Page 55 of Clinically Bewitched
Except it did mean something. It meant I was married.
Married.
To a woman who thought the universe had a personality and opinions about my life choices.
I finished unpacking and moved to my laptop, opening my email with the kind of dread usually reserved for biopsy results.
147 unread messages.
Of course.
I started scrolling through them, my anxiety increasing with each subject line:
“Welcome back! How was Vegas?”- From Gabriel. Innocent enough. Probably didn’t know yet.
“DUDE”- From Fitz. All caps. Definitely knew. Definitely told everyone.
“Congratulations???”- From Hayden, with three question marks, which somehow made it worse.
“I heard the most INSANE rumor”- From one of the surgical nurses.
I closed the laptop.
Opened it again.
Closed it again.
Tomorrow,I told myself.I’ll deal with this tomorrow.
When I’m rested.
When I’ve had time to prepare.
When I’ve figured out what the hell I’m going to say.
I stood up and walked to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes and stepping into the shower.
The water was exactly the right temperature. I’d programmed the smart shower system to my preferences months ago, and I stood under the spray, letting it wash away two days of Las Vegas grime and cosmic chaos.
But it couldn’t wash away the reality of my situation.
I was married.
I was married, and everyone knew.
I was married, and tomorrow I’d have to face the consequences.
The questions.
The gossip.
The looks.
“Is it true?”
“What were you thinking?”
“Did she come home with you?”
