They should've gotten a hotel room with blackout curtains. You'd think that'd be the standard in Vegas, but you'd be wrong. As it stands, the sun is creeping in, and Lennox really isn't ready to face the day.
A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand, and oh, it's eight o'clock at night. This is the sunset, not the sunrise.
Even with Remy asleep beside her, his soft snoring easing her irritation, Lenn still isn't ready for it. She tosses her left arm over her eyes, flinching when cool metal touches her face.
Fuck.
Slowly, she lifts her hand.
On her third finger is a ring.
It's a cheap one with a black plastic "stone," and the metal is already turning her finger green, but it's a ring none the less.
"Remy," she says, panic rising in her voice. "I think we fucked up."
Beside her, wrapped up in the covers like a cocooned caterpillar, Remy mumbles something in French that she doesn't quite catch. He's not usually a heavy sleeper, but booze'll do that to you.
She jostles his shoulder, and at last, his sleep-crusty eyes creak open. "Remy," she says again, "I think we got married last night."
"Be grateful, chère," he mumbles, the panic she feels apparently not penetrating his sleepy bubble just yet. Give him half an hour and a cup of coffee, and ooh, boy. It's not gonna be good. But for now, he closes his eyes and buries his face in the pillow again. His words muffled by the fabric, he says, "I bought seven rings outta that gumball machine 'fore I got a black one."
(My wife, @seasaltstedman , wrote this for me 🥰🥰🥰🥰 thank you bb)
