From Fake to Forever (Newlywed Games 2)

The marriage had been a mistake. They both knew that.

“No, nothing like that.” Meredith waved it off and perched on the edge of one of the chairs flanking Jason’s desk, hoping he’d take the hint and sit back down. This was a friendly visit.

He relaxed, slightly, but didn’t sit down. “Then anything else is manageable. What can I do for you?”

This was so weird. She’d spent hours upon hours sliding her slick body against this man’s. Her tongue had tasted every inch of the skin hiding under that suit. They were strangers, then and now. And yet, not strangers. It felt oddly like they’d seen each other only yesterday.

“So, funny story.” She grinned as if it really was. “Remember how we found that all-night marriage-license place and then thought it would be so great to tie the knot in Vegas to seal the Grown-Up Pact?”

The Grown-Up Pact.

It had seemed brilliant at the time...after four rounds of tequila shots and countless cosmopolitans and martinis. After that first initial meeting of gazes, they hadn’t left each other’s company the rest of the weekend. They’d embarked on a seemingly endless conversation during which Meredith spilled more of her soul to this man she’d just met than she ever had to anyone else. And he’d claimed the same. They’d both been searching for something, anything, to help them navigate the bridge between the caprices of youth and the rest of their lives.

The Grown-Up Pact had never been about staying married, but about proving they could do grown-up things, that a commitment like marriage wasn’t so scary if they could do it together.

Ironic how the marriage that was supposed to prove they were grown-ups had resulted in a very adult problem.

“Of course I remember,” he said. “It was the only time I’ve ever acted on a stupid idea.”

She sighed. That made one of them. She did stupid things all the time. The Grown-Up Pact should have given her the fortitude to move past her beauty-pageant pedigree and find a place in the world where she could be appreciated for what went on between her temples. But she hadn’t found that place, not yet.

“Turns out the marriage license got filed somehow.”

“What?” Jason’s expression turned flinty. “How did that happen? You were supposed to shred the license.”

“I did! Well, I threw it away.” She had to have thrown it away. The problem was she couldn’t precisely recall the actual throwing away part. “No one said anything about shredding.”

“That’s what you do with something you don’t want to fall into the wrong hands, Meredith.” That seemed to be enough to get him to finally sit down. “Credit card numbers, legal documents. Marriage licenses that you realize the next morning you never should have registered for in the first place.”

He threaded fingers through his messy hair and her own fingers flexed in response, aching to feel him again. It was a brutal reminder that she’d half thought they might catch up for old times’ sake, once they sorted out this stupid mistake she’d made. One last roll in Jason’s bed would probably cure her for good and then she could finally move on.

The fierce expression on his face didn’t exactly put a warm fuzzy in her tummy.

“So, it happened,” she said. “We’re legally married and have been for two years. Now we need to deal with it. And then maybe we can, you know, have a drink or two later?”

The suggestion wasn’t at all subtle, but no one did brazen better. She had a perverse need to see if any of the spark between them still existed.

“Deal with it? Oh, I see. You’re here because you saw the announcement of my engagement and you want a payoff.” He nodded wearily. “How much do you want?”

Jason was engaged? That was great. Obviously he’d want to handle this quickly and quietly, as well. She kept trying to convince herself of the greatness and failed.

The disappointment at learning he’d moved on so much better than she had was bitter and sharp. There would be no catching up, then. No last wild weekend.

“I don’t want your money, Jason. Just a no-fault, no-division-of-assets divorce.”

“Sure.” His sarcasm was thick. “As soon as you found out I was Bettina Lynhurst’s son back in Vegas, little dollar signs must have danced before your eyes. Admit it. You filed the marriage license on purpose, hoping to cash in later. Frankly, I’m shocked it took this long for your trick to play out.”

Her mouth fell open. “You’ve obviously forgotten I’m a Chandler and a Harris. I don’t need your piddly fashion-empire fortune. My father’s money built Houston. So keep your snotty dollar signs, sign the divorce papers and go about your business.”