PROLOGUE | SIENNA
It was the ultimate cliché: waking up alone in a Las Vegas hotel room with a massive hangover and zero recollection of how the hell I had gotten there. Way to go Sienna. Another one for the books.
The room was littered with the carnage of a night I couldn’t remember; articles of discarded clothing, empty liquor bottles, an overturned chair...
My eyes circled around the hotel room, following the scattered debris like it was a trail of breadcrumbs that could lead me to the truth about last night. But instead of truth, each clue just seemed to uncover more unanswered questions.
My memory wasn’t just a blur… it was non-existent. Like a reel of undeveloped film; just one blank square after another.
I didn’t recognize the white lace dress that was torn and scattered in pieces across the floor. I didn’t recognize the black pants that were in a pile by the foot of the bed, either. Was the dress mine? Or did I come in here after that had occurred? Whatever the hell that was.
The empty bottles from the mini bar matched the sticky, honey-sweet taste of whiskey that lingered on my lips, but I didn’t remember drinking them. And then there were some questions that I wasn’t sure I wanted answers to at all; the panties hanging from the bathroom door handle, or the black condom wrappers that littered the floor…what had I done? Who…had I done it with?
My cell phone rumbled from the nightstand. I snatched it up and stared at the screen, hoping for another clue. Instead, I saw a text from my boss.
It’s nearly 1 p.m. and you still haven’t provided any updates on your assignment. I want a detailed summary of last night ASAP.
“You and me both,” I muttered drily. My fingers hovered over the touchscreen as I contemplated how to respond. I was still sifting through possible excuses when a sharp glint of light caught my eye.
That’s when I noticed the silver band hugging my left ring finger.
What. The. Fuck.
Eyes wide and fingers shaking, I dialed a number from memory then pressed the phone up to my ear. My roommate’s familiar voice answered on the second ring, “Hey, is everything okay? You never came home last night—”
“Everything is fine,” I fibbed. “I just... got caught up with something at work.”
I wasn’t sure if that was the truth or a lie, but it didn’t matter. That wasn’t why I had called.
“Listen, I just have a quick question,” I said, keeping my eyes pinned on my ring finger.
“Shoot.”
“When people get married… what finger do they usually wear the ring on?”
I heard muffled laughter through the phone, then, “Seriously? Come on, everyone knows that!”
“Clearly I don’t. Just answer the question.”
“Okay, fine. Left hand, ring finger. That’s the second one over from the pinky.”
I stared at my left hand, silently willing the fingers to rearrange themselves or the silver band to disappear entirely.
“Why do you want to know, anyway? Do you have some exciting news that I should know about?”
“Huh? No, of course not!” I stammered defensively. I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear, then used my right hand to pry the silver band off of my left ring finger. I tugged and twisted and pulled… but it wouldn’t budge. My fingers were swollen and the ring was stuck. Clearly it wasn’t the right size.
“Are you sure about that?” the voice on the phone teased. “First you didn’t come home last night, now you’re calling to ask about wedding rings. This is starting to sound awfully suspicious…”
“It’s nothing,” I insisted again, but she was already humming the wedding march through the phone. “Listen, I have to go,” I snapped. “I’ll see you tonight, alright?”
“Okay, sure, if you say so. Just remember: what happens in Vegas—”
“Stays in Vegas,” I finished for her. Then I tapped the “end call” button and slugged my phone onto the mattress.
I huffed out a heavy sigh as I rubbed my thumbs against my throbbing temples and stared absently out the hotel room window. Outside, the Vegas Strip was drenched in blazing white desert sunlight. The casino lights twinkled dully and shards of sun bounced off of the mirrored buildings.
As I identified the hotels and casinos that lined Las Vegas Boulevard, I uncovered another unanswered question: I didn’t even know what hotel I had woken up in.
“There has to be a reasonable explanation for all of this,” I coached myself under my breath. “Just try to remember what happened last night. Just try to remember anything…”
I pinched my eyes shut and knitted my brows together in concentration as I tried to conjure any memories of the night before. Yesterday had started out like any other day. I remembered going to work and discussing my latest assignment with my boss, and then—
KNOCK, KNOCK!
I was startled out of my thoughts by the sound of a heavy fist knocking against the hotel room door. Completely caught off guard, I jolted up from the bed and gasped. Then I spotted the “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging uselessly on the inside doorknob, and I released the breath that I had been holding in my lungs. It’s just housekeeping coming to clean the room.
I quickly bunched up an armful of bed sheets and wrapped them around my torso in a makeshift toga, then I waddled towards the door and called out,
“I’m not ready yet! Do you think you could come back in a few minutes?”
Silence.
“I just need a few more minutes. Five, maybe ten at the most, and then I’ll be gone!”
I heard the chirp of a key card being swiped on the other side of the door, followed by the metallic clink of a deadbolt unlatching.
“HEY!” I hugged my bed sheet toga closer to my chest. “I said I’m not ready yet—”
My voice shrunk back into my throat as soon as the door swung open and I saw him standing there. Him; a blur of black leather and torn denim and muscle. Basically, just a bulge of muscle. He occupied the entire door frame, his broad shoulders and biceps blocking any chance I had of escaping. That wasn’t what scared me, though.
What scared me was that I recognized him. As my eyes darted between his piercing eyes and faded tattoos and scarred knuckles, the puzzle pieces of last night started to assemble in my head.
I remembered my assignment. I remembered meeting him at the bar. I remembered all those shots of whiskey, and then that midnight ride on the back of his bike… and then I remembered the neon lights of the Little White Wedding Chapel glowing against the black night sky.
“You’re not from housekeeping,” I said slowly.
“No, I’m not,” he replied in a gruff voice. Then his lips twisted into a smirk and he raised his left hand, revealing a silver band on his ring finger. “I’m your husband.”