Updated Mar 13, 2026 • ~13 min read
My head is trying to kill me.
That’s my first thought when I wake up. Not where am I, or what happened last night, or why does my mouth taste like something died in it. Just pure, blinding pain radiating from my skull like someone’s taken a jackhammer to my temples.
I don’t open my eyes. That feels like a mistake I’m not ready to make yet.
Instead, I take inventory. I’m in a bed. That’s good. The sheets feel expensive. Egyptian cotton or something. That’s… less concerning than waking up on a bathroom floor, which, let’s be honest, was a distinct possibility given the amount of tequila I remember consuming.
Wait. How much tequila?
The memories are fuzzy. Wren’s bachelorette party. Vegas. The casino. So many shots. Someone suggesting we get matching tattoos. Did we get matching tattoos? Oh God, please tell me we didn’t get matching tattoos.
I risk cracking one eye open.
Sunlight stabs directly into my brain.
“Nope.” I slam it shut again. “Not ready.”
That’s when I hear it. A groan. Deep. Male. Coming from right next to me.
My entire body goes rigid.
Okay. Don’t panic. This is fine. I’m twenty-five years old. I can wake up next to a man without losing my mind. It’s not even the first time. There was that guy in college. And that one from the conference last year. I’m a modern woman. I can handle a one-night stand.
Except I specifically remember Wren making me promise not to sleep with any random Vegas guys because “that’s how you end up on a true crime podcast, Tessa.”
I slowly, carefully, turn my head to the left.
And my heart stops.
Because it’s not some random Vegas guy.
It’s Holden Reid.
HOLDEN. REID.
My brother’s best friend. The man I’ve hated since I was fourteen years old and he pulled my pigtails at Noah’s graduation party. The same man who’s spent the last eleven years making my life a living hell every time he’s in the same room as me.
And he’s in my bed. Shirtless. His dark hair is a mess. There’s a faint red mark on his neck that looks suspiciously like a hickey.
Oh no.
Oh no no no no no.
I sit up so fast the room spins.
Bad idea. Very bad idea. The tequila from last night decides it wants to make a reappearance. I clamp a hand over my mouth and close my eyes, breathing through my nose until the nausea passes.
When I finally trust myself not to throw up on Holden Reid’s stupidly perfect abs, I look down at myself.
I’m wearing a white tank top. That’s it. No pants. No bra. Just the tank top and—
Wait.
What is that on my hand?
I lift my left hand into the light.
There’s a ring. A gold ring. On my ring finger.
A wedding ring.
“No,” I whisper. “No no no no no—”
“Stop saying no.” Holden’s voice is rough with sleep. “You’re making my head worse.”
I whip around to stare at him. “You’re AWAKE?”
He cracks one eye open. Those stupidly perfect dark eyes that every woman in a fifty-mile radius swoons over. “Unfortunately.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to realize we’re both screwed.”
He lifts his left hand. There’s a matching gold ring on his finger.
The room tilts.
“Please tell me this is a joke,” I hear myself say. “Please tell me you bought these at a gas station as a prank and this is all some elaborate setup to humiliate me.”
“I wish.” Holden sits up, running a hand through his hair. The movement makes the sheet slip down to his waist. He’s not wearing a shirt. Or pants, from what I can tell. Just black boxer briefs.
Don’t look. Don’t you dare look, Tessa.
I look.
Damn it.
“Stop staring at me and help me figure out what the hell happened,” Holden mutters, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.
“I’m not staring. I’m processing.”
“Process faster.”
“Oh, I’m SORRY.” My voice goes shrill. “Am I not handling waking up MARRIED TO MY BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND fast enough for you?”
Holden freezes. His hand stops halfway to his phone. Slowly, he turns to look at me.
“Married?”
“The rings, genius.”
“Rings don’t mean married. Rings mean… I don’t know. Bad decisions. Drunk jewelry shopping.”
“Oh, you sweet summer child.” I spot my purse on the floor and lunge for it. Everything falls out in a cascade of lipstick, receipts, and loose change. And there, at the bottom, is a piece of paper.
Official. Embossed. With both our names on it.
Certificate of Marriage.
State of Nevada.
Officiated by Elvis Presley (certified impersonator).
I hold it up. My hand is shaking.
Holden stares at it. Then at me. Then at the ring on his finger. Then back at the certificate.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “Don’t panic.”
“DON’T PANIC?” I’m definitely panicking. “We’re MARRIED. Do you understand what that means? We’re LEGALLY MARRIED.”
“I heard you the first three times you said married.”
“This isn’t funny!”
“You think I think this is funny?” Holden swings his legs out of bed and stands up. Yep. Definitely just boxer briefs. I immediately avert my eyes to the ceiling. “You’re the last person on earth I’d want to marry, Tessa.”
“Oh, that’s RICH coming from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve done nothing but antagonize me since we were teenagers! You’re arrogant, and insufferable, and you think you’re God’s gift to women—”
“I never said that.”
“You don’t have to say it. It’s written all over your face every time you walk into a room.”
“Okay, you know what—” Holden pinches the bridge of his nose. Takes a breath. “We’re not doing this. We’re adults. We can figure this out like adults.”
“Fine. What do adults do when they accidentally marry their mortal enemy?”
“Annulment.”
The word hangs in the air between us.
Of course. Annulment. That’s a thing. People get annulments all the time in Vegas. This is fixable. This is totally, completely fixable.
I sag with relief. “Okay. Yes. Annulment. We get an annulment, we never speak of this again, and we take this secret to our graves.”
“Agreed.”
“Noah can never know.”
“DEFINITELY agreed.”
We stare at each other. For the first time in eleven years, we’re completely on the same page about something.
It’s unsettling.
“So…” I clear my throat. “We should probably… figure out what actually happened last night.”
Holden looks around the hotel room like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Do you remember anything?”
I close my eyes and try to piece together the fragments. “I remember the casino. Wren’s bachelorette party. You were there with some guys—”
“A buddy’s bachelor party,” Holden confirms. “We ran into you at the blackjack table.”
“Right. And then… shots?”
“So many shots.”
“And there was a bet?”
Holden’s face does something complicated. “Oh God. The bet.”
“What bet? What did we bet?”
He won’t look at me. “You said you could drink me under the table.”
“That’s not a bet. That’s just facts.”
“And I said you couldn’t last five minutes at a poker table without crying.”
Okay, that’s offensive. “I would never cry at a poker table.”
“You cried during a game of Uno at Christmas.”
“That was ONE TIME and your brother cheated!”
“We don’t have a brother.”
“NOAH. Noah cheated.”
“Noah doesn’t cheat at Uno.”
“Are we seriously arguing about this right now?” I press my palms against my eyes. “Focus. The bet. What were the stakes?”
Holden is very quiet.
Too quiet.
I lower my hands and look at him.
He’s staring at the marriage certificate like it personally offended him.
“Holden. What were the stakes.”
“Winner got to make the loser do one thing. Anything they wanted. No questions asked.”
My stomach drops. “And who won?”
“I don’t remember.”
“HOW DO YOU NOT REMEMBER?”
“Because I was DRUNK, Tessa! Just like you! That’s why we’re in this mess in the first place!”
He’s right. I know he’s right. But acknowledging that feels like losing, and I will never, EVER lose to Holden Reid.
Even when I’ve apparently already lost by marrying him.
My phone buzzes. I grab it from the nightstand.
Seventeen missed calls from Wren.
Twenty-three texts.
And one voicemail that just says: “TESSA MARIE MORGAN, CALL ME RIGHT NOW OR I’M SENDING A SEARCH PARTY.”
“Shit,” I mutter.
“What?”
“Wren thinks I’m dead.”
“Maybe that’s easier than explaining this.”
I glare at him. “Not helping.”
Before I can respond to any of the messages, there’s a pounding on the door.
We both freeze.
“Tessa!” Wren’s voice. Muffled but unmistakably panicked. “I know you’re in there! I tracked your phone! Open up!”
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“Don’t answer it,” Holden hisses.
“I have to answer it! She’ll break down the door!”
“Then hide the rings!”
I yank the ring off my finger and stuff it under the pillow. Holden does the same. We both grab for clothes—me finding a robe that I don’t remember packing, Holden pulling on jeans that he apparently had the presence of mind to bring.
The pounding gets louder. “TESSA!”
“Coming!” I call out. I smooth down my hair. Take a breath. Try to look like someone who did NOT just wake up married to her worst enemy.
I open the door.
Wren takes one look at me, then at Holden standing shirtless behind me, and her eyes go wide.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. “You slept with Holden Reid.”
“No! I mean— it’s not what it looks like—”
“It’s EXACTLY what it looks like,” she says, pushing past me into the room. “Tessa, do you have any idea how worried I was? You disappeared after the casino and stopped answering your phone and I thought you’d been kidnapped by the mob or—” She stops. Stares at something on the floor.
The marriage certificate.
She picks it up slowly.
Reads it.
Looks at me.
Looks at Holden.
Looks back at the certificate.
“Tessa,” she says very calmly. “Why does this piece of paper say you married Holden Reid last night?”
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
No words come out.
Holden clears his throat. “We can explain.”
“Can you?” Wren’s voice goes dangerously soft. “Because I would LOVE to hear how you accidentally married your brother’s best friend. The man you swore you’d rather ‘eat glass than kiss.’ Your words. From two days ago.”
“I was drunk,” I manage.
“HOW DRUNK?”
“Very?”
Wren sinks onto the edge of the bed. Presses her hands to her face. Takes three deep breaths.
Then she looks up at us with the most terrifying smile I’ve ever seen.
“Noah is going to murder you both.”
And that’s when it really, truly hits me.
My brother. My overprotective, detective brother who specifically told Holden to “stay away from my sister” every single time they’ve hung out for the past decade.
That brother.
Is going to find out I married his best friend.
In Vegas.
By Elvis.
I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die.
Holden seems to have reached the same conclusion because all the color has drained from his face.
“He can’t find out,” he says.
“He’s going to find out,” Wren counters.
“Not if we get this annulled immediately.”
“You think annulments are instantaneous? This is going to take paperwork. And time. And—” Wren’s eyes narrow. “Wait. Why are there rings?”
Damn it.
“What rings?” I try.
“Don’t play dumb. I can see the tan line on your finger.”
Holden and I exchange a look. A whole conversation happens in that glance: We’re screwed. We’re so incredibly screwed. Should we run? Can we run? Is witness protection a thing for Vegas wedding disasters?
Slowly, I reach under the pillow.
Pull out the rings.
Hold them up.
Wren’s jaw drops.
“You bought RINGS?”
“Apparently drunk us was very committed to the bit,” Holden mutters.
“This is insane. This is actually insane.” Wren starts pacing. “Okay. Okay. We can fix this. We’ll get a lawyer. File for annulment. You two will never speak to each other again, which should be easy since you already hate each other. Problem solved.”
“What about Noah?” I ask quietly.
“What ABOUT Noah?”
“Do we… tell him?”
The room goes silent.
Holden and I look at each other again. I can see the same thought reflected in his dark eyes.
If we tell Noah, he’ll lose his mind. If we don’t tell him and he finds out later, he’ll lose his mind AND never forgive us.
We’re trapped.
“We’ll tell him after the annulment,” Holden decides. “Once it’s already done. Then it won’t matter because it’ll be like it never happened.”
“That’s a terrible plan,” Wren says.
“You have a better one?”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. “No.”
“Then that’s the plan.” Holden reaches for his shirt. “I’ll call my lawyer. Get this sorted out by Monday.”
“Monday?” I repeat.
“It’s Sunday. Lawyers don’t work Sundays.”
“Some lawyers—”
“MY lawyer doesn’t work Sundays. Monday.”
I hate that he’s right.
I hate everything about this.
Wren looks between us one more time, then shakes her head. “This is going to blow up in your faces. You know that, right?”
“Noted,” Holden says.
“And when it does, I’m telling Noah I had nothing to do with it.”
“Also noted.”
She grabs her purse and heads for the door. Pauses with her hand on the handle. “For what it’s worth? You two deserve each other.”
And then she’s gone.
Leaving me alone in a hotel room.
With my accidental husband.
Who I hate.
Who I’m now legally bound to.
Holden clears his throat. “So.”
“So.”
“I’ll call you when I hear from the lawyer.”
“Great.”
“Great.”
We stare at each other.
This is fine. Everything is fine. I just need to get through the next twenty-four hours without losing my mind, and then this will all be over.
Holden’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and his face goes white.
“What?” I demand.
He turns the phone toward me.
It’s a text from Noah: “Bro, where’d you disappear to last night? You missed breakfast. Also, have you seen Tessa? She’s not answering her phone and Wren’s freaking out.”
Oh.
Oh no.
This is very, very bad.
END OF CHAPTER 1
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