Wild Card

by Tara Wyatt

  “Oh, shit,” she whispered, still clutching the empty champagne bottle and staring at the ring. Her mind lurched along with her stomach as snippets of last night came back to her, floating to the surface of her memory like submerged lily pads in a pond. Gambling in the Paris casino, Hunter making her all kinds of crazy bets. She’d promised him a date, which he’d doubled down on and won two dates. Then he’d bet an exorbitant amount of money on the roulette table, had kissed her for luck and bet her that if he won, they’d hop over to the little chapel and get married.

  Everything went really fuzzy after that, save for a few swirling, nebulous images of a veil, a chapel, and a kiss. She sat up and the room spun sickly around her for a moment. She pressed a hand to her forehead and took several deep breaths through her nose, trying to calm her stomach down. A cheap looking veil sat discarded on the floor, and as she stared at it, another memory pushed to the surface of Hunter helping her try it on in the little store at the front of the chapel.

  Oh, God. They’d gotten married.

  “Shit shit shit shit,” she mumbled to herself, panic rising in her chest and tightening her throat, which did nothing to help the sick feeling rolling through her stomach. Still staring at the veil, she reached over and gave Hunter a shake. “Hunter, wake up.” She shook him again, and when he still didn’t move, she turned to look at him.

  Sprawled on his stomach with his arms on either side of his head, he snored softly. And on his left ring finger was a simple silver band.

  Panic and nausea danced together, making sweat break out along her hairline. “Hunter,” she said, louder this time as she gave his shoulder a hard shove. His snoring faltered slightly but he still didn’t move. Frustration took over and she grabbed her pillow and hit him with it. “Hunter, wake the hell up!”

  He let out a small little groan as his head jerked up off the pillow, his eyes still mostly closed. “Wha? What time is it?”

  She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. She didn’t have time to process the literally hundreds of texts and emails blowing up her notifications right now. Great. So much for keeping this debacle secret. “Almost eleven.”

  He yawned and rolled over, tucking his arm under his pillow. Marlowe rose up onto her knees, her own pillow clutched in her hands. She thumped him with it with each word. “Hunter. Blake. Wake. Up. Now!”

  He sat up and pushed a hand through his sleep rumpled hair, leaving it standing up at an awkward but endearing angle. He rubbed his eyes and then let out a hiss.

  “Ah, shit. I slept with my contacts in last night. Hang on.” He threw the sheets back and padded—completely naked—into the bathroom. Marlowe could only watch his muscled ass as it disappeared.

  How had this happened? What were they going to do? With a little sigh, she managed to pull herself out of bed. She looked down and saw that she was wearing nothing but Hunter’s T-shirt. Her husband’s T-shirt. She pulled open the mini-fridge and helped herself to a bottle of water, twisting the cap off and draining it. She set the empty bottle down on the table and then sank back down onto the bed. Hunter emerged from the bathroom, wearing a pair of glasses and boxer briefs. She’d never seen him in glasses before, and she had to admit, they were sexy as hell. Not that now was really the time for thoughts like that. They had bigger things to deal with.

  He held up his left hand. “Uh, where did this come from?”

  She picked up the champagne bottle and her veil, holding them up like evidence in a court case. “I’m pretty sure we got married last night.”

  She hadn’t been sure what kind of reaction to expect from him. Shock, maybe, or an apology for letting things get out of hand. Panic, like the kind clawing at her throat right now. So she was completely thrown when a wide grin spread across his face. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Seriously?”

  She set the veil and champagne bottle down and twisted her fingers in front of her. “Um, well, I think so. I don’t…exactly…remember.”

  He rubbed a hand over his mouth, but that Cheshire grin stayed firmly in place. Then he looked down at his ring and then back up at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, the nausea roiling through her crested and she pressed a hand to her mouth and sprinted to the bathroom.

  Once she was finished emptying the contents of her stomach, she sat on the cold floor for several moments, trying to get her bearings. Okay, so they’d gotten married. They could just…undo it, right? Get it annulled or whatever? She dropped her head into her hands, feeling as though her entire world had been turned upside down. A soft knock sounded on the bathroom door.

  “Marlowe? You okay in there?” came Hunter’s muffled voice from the other side of the door.

  “Yeah,” she said, pushing up off the floor. “Just brushing my teeth.”

  “I found something out here you’ll want to see.”

  She hastily grabbed her toothbrush, squirted some toothpaste on it with shaking hands, shoved it into her mouth, then pulled the door open. “Wha?”

  He held out a white folder embossed with gold, his expression unreadable. She took it and flipped it open. On the left side was a marriage certificate bearing each of their signatures, and on the other was a picture of her and Hunter, walking back down the aisle hand in hand, smiling at each other like a couple of goofy, love-struck kids. Her toothbrush started to slip out of her mouth and she clamped down on it with her lips just in time. She’d seen so many pictures of herself over the course of her career, but she’d never seen one like this. Never seen one so…real. So true. She looked so carefree, so happy, so completely absorbed in Hunter, basking in the way he was looking at her. Everything she’d fought so hard to suppress, to keep locked away, was right there, shining through like a sunbeam cutting through clouds.

  She didn’t want to fall in love with Hunter. She’d told herself she wouldn’t let it happen, but apparently, when she hadn’t been paying attention, it already had.

  “We have to undo this. Get an annulment or something. This…no.” She shook her head and handed the folder back to him, then went back in the bathroom to finish brushing her teeth. When she came back out, Hunter was looking down at the photo, a thoughtful, almost wistful expression on his face.

  Guilt ate at her like rust on metal as she looked at him. She didn’t deserve him, didn’t deserve his kindness or his…anything, really, because she couldn’t return it. And it wasn’t that she didn’t want to, but that she didn’t know how to without losing herself and setting herself up for unbearable pain in the process.

  He sank down onto the love seat, still looking at the folder’s contents. She walked over to the table where she’d left her phone and picked it up, ignoring all of the notifications, knowing she’d have to deal with them later, but right now, she had more important things to deal with. She opened up her web browser and Googled “how to get an annulment.”

  An awkward silence descended over the room, the weight of everything they weren’t saying filling up the space between them and making the air feel heavy. As she scrolled through websites gathering information, Hunter sat very still, still looking at the certificate and the picture. She had to admit, she wanted to know what was going through his mind right now, but she felt like asking that would be opening a can of worms she couldn’t handle. Finally, he let out a sigh, tossed the folder down on the love seat beside him, and scrubbed a hand over his face.

  “You want some breakfast?” he asked. “I need something in my stomach.”

  “Let’s order room service. I’m not ready to face the world yet.”

  “Why? You think people know?”

  “Given the number of emails and texts and missed calls I have, yeah, I’d say that’s a safe bet.” She almost choked on her last word and she let out a little laugh. “Remind me never to gamble with you again.”

  He shot her a rueful smile, a tiny glint of the usual troublemaking Hunter shining through his hangover. And maybe something besides the hangover.
He seemed…melancholy, especially compared to his usual self. “Right back atcha, Lolo,” he said, using the nickname she absolutely hated. She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed, then picked up the phone to order them some breakfast.

  After he’d hung up, she let him know what she’d found. “So it looks like we both have to file a petition for annulment.”

  “On what grounds?”

  Her eyes skimmed down the page. “It says here that the possible grounds are if we’re related by blood…”

  “Nope.”

  “If we needed parental consent…”

  “Also no.”

  “One of us was legally married to someone else…”

  “All clear there.”

  “One of us is mentally incompetent…”

  “I’ve been called a lot of things, but that ain’t one of ‘em.”

  “Or, the last option, if consent was obtained fraudulently.” She shrugged and looked up at him. “I mean, you kinda tricked me with the bet and…”

  He laughed. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. There was no trickery. I made you a bet, you agreed to it, I won fair and square.” He reached for the folder, opened it and held it up for her to see, pointing at their picture. “Does this look like I tricked you?”

  “I look drunk.”

  “Drunk in love.”

  “Thank you, Beyonce.”

  “I thought I was Rick Astley.”

  She blew out a frustrated breath and dropped her phone onto the bed. “Fine. I guess it’ll have to be good old-fashioned divorce.” She pushed up off the bed and sat down beside him, taking his hand. His ring caught the light, winking at her. Something forlorn and almost dreamy twisted in her chest, but she pushed it away. “I’m sorry, Hunter.” She implored him with her eyes to understand just how sorry she was. Sorry for last night. Sorry she couldn’t give him more. Sorry he was probably hurting right now and it was her fault. “I’m really sorry.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to—” The rest of his sentence was cut off with a sharp knock on the door as their breakfast arrived. He stood, tugged on his discarded jeans and headed for the door.

  They ate in silence, and all Marlowe could think about was the colossal mess she’d made.

  The sound of the shower where Marlowe had been hiding for the past thirty minutes echoed through the otherwise silent hotel suite. After finishing her breakfast, she’d disappeared inside the bathroom, looking a bit less pale with some food in her stomach. Hunter stood at the window, a headache pounding through his temples as he watched people move on the Strip below.

  Married. Fucking hell.

  And while he was shocked—both that he’d had the balls to basically propose to her and that she’d said yes and gone through with it—he couldn’t pretend that he was sad about it. No, the only thing he was sad about was watching Marlowe reassemble her wall, brick by brick, building it thicker and higher than ever before. Hiding from him right before his eyes. He’d hoped that this trip would be a chance to connect with her on a deeper level, to finally make her see what they could have, but instead they’d made a drunken mistake that had her retreating.

  But that picture. Goddamn, that picture. A thousand words didn’t do it justice. Yeah, they’d been drunk, but the way they were looking at each other—that wasn’t beer goggles. That was the kind of honesty that comes out when defenses are down and inhibitions disappear. She felt something for him, and even though she wanted a divorce, he wasn’t willing to let that go. They needed to talk about this. He needed to make her understand how he felt about her. Maybe then, she wouldn’t be so quick to throw away what they had.

  What if he could get her to agree to stay married, just for a little while? To give it a chance? His heart knocked against his ribs at the thought.

  An emotion he couldn’t name pulled at him, sucking away his energy, and he flopped down into a chair. He’d married the woman of his dreams, but he didn’t even fucking remember it. Not only that, but she wanted to undo it as quickly as possible. And now he’d have divorce numero uno under his belt at the ripe old age of twenty-nine.

  Feeling restless with the confusing onslaught of emotions churning through him, he got up to search for his phone, finding it on the little table by the door. Four voice mails, over a dozen emails, and close to forty text messages. Well damn, wasn’t he Mr. Popular this morning? Shaking his head, he dialed into his voice mail. The first message was from the team’s hitting coach and his friend, Abby Gossman.

  “Hey, uh, so I guess congratulations are in order? I didn’t even know you were dating anyone, but according to TMZ you got married? We’ll have to have a little party when you get back. Is she going to be coming with you to Dallas? Because I’m like, a huge Marlowe Story fan.” A male voice rumbled in the background and Hunter frowned, feeling like he knew that voice, but couldn’t quite place it. “Anyway, I have to go. Congratulations again.”

  The second message was from his close friend and teammate Dylan McCormick, who knew more than most about Hunter’s not-a-relationship-relationship with Marlowe.

  “Hey, man. So you married her, huh? You’re gonna have to catch me up on all of this when you’re back in town. Enjoy your honeymoon.”

  Hunter’s heart clenched. There wouldn’t be a honeymoon because they weren’t staying married.

  The third message was from his dad.

  “Hey, Slugger! Uh, I just saw on the news something about you and a country singer getting married?” He chuckled. “You always were full of surprises. Can’t wait to meet her.” He lowered his voice. “Just a heads up, your mom’s not thrilled that you snuck off and got married and that she didn’t get to help plan a big party, but I’ll work on her. Everything will be fine. But she does want to have a party or a dinner or something. We can talk about it when you’re back in Dallas. Anyway, give us a call when you’ve got a minute. Love you.”

  Oh, God. His mom. He hadn’t even thought about his parents finding out about this and how they’d feel. Of course his mom would feel left out. Shit. He’d have to find a way to smooth all of that over and make it up to her.

  The last message was from his agent, Aerin.

  “Well hello there, Mr. Married Man. I have no idea where this came from, but the media’s loving it. Call me back. We have some stuff to talk about.” Knowing better than to leave Aerin hanging, he dialed her number, and she picked up on the first ring. “I don’t know if this was planned or a spur of the moment thing—hell, I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend—but the media is eating this story up. Everyone’s talking about the surprise marriage between baseball’s bad boy and country music’s good girl.”

  “They are, are they?” he drawled, equal parts amused and annoyed at the bad boy label.

  “Yep. People, Entertainment Tonight, the Today Show. This is exactly what I was talking about. This is the kind of image makeover you needed. Not that I’m saying you got married for publicity reasons, but…did you?”

  “Not exactly. It was a spur of the moment thing that we’re going to undo as soon as possible.”

  “Oh. Well. That’s too bad. This could’ve been good for her too.”

  Hunter frowned, feeling instantly protective of Marlowe. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not exactly a secret that her album sales have been lackluster. This story’s already creating renewed interest in her and her music. Get her to check with her people, but I’d be shocked if there hasn’t already been a bump in sales and downloads.”

  He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, trying to process everything Aerin was telling him. “Okay, I will.”

  “Heck, stay married for a while if you can. It’ll help both of you, and it’s not like you’d be the first couple to stage a little showmance all in the name of good PR.”

  “That would be…complicated.” But even as he spoke, something took hold of him and wouldn’t let go. Something that squeezed his heart and made his bl
ood pump a little harder through his veins.

  “Too bad, but you do what you need to do and I’ll deal with the fallout. Call me if you need me.” The call disconnected and Hunter paced back to the window, his phone still in his hand. The Bellagio’s fountains sprayed up into the air, and he stared at them, letting his eyes go unfocused as his mind reeled with everything Aerin had said.

  Just then, the bathroom door opened and Marlowe emerged with a white towel wrapped around herself, her skin still glistening with water. Another towel was wrapped around her hair. Her steps faltered when she saw him.

  “What?” she asked, going completely still.

  “Hmm?”

  “You have a super weird look on your face.”

  “It’s been a super weird kind of morning.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Have you checked your phone yet?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve been scared to.”

  “I just got off the phone with my agent. Apparently we’re the hot news story right now.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Shit. So much for a nice, quiet divorce.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t get divorced.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “What?” Her towel started to slip and she clutched at it before he got a glimpse of the glory he knew hid beneath. Some of the blood pounding through him started to rush south and he cleared his throat, trying to stay focused on the conversation at hand.

  “Check your phone. Then we’ll talk.” He turned back to the window because he couldn’t keep looking at her in nothing but that towel without pulling her into his arms and crushing her into the mattress, and he had a pretty good feeling that that was the last thing she wanted right now. And the last thing they both needed while they sorted through everything.

  He heard her move away and disappear back into the bathroom, once again leaving him alone with his thoughts. He leaned his forearm against the window, savoring the coolness of the glass on his overheated skin. Goddamn, but he needed some Tylenol and about a gallon of coffee—the small carafe served with their breakfast hadn’t cut it. Closing his eyes, he tried to pull up images of the night before, but all he got were brief flashes. Scooping Marlowe up into his arms when he’d won big at the roulette tables. Breathlessly passing a bottle of champagne back and forth as they’d careened merrily down the street. Marlowe walking slowly toward him, clutching a little bouquet of daisies, that cheap ass veil on her head.