See You Again (Wishful 8)

“Because this is one of my college fantasies fulfilled.”

“Getting drunk and married in Vegas?” Incredulity dripped from every word.

Trey set his glass aside and took her face between his palms. “No. Marrying you.”

Rather than melting as he’d hoped, she gave him a hard stare. “Did you bring me out here for this?”

He absorbed the insult of that. She was justifiably upset, hung over, and seemed to be just as unclear on the particulars as he was. But how could she even think for a moment that he’d deliberately liquor her up and marry her? “No. I didn’t plan on this. I can assure you, if this were on purpose, we’d both have been sober enough to remember all of it. And I’d have employed considerably more thought to the event than pulling you into the nearest quickie wedding chapel.” If Elvis had officiated, Trey assumed that’s what had happened.

Sandy pulled away and began pacing again, her movements jerky enough to slosh water from the glass. She was too busy babbling to notice. “—an impossible situation. We can’t be married. You’re involved in a ton of city projects. I’m the mayor. That’s a serious conflict of interest that needs to be disclosed. But we can’t disclose it. That would take the focus off Cam and Norah, and their wedding is in a week! It has to go off without a hitch. And it would be crazy to stay married. We’ve barely seen each other in thirty years.”

Obviously, they’d seen a great deal of each other last night. He wished he could remember more of it. Maybe when the rest of the champagne wore off.

She was still rolling. “But we can’t get a divorce either. Nevada requires a six-week residency for a quickie divorce, and neither of us has time for that.”

“How do you even know that?”

“Adele did it. And we can’t do it in Wishful. That’s a formal, public legal proceeding, with a judge that has to sign off on it. Everyone knows me. Which, again would take the focus off Cam and Norah. And dear God, people will think I’m flighty and impulsive. Nobody wants those qualities in a mayor.”

He crossed to where she was digging in her purse, gently taking her by the shoulders. “Sandy, we’ll figure this out.”

“Figure it out? Figure it out? Trey, we got married!”

From where he was standing, that wasn’t a bad thing. He was working on not being offended that she wasn’t as happy about it as he was. He hadn’t planned to rush her into anything, but he’d have been lying if he said marriage wasn’t his end-game with her. He loved this woman. He always had.

Sandy was obviously not in the right frame of mind to talk about it right now. She was staring at the screen of her phone, her cheeks going pale.

“What?”

“It’s Sunday,” she whispered. “We’ve been gone for two days.”

“Are you under some kind of curfew?”

With a glare, she snapped on the nearest light, blinding him and sending a fresh bolt of agony into his brain. “It is Sunday. I have missed church and Sunday dinner with my entire family. I have fifteen missed calls. We’ll be lucky if my brothers haven’t called the police to report me missing. And even if they didn’t call out a search party, I still have to find some kind of explanation for where I’ve been. An explanation I will no doubt have to deliver, in person, to a small army waiting on my doorstep when I get home.”

Okay, so that didn’t exactly sound appealing. If they were very, very lucky, maybe they’d both be over their hangovers by then. And maybe they’d remember some more of the past thirty-six hours.

“We’ll deal with it,” he promised. “First things first, we need to get back to Wishful. We’ll clean up, get some food and painkillers, a fresh change of clothes, and we’ll face them down together.”

“We can’t tell them.” She looked aghast at the very idea.

“No. We can’t,” he agreed. Because a drunk, quickie wedding on The Strip was hardly the route to endearing himself to the Campbell clan. Sandy deserved better.

A real wedding. Proper rings. To be cherished, as Waylan had never cherished her. “We’ll figure it out on the flight home. I’ll go call my pilot. Make a call or send a text to your family to let them know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Trey began searching for his cell phone, a task made infinitely easier when it began to ring. He unearthed it from a potted palm in the corner and answered. “Peyton.”

“Sir, I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s a problem with the London project.”

Just the sound of that had his headache cranking up to eleven. He listened, pacing, as Louis outlined the issue. Loss of oversight. Delays. Projected additional costs. Exactly what Edward had warned him of. It was a prospective clusterfuck, one he needed to wade in himself to sort out.

“I realize you wanted your schedule cleared, but this is time-sensitive. Shall I make travel arrangements?”

“I’m sure as hell not leaving for London tonight. It’ll keep until tomorrow.” He wasn’t leaving town with things such a mess with his new wife. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten her back to town.

Louis was quiet for a beat too long. “Yes, sir. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Trey hung up and turned to find Sandy standing in the doorway to the bedroom, arms folded over her middle. She’d put her dress back on.