Page 7 of Dice & Dekes

Next. To.Viktor’s.

It’s not just the hangover. Or the fact that I’m naked. Or that Viktor is too.

It’s that I’m standing here, clutching a phone, staring at my name on a goddamn marriage license.

To him.

And for a second—just one stupid second—I don’t feel panic.

And that’s the scariest thing of all.

“Who was that?” Viktor asks.

I whirl toward him. “Please tell me we didn’t fuck last night,” I blurt. My thighs are sticky. My neck’s raw from stubble burn. And my body feels like it’s been worshipped.

I feel… Okay, not relaxed, because I’m in my own personal hell, but I feel… good. My pussy has that post-coital release feeling that comes with getting off. Possibly more than once.

Fucking traitor.

Viktor stands up and looks me up and down. His grin widens. He holds up both hands to sniff them. “My fingers smell like pussy,” he says, lookingdisgustinglypleased with himself. “My favorite flavor.”

“Not helpful!” I snap.

“No, but it’s a start.” Viktor slips his thumb under the waistband of his boxers. “Wanna come see if my dick smells like it, too?”

“You’re disgusting.” I stomp back to my dress and make a beeline for the bathroom. Viktor wiggles his eyebrows and glances down at his groin. When he does, his cheeks turn pink. He releases the elastic band, which snaps against his annoyingly firm stomach. “Never mind,” he mumbles.

I pause at the door to the bathroom. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Viktor,tell me.”

“I’m pretty sure we didn’t make it that far last night.” He dips his head and cuts his eyes away from me.

Relief washes through me.Thank God.I don’t know what the hell went down last night, but it’s a good thing if we didn’t have sex, right? That’ll make it easier to get an annulment. Assuming we need to. Maybe this is all a prank. Not the part where we’re naked, obviously, but Dante’s guy made us sign an NDA. I vaguely remember that. And there were cameras. Employees of the Mona Lisa. This was planned.

I stumble into the bathroom and glance at the trashcan. No condom. Good. I’m increasingly sure that whatever we did last night didn’t involve full-on PIV. Aside from the fact that this information could help us secure an annulment, I’m relieved on a personal level. I don’t want the first sex I have after the love of my life to be drunk sex with my nemesis.

I take a quick shower to wash the feel of my sticky thighs and the smell of Viktor’s cologne off me, then allow myself the luxury of blow-drying my hair. When I’m done, I feel better. Not great, but more human. The headache is receding. I’m back in control.

Viktor has crawled back into bed and cocooned himself in blankets. I jab him with my finger a few times before he finally stirs.

“Get up,” I tell him. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

Viktor burrows deeper into his blanket nest. “Nooo,” he moans. “Why?”

“Because we’re going to see Dante.” If I have anything to say about it, this stunt marriage will be annulled by lunchtime. Dante got us into this mess. He damn well better be the able to get us out of it.

* * *

“I need coffee.”

“My skull’s splitting.”

“Did someone shove a porcupine in my mouth and hit purée?”

Viktor groans the whole ride to Dante’s office but never once complains about the fact that we accidentally got married. That part? Radio silence. Either his hangover is worse than mine, or he’s not nearly as upset as he should be.

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