The Other Brother_A Billionaire Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  Just as we come, the owner of that bitchy voice from earlier yanks open the confessional booth door.

  “Get OUT!” she commands, her hair flat and her mascara running down her cheeks.

  Like two teenagers who’ve been caught canoodling beneath the football field bleachers, we have the dignity to look embarrassed for all of five seconds before we’re tucking away our respective genitalia and running away, hand in hand, while the altar smolders behind us and we leave a totally trashed, cum-covered church in our wake.

  I’m laughing as we run. Like, honest to god giggling. I can hear Mysti May and the showgirls clicking in their heels as they flee behind us. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Sammi tugging a giant, shark-sized cooler on wheels behind her, and just out in front of us, Percy has thrown her arms up to the heavens, like she’s thanking the night sky for the crazy shit we just got into.

  “We are gods!” she bellows up to the moon. “Nothing can stop us now!”

  And when I look over to my husband, all I see is love. His scruffy blonde facial hair and sparkling blue-gold eyes. His lips, smeared with my lipstick and my honey and my love. His hand, dwarfing mine as he holds it, squeezing me as we run away from the church we nearly just burned to the ground.

  I’m a party girl at heart, but tonight, I’ve discovered something more, too.

  I’ve never felt more clear-headed than I do right now. I’ve never felt so alive. It’s like the universe has aligned in my favor—and now, nothing can go wrong. Nothing could ever possibly go wrong ever again.

  Chapter 16

  Becky

  12:40 PM THURSDAY

  My oversized sunglasses do very little to shield my eyes from the glare of the sunlight. I feel as if I’m staring direct into the big yellow ball in the sky. So instead of admiring the famous Vegas Strip, I keep my eyes down, staring at my red-painted toenails sticking out of my peep-toe Louboutins.

  If I could have just kept my head down and focused on my pedicure, maybe I wouldn’t have wound up married to the wrong guy in the first place.

  I try my best to ignore the hubbub of my BFFs as they try to work out what to have for lunch. There are plenty of people out and about, and many of the eateries look full.

  I don’t fucking care what we eat. I still feel as if I’ll never ever eat again.

  How long before you die from lack of food? I rummage around my brain.

  Twelve hours, probably. Judging by my track record with all those liquid diets and juice fasts, twelve hours is about as long as I ever last.

  I shake my head. This produces a massive amount of pain, and I regret it instantly.

  “Sushi?” Sammi asks, looking to me for a verdict.

  I shrug. “Whatever,” I mumble and follow the girls like an obedient sheep as they head into a place called the Sushi Train.

  Normally, I fucking love these places. I love staring at the different colored plates with all kinds of interesting food come by on a conveyor belt. Making a decision about what the fuck to try is all part of the dining experience.

  We find a seat right by the large window looking out onto the street. At least here, I can look out, since the sun is no longer assaulting and melting my eyes.

  For a while, I watch the little dishes zoom past me. They’re not really zooming, of course. They’re traveling at a pretty slow speed so you get plenty of time to look, debate, and grab. But I’m so hungover that my reflexes are shot.

  Randomly, I pick up a purple plate. It has three long bits of rice covered with salmon on it.

  Percy already has three empty plates stacked next to her, and we’ve been here all of a minute.

  I admire her appetite. After the shit I’ve been dealt so far today, I wish I could feel that hungry.

  “So,” Mysti May grabs a plate and smiles at us. “We’ve made progress this morning, don’t y’all think?”

  The thought of our most recent discovery brings up bile in the back of my throat, and I fear I may puke all over the dishes coming past.

  Briefly, I picture what the fuck that would look like and turn my head a little to the side. If I’m going to fucking spew, I should at least be a little mindful of others. It's no one else’s fault, only my own. I was the one who made the fucking poor choices.

  “Let’s see what else is in the envelope that dragon handed you at the Rent-a-Church.” Sammi points to the offending thing lying next to me on the table.

  My fingers shake a little as I open it and pull out some large photos. I suck in my breath and stop breathing for a few seconds. The world around me goes out of focus and, briefly, I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me.

  Maybe I’ve got a brain tumor of some sort, one that acts fucking quickly, and apart from taking my vision, also has me dying in a matter of hours.

  Mercy killing, more like.

  I swallow. I know, it’s a bit dramatic, but I can’t help it. My fucking life is going down the fucking toilet.

  I’m probably still a little drunk, too.

  “Lord have mercy.” Mysti takes the photo from me. “Darlin’, you look absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

  “Shit, Becks. Look at that sexy-ass wedding dress.” Percy’s even stopped eating for a minute to stare at the photo. “It’s so you.”

  I peer at it and have to agree. It’s a fucking amazing dress.

  Although, to call it a dress is a bit of an overstatement.

  It’s more like a wedding…bikini, really.

  A white lace bikini top covers my tits. Then there’s a white lace sarong tied around my fucking waist. My midriff is bare and the way the sarong is tied, most of my fucking legs are exposed. Completing the outfit is my SLUT veil. It looks a bit out of place, but to be fair—I’m at the wrong wedding, marrying the wrong man.

  “It’s better than your Dan dress,” Sammi agrees approvingly. “Wonder where you got it?”

  I slap Sammi on the arm. “If I recalled anything about the fucking night, we wouldn’t be fact finding, would we?”

  Sammi rubs her arm. “Jeez, Becky. Chill pill, please.”

  Guilt floods me.

  “Sorry, Sam,” I mumble. “I’m just so fucking stressed.”

  “Look,” Sammi levels with me. “If you were going to get married to some random Elvis, you couldn’t have picked a sexier one, and you couldn’t look more fucking gorgeous doing it. You look better here than you would have if you married Dan.”

  For some reason, this does make me smile.

  “And there’s no fucking doubt Elvis is a better fucking choice,” adds Percy. “In terms of, you know. Man meat and breeding material.”

  The girls all laugh, and I do my best to join in…even though it’s still not really funny, since it’s, like, you know. My life and all.

  “He does look pretty cute,” I agree and stare at the other photos.

  “And Dan would have never posed like this with you,” Mysti May points out.

  Considering that my husband in the picture is grabbing my tit like he’s planning on milking me into his open mouth…that’s a fair assessment.

  “I think Elvis is the naked man you threw out this morning.” Percy states the bleeding obvious.

  “Oooh. The one with that big ol’ cock,” adds Mysti May.

  I roll my eyes and groan as a wave of guilt-nausea hits me all over again.

  “Could be worse,” Mysti May continues. “You could have married someone with a really tiny fucking dick. Not that, uh. Alfonso is lacking in that department or anything.”

  She looks around sheepishly, a pink tinge rising to her cheeks.

  I stare at a couple of the photos where Elvis has one hand on my ass and is holding my leg up with his other hand. We’re kissing. From the looks of things, his tongue is so far down my throat that he’s licking my tonsils.

  My clit twitches. You can bet that image rouses my greedy fucking cunt awake.

  In the next photo, he’s picked me up, and my legs a
re wrapped around his waist. I’m leaning back a little and he’s kissing me just above my tits.

  Just looking at these photos has my pussy longing for my husband.

  Fuck.

  Too bad he’s not the husband I was supposed to take.

  I’m fucking married, and I’m due to marry Dan in just two days’ time.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  What the fuck am I going to do?

  “What the fuck am I going to tell Dan?” I moan, burying my face in my hands.

  My bridesmaids hug me, and Percy steals the sushi off of my plate.

  “There must be something we can do.” Sammi keeps hugging me. “Someone we can call or something?”

  “On it.” Percy pulls out her phone and flicks through her list of contacts. “Aha,” she calls out in triumph, as if she’s got an answer already.

  Percy steps outside to make her call. She’s not on the phone for long. When I see her heading back in, my heart drops right next to my big toe.

  As she settles back to her seat, I can tell straight away I’m fucked.

  “Davie Dazzle thinks you can get an annulment,” Percy says.

  “Who’s—” I begin, but Percy cuts me off.

  “Sugar daddy. He’s a celebrity divorce lawyer. Anyway, Dave said it’s easy to get an annulment straight away if the marriage wasn’t consummated.”

  We exchange knowing glances.

  “So, judging from the fucking photos and the fact your fucking husband was naked in our apartment this morning…I think that ship has sailed, hun,” Mysti May says.

  “There are other grounds for annulment,” continues Percy, and I stare at her. Dare I fucking hope?

  “What are they?”

  “Deception, fraud, or concealment of important information.”

  I frown. Do any of those apply to me? Why isn’t there anything about being fucking drunk? I can’t see how fraud would apply to me, unless my husband had used a false fucking name.

  With renewed hope, I pull out the fucking marriage certificate.

  I scan the document for the name of the groom.

  Liam Black. Where the fuck have I heard that name before?

  Television, probably. I bet he stole the name after one of those hunks off a daytime soap.

  That’s it. He definitely used a fake name.

  I mean, who the fuck is called Liam Black?!

  So. Deception and fraud and drunkenness. At least, I fucking hope so. But before I set Percy’s sugar daddy on filling out the documents, we should pay this Liam Black a visit.

  To know if he committed fraud, we need to find him.

  But how the fuck do we find Liam Black?

  “Let’s track him down, then,” Sammi states the bleeding obvious.

  “But how?”

  We seem to stumble from one puzzle to the next. The second it looks like we’re getting closer to solving this mystery, we’re met by another hurdle and need to start from the beginning.

  “We haven’t checked out the strip club,” suggests Mysti May.

  I glare at her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  She shakes her head. “Honestly, darlin’, where else do you think you met a man that sexy? You saw his moves in those photos. Those are stripper moves if I’ve ever seen them. And you have to admit—Liam Black? That’s a stripper name.”

  She’s got a point.

  I drop my forehead onto the table and close my eyes. What the fuck have I got myself into?

  When I lift my head again, I see my bridesmaids staring at me.

  Slowly, I nod. “I suppose you’re right,” I agree reluctantly.

  “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s head to the Post Office.” Sammi stands and leads the way out of the restaurant.

  What a strange name for a strip club. The Post Office.

  Unless…ugh. I groan audibly.

  It’s full of mailmen.

  Male men.

  I flip out my phone and dial them up. If we’re going to a strip club in the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday, we might as well let them know we’re coming.

  Chapter 17

  Becky

  2:10 PM THURSDAY

  On the drive to the strip club, I try and close my eyes. Surely, there must be an itty bitty tiny memory somewhere in that brain of mine. Absolutely anything about what happened last night.

  I wait.

  And wait.

  But no matter how hard I try, I can’t recall where or how I met this fucking husband of mine, the man known as Liam Black.

  I sigh. If Dan calls our wedding off when he finds out what I’ve done, I won’t be surprised.

  Actually, he’s really going to have to call the wedding off unless I can track Liam Black down to sign some divorce papers by Saturday morning. Can’t get married if you’re already married, can you?

  As we stand outside The Post Office, my heart beats a little faster, and the palms of my hands are sweaty.

  I’m torn by an intense desire to find Liam Black and a longing to run away and hide.

  I look at the building and feel a sense of foreboding. It looks like a castle dungeon. A castle dungeon with a billboard on the side of it featuring a half-naked man holding a UPS box in front of his junk.

  Special delivery, my ass.

  Sammi leads the way inside. Mysti May and Percy follow. But for some reason, my feet refuse to move. It’s as if I’ve grown roots on the pavement.

  A taxi pulls up and a bunch of middle aged women spill out of the yellow vehicle. I might not be able to move, but they’re plenty eager to shove past me.

  “Muttons dressed as lambs,” Sammi says, shaking her head as they giggle their way through the door.

  “Come on, darlin’,” Mysti May calls over her shoulder. “No time like the present.”

  “Or the package, as it were.” Sammi casts a dubious glance at the billboard model and hooks an arm around my waist, dragging me in.

  When the door shuts behind us, I can’t see anything for a few seconds.

  “Remember,” I hiss into Mysti May’s ear, “we’re here to speak to someone from management to ask about this Liam Black—and not to have a good time.”

  Judging from Mysti May’s swaying hips, she’s not paid any attention to anything I just said.

  I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and we inch slowly forward. As you’d expect, the lights are dimmed. And yes, I can see half naked men everywhere.

  The music’s loud, and on the dance floor are several men. I suppose they’re dressed in postal uniforms to keep in theme with the name of the joint.

  Some of the men wear the khaki shorts of a UPS driver. Some wear funny little hats. All of them have glistening upper bodies. They’re well-oiled. Six packs are the norm, as are well-muscled chests and broad shoulders.

  None of them wear anything over their torsos.

  “Man meat,” whispers Mysti May.

  Percy chuckles. Sammi breathes on the lenses of her glasses, then cleans them off on her shirt.

  “Can you see anyone that looks like a manager?” I’m not at all in the mood for fucking drooling over any of these fucking hot bodies.

  “Any one of them can manage my entire life,” breathes Percy, and I can practically feel the heat coming off of her cunt as she says it.

  “Come on,” I hiss. “Stay focused. Liam Black. No distractions.”

  “If they wore name tags, you might spot him,” jokes Sammi.

  I roll my eyes even as I size up a passing waiter’s bulging pectoral.

  Where the fuck would they even pin them?

  Slowly we walk along the side of the club. I think I’m the only one fucking looking for someone who could give us any information.

  By now, the guys on stage are starting to sway their hips and…other body parts. I’m pretty sure my friends would rather grab a drink and sit down to watch the show, as opposed to keep searching for Mr. Black
.

  “How about we get a drink?”

  I fucking knew it.

  “Sammi.”

  She smiles at me. “The barman might know something.”

  Okay, so it’s not a totally useless idea.

  It’s also easier said than done. The bar’s in the center of the club, and we’re on the edge. To get there, we’ll have to push, shove, and elbow our way through a thick crowd of semi-hysterical women.

  And so we start our assault.

  I wish I did carry a weapon of some sort. I’m not at all violent, but I would like to push some of these over-heated bitches out of the fucking way.

  My sensitive head finds the high-pitched screeching also incredibly unpleasant.

  We make slow progress. For every step we take forward, we seem to get pushed back six. Some of the women are half-naked, and others are trying to throw themselves at the pelvis-thrusting demi-gods on-stage.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a couple of them on stage take off their tie and swirl it over their heads. Then they take the material and rub it between their legs before throwing it into the crowd.

  The women go fucking mental.

  I’m being pushed hard in the back as a hundred pounds of flesh try to grab the tie.

  I lose my balance. I stumble. I try to find something to grab to stop my fall.

  It’s no good.

  Part of me prepares for the worst. You can’t really prepare for a fall. What’s going to be worse is no one will notice me fall, and a hundred or so wild women will stomp all over me.

  I suppose it’s nothing more than I deserve. If Dan were here, he would say it’s karma.

  Fuck.

  I still have no fucking idea what I’m going to tell Dan.

  If, of course, I get trampled into the ground of The Post Office, there won’t be anything left of me—and I won’t have to explain anything.

  I sigh. There is a silver lining to every cloud.

  Whilst I’m not prepared for the fall, I’ve resigned myself for the inevitable. The inevitable is a huge amount of pain—possibly broken bones and maybe blood.

  All this, I think while I wobble on my feet and lose my balance.