Kate remembered insisting it wasn’t their wedding song, then gangly Elvis had changed keys and started crooning “Don’t Be Cruel.”
Surely that part was a dream. What kind of a wedding chapel would offer those song choices for the recessional? An Elvis-themed wedding chapel, of course.
It had to have been a dream, because she remembered turning in circles, looking for Aidan, only to find him up on the dais singing “It’s Now Or Never” to her.
Obviously, she had already taken the now-or-never sentiment to heart.
It must’ve been her guilty conscience working overtime, because she didn’t want to be cruel. Not to Aidan. Not again, like the times before. But she didn’t want to be married, either.
It wasn’t him she was rejecting. Good, kind, solid Aidan.
This was definitely all on her.
Panic skittered through her. Why had they done this?
Why? Because the joy radiating from Gigi and Charles had been almost palpable. It had been contagious. That much, she remembered. Who would not get a little sentimental when they watched their eighty-five-year-old grandmother finally marry the love of her life?
Kate vaguely remembered the entire family dancing to the song “Come On, Eileen.” They had also danced to “Love Potion Number Nine,” the song with the same name as the wedding punch. She cringed at the foggy memory.
What did they put in that stuff? Whatever it was, it should come with a disclaimer. Surely a couple of sips wouldn’t have made her lose her mind.
And yet she’d woken up married.
Kate also remembered looking at Gigi and Charles, and suddenly fearing that she would end up alone in the world. She had turned to Aidan—and she always turned to Aidan, didn’t she? Last night she had turned to him and thought, I should propose to him right now. Toss it up to fate. If he said yes, she would stop second-guessing love. She had to stop running. Because she would never find anyone better than Aidan Quindlin.
That part was clear and decidedly real.
So was the moment she and Aidan had exited the banquet hall. Kate had tugged on his hand. He had turned to her, smiling, his eyes saying yes even before she had popped the question.
She groaned inwardly, throwing her arm over her eyes.
Just breathe. And think logically.
Of course, there was always the chance that Aidan would be just as horrified to wake up married to her.
She took a few more deep breaths and let her mind sift through the facts.
Obviously, the “Jailhouse Rock/Don’t Be Cruel/It’s Now or Never” medley had been her subconscious screaming at her. Gangly Elvis had been real. Or had he?
Someone had married them. She just wasn’t clear on who.
Was it legally binding if she couldn’t remember the officiant? Couldn’t remember saying I do, couldn’t remember exchanging vows?
How could it be legal if she hadn’t remembered what she had to do for the rest of her life?
Covering herself with the top sheet, she slid up into a sitting position, leaning against the quilted headboard, drawing her knees to her chest.
On the nightstand next to the bed was a small white book that looked like a photo album. She picked it up and opened it. The first page contained what looked like wedding vows:
I (name), take you (name), to by my husband/wife, secure in the understanding that you will be my forever partner in life...
There was more, but her head was swimming and she couldn’t get past the fact that their names weren’t even filled in. It was so generic.
She flipped the page and found what appeared to be a marriage license. Not only were their names filled in, she recognized her signature, even if she didn’t remember signing.
She snapped the book shut. Her stomach roiled and a clammy film of hot panic encased her like a second skin. She lowered her head to her knees, willing the sick feeling to pass. But like the gold band constricting her ring finger, the sensation only became more oppressive.
“Good morning, Mrs. Quindlin.”
She jumped at the sound of Aidan’s voice. She lifted her head to see him turning onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. He touched her face with a big, gentle hand, raised himself up more so he could kiss her lips.
She adored his lips. But she didn’t necessarily want to be married to them.
“Good morning.” She managed to push the words through knotted vocal cords.
“You okay?” he asked.
No. I’m not okay. How can this be okay? Nothing will ever be okay again. Don’t you understand that?
Not until they fixed this. And the only way they could fix it would be to somehow get unmarried. Kate glanced around the opulent suite, feeling like a cornered animal who needed a way out.
Surely lots of people who made the impetuous choice to let gangly Elvis marry them in a quirky little Vegas chapel had next-day wedding regret? Didn’t they? Surely there was an escape clause? There had to be. You had ninety days to return a toaster to Target. Something as huge and life altering as marriage had to come with some kind of buyer’s remorse safety net, didn’t it?
The problem was, Aidan didn’t seem to share her horror.
And he had called her Mrs. Quindlin. It was just registering.
“Talk to me.” Aidan pushed himself into a sitting position mirroring hers. The muscles of his biceps bunched and relaxed in the process.
“What did we do, Aidan?”
“We got married.” He reached out and tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear, letting his finger trail down her jawline.
“Talk to me,” he said again. His voice was neutral, neither happy nor regretful, neither supportive nor reproachful. That, in itself, ignited a spark of hope in Kate. Maybe, for her sake, he had been holding in his regrets. Leave it to Aidan to be strong for both of them.
“How do you feel about it?” she asked, testing the
