Images flood my mind. Freedom’s bare chest as the sheet fell to her waist. Freedom’s pert breasts pressed against the shower glass. Freedom’s rose-colored nipples wet and hard. Freedom’s grin that was like a siren’s song calling me home.
Freedom, Freedom, Freedom.
I exhale to keep the walls from closing in on me. “I’m going to head to my room and change,” I holler as I finish my quick retreat. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Then the door closes, bathing me in silence.
I’m alone in the hallway without any shoes or socks and looking like I was possibly mugged. I haven’t even found my tie. I walk the handful of feet to my own room and search my pockets for my keycard. My hand comes in contact with a lot of things, but no keycard. Sighing, I dig for my wallet in my back pocket. Fortunately, it’s there, along with all of the contents, including a few more pieces of paper I’ll need to look over. Right now, all I really want is about a dozen Tylenol and a hot shower.
The room is cool when I step inside, lacking the life and joy that seemed to be vibrating off the walls in Freedom’s room. That’s why I need to stay away. Not because of the life and joy, per se, but because it’s very out of the box. She’s all sparkle and sunshine, while I’m more cut and dried with primary colors.
Taking a seat on the bed, I run my hands through my hair once more. Damn it, I should have taken the time to get that haircut. Something shiny catches my eye and I find myself staring down at the simple platinum band on my left hand. It’s as foreign to my finger as an ex-spouse at a funeral. Although, that’s not really that uncommon anymore. It seems more and more exes show up at memorials with their big wooden spoon to stir the proverbial pot.
“What the hell did I do?” I ask aloud.
No answer is given.
Standing up, I start digging in my pockets to empty them. The first thing I notice is the small velvet box. It’s light in comparison to the heaviness I feel when I open the lid. It’s empty, of course, considering the items once inside are now wrapped around our fingers. Tossing it on the bed, I grab a sheet of paper folded into a small square. When I unfold it, I gasp at the bottom number printed in black ink. Three thousand dollars. I bought a damn engagement and wedding ring set, as well as my own ring, and spent just under three thousand dollars.
I start to get a little sweaty in the pits.
My signature stares up at me from the bottom of the receipt, my credit card used for the purchase. Glancing back down at the ring on my finger, I don’t exactly see seven hundred dollars in material there, but it’s not like pricing wedding bands is something I do in my spare time. Not that I have any of that either.
I toss the receipt on the bed beside the ring box and thumb through the rest of the items. A ticket stub from the magic show and a handful of drink receipts from, apparently, several stops we made after we left the club. The time stamp on them drifts into the wee hours of the morning, until I finally get to the last one.
Happiness Wedding Chapel.
A receipt for the Ultimate Vegas Package.
Five hundred ninety-five dollars included our ceremony, staff photographer, and Elvis and Marilyn witnesses.
Signed. Dated. Stamped.
We’re married.
Fuck.
***
Feeling a little more human after a shower and a few aspirin found in my bag, I make my way down to the restaurant for brunch. My stomach growls as the elevator starts to drop, and all I can do is pray the food will stay down. I’m starving.
When I step into the lobby, I run into Rhenn. He’s coming from the hallway and heading for the restaurant. “Hey, Samuel,” he says.
“Rhenn,” I reply, nodding in greeting. I keep my head down and shove my hands into my suit pockets. I’m not sure why I’m still wearing this ring, to be honest. I should have taken it off and left it in the safe in the room. Now, here I am, getting ready to have lunch with a big neon flag on my finger, so I slip it off and slide it into my pocket when he’s not looking.
“You ready for today?” he asks, as we enter the restaurant and find our table. Freedom isn’t there yet, but everyone else is. They’re all sitting around and laughing, telling stories about last night.
Boy, do I have a story…
“Yes,” I reply politely, even though I’m not really sure what I’m ready for. The pre-wedding festivities? The wedding? The reception? Seeing Freedom, who has apparently joined me in wedded bliss? Hell, I have no idea what I’m ready for, but I can’t exactly say that now. It’s not about me. It’s about Harper and Latham.
“Where’d you disappear to last night?” Marissa asks as we join the table. Rhenn sits down beside her, while I take the empty chair across from her. Far away from my nosy sister Harper and her knowing smirks.
“I…” I clear my throat and take a sip of water. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
I also ignore the snort from the far end of the table. Marissa glances down at Harper but doesn’t ask why she responded that way.
Before anyone can ask me further questions, Freedom blows into the restaurant like a whimsical goddess. She’s wearing a long purple flowy skirt and black tank top. Her feet are adorned with strappy black sandals and her neck with layers of necklaces that dangle between her pert breasts. My mind instantly flashes back to waking up this morning, to the sheet that fell to her waist and giving me a nice little peepshow of said breasts. The small, hard nipples that were begging to be licked…
I clear my
