support me no matter what I do or who I am.

I take a deep breath and exhale, nearing them. I’m about ten feet away.

Suddenly, lights begin to flash before my eyes, the clicking sound of insects surrounding me.

Then, I get bum rushed by an overwhelming, loud bustle of paparazzi. Their cameras are flashing on my face, their microphones are bumping into me, and their voices constantly buzzing in my ears like pesky flies.

They bombard me with question after question about Anton and my former relationship with him. Half of them are holding up tabloids with a picture of Anton and this black haired bitch.

Fucking great.

“Have you and Anton broken up?” one starts.

“Is this brunette his mistress?” another asks at the same time.

“Do you have anything you would like to tell Anton right now?”

“Is it true that this woman has replaced you?”

“Any comment?” some impatient wise-ass pesters.

“No, no comment. Just move!” I shout.

I shove them, trying to break free. The only way to escape is to walk right into traffic, which is obviously not a solution.

They stay firmly planted, swarming me and harrassing me until I answer.

“I don’t know her, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

Fuck. I can’t even handle this shit. How am I supposed to keep my own shit together when no one will leave me alone about who Anton is with?

I don’t care who she is.

All I know is that I have my own life to worry about, and that I married some stranger last night that I can’t stop having flashbacks about fucking.

The questions keep rolling in.

“What do you think of this woman?”

“Would you approve?”

“Does Anton have your blessing for this new relationship?”

“This happened so fast! How are you handling being dumped?”

“I broke up with him!” I shout to the hungry crowd, immediately regretting my words.

Even though it’s true, I don’t want to put him down like that.

“When did you decide to send him to the curb?”

“Was he cheating on you with this woman?”

“No! He would never cheat on me! He wanted to marry me for Christ’s sake. I pushed him away. And clearly he found someone else after just a day!”

I find myself feeding into the nonsense.

I know better. I really do. But right now I’m hurt and confused and upset.

Not to mention hungover.

I want to go back to my hotel and take a fucking nap and then just go home.

If you get married in another country, does it even count? I can just pretend this didn’t happen when I get back to the United States.

But part of me really wants to meet him.

Sober.

I want to see the real him. I want to know what was so special about him for me to decide to marry him.

“Percy!” someone shouts.

I ignore it.

“Persephone!” I hear.

God dammit, this is getting so irritating.

“Percy, we need answers!” the little fuck in front of me shouts.

I cock my hand back, ready to sucker punch this little asshole.

But as I put force behind my swing, I start moving backwards.

Panicked, I whip my head around.

Before I can even understand what’s going on, I’m in the back of a limo.

Anton’s limo.

And he’s sitting under me, face pulled into his most charming smile, ready for me.

It would appear I have some explaining to do.

But so the fuck does he.