VANYA
Congratulations on your Vegas wedding!
I stare at the cheap printed card and then the plastic rose with a pair of pink fuzzy dice attached by a thong and wonder whether I’ve officially entered the Twilight Zone.
This has to be some kind of joke. First of all, I’d never get married wearing a tacky… wait—is that dress made of toilet paper? I peer closer at the photograph attached to the card. That’s not possible. I’m a lover of fashion, elegance and fabric not used to wipe butt-cracks. Secondly, why in the name of Vera Wang would I get pretend-married to Hadyn wearing a tacky toilet paper wedding dress?
And thirdly, nothing that happened in Vegas was supposed to follow me home and punch a hole in my perfectly organized life.
So why are these cheap gifts attached to a very real looking marriage certificate?
I squeeze my eyes shut.
This isn’t happening.
I open my eyes and the wedding photo is glaring at me again, evidence of that night two weeks ago.
The night I made the second biggest mistake of my life.
The door to my dressing room bursts open.
“Vanya, what’s the hold up? They’re waiting for…” Juniper, my manager, skids to a stop when he sees me half-draped against the vanity mirror.
He inches forward, steps steady as if he’s approaching a wild horse. “Look, I know you’re not a fan of old-fashioned corsets, but the designer specifically requested it, so—”
“Help,” I croak.
Juniper’s jaw drops to the ground. He’s a broad-shouldered guy with smooth dark skin and a head full of thick dreadlocks. Barely discernible tattoos crawl out of the sleeves of his fashionable silk top.
There’s rarely a moment when my manager is lost for words.
But I guess there’s a first time for everything.
“Here.” I shove the wedding junk at him.
“Who took such an awful photo?” Juniper mumbles, his eyes sharpening.
He’s right. I can pose to within an inch of my life and, somehow, the photographer managed to make me look like a Beluga whale had a torrid affair with a raccoon. The mummy-like toilet paper dress is unravelling and doing zero justice to my curves.
“Is that why you’re upset?” Juniper tuts. “Don’t sweat it, honey. We’ll call it a ‘high concept’ editorial. You know the masses won’t care if you stick a fancy label on it.”
“No, Juniper. I need you to look again. Closer.”
He blinks and gives the photo another scan. “Hadyn Mulliez. You and the playboy billionaire are hanging out now? I thought you hated him?”
“Hate would require emotions. I tolerate him.”
“Same difference.” Juniper flicks a finger at the Polaroid. “What does this picture mean?”
“It means he’s my husband.” The words send a shudder down my spine.
Please let this be an awful dream.
Juniper startles. The photograph slips out of his hand and wafts to the ground. For a second, all that can be heard is the pounding of my own heart and the electric buzz of the air conditioner.
Suddenly, Juniper cradles my face in his giant paws. “Honey, I know this corset is probably cutting off your circulation, but I’m going to need you to pull it together and be a professional about this shoot.”
“Juniper, it’s not a joke.”
“You expect me to believe you got married to Hadyn in Vegas? Without me?”
“That’s the part that sounds ridiculous? That I did it without you? Seriously?”
Juniper abandons the marriage certificate on the makeup desk. He grabs the drying wipes and coos, “Honey, I know you’re exhausted, but you have to work with me.” He dabs at the sweat gathering on my temple. “This elaborate story is a little immature. You’re making such a fuss just to wiggle out of a corset…”
“Juniper, forget about the damn corset.” I brush his hand away.
He makes a shocked sound. “Feeling sassy, are we?”
“This certificate,” I snatch it and hold it an inch away from his nose, “it’s real.”
“What do you mean it’s real?” He takes it from me and studies it with barely disguised annoyance, then his skeptical expression cracks and his eyes latch onto mine. “Oh my Givenchy.”
My heart is pounding. “I need chai.”
“You need a whole lot more than chai. I sent you on one victory lap in Vegas and you come back a wife? What the hell?”
“It’s a really long story and I only remember bits and pieces of it, but I’m almost certain it was an accident. We were supposed to have a pretend wedding. We even signed a waiver.”
He grabs me by the shoulders, his teeth gritted. “You signed a legal document without me?”
I cringe.
Juniper whirls around and massages his forehead. “Breathe, Juniper. Breathe.”
I recite the same mantra. It’s easier said than done since I’m currently strapped in an old-fashioned corset. Too sharp a breath and the spines will impale my torso, old school, Roman-torture-chamber style. I have no idea how women spent hours in these death traps.
“Okay. Okay, okay.” I sound like a desperate woman on the verge of a mental breakdown. “There has to be a way to get out of this quietly. Marriages in Vegas aren’t binding.”
“This looks pretty freaking binding to me.” He juts his pointer at the document.
“I bet it’s a joke from the wedding chapel. The paper is flimsy too. Look, I’ll tear it up right now.” I start to twist the certificate. It’s surprisingly sturdy.
Juniper grabs it from me. “Are you crazy? You can’t tear up an official government document!”
“I can’t be married to Hadyn for real!”
“Let me think. Let me think.” Juniper rubs his forehead as if he’s got telekinetic abilities. I half-expect the makeup brushes to start vibrating.
In the silence, I have my own freak out session. What was I thinking? I never should have gotten drunk that night. I should have sent Hadyn skipping the moment he found me at the bar. I definitely shouldn’t have made that dare…
“Give me a second. I’ll make a call.” Juniper gives me a worried look, dips his large fingers into the pocket of his shirt and produces his phone. Urgently tapping the screen, he stalks out.
I stare at the card from the wedding chapel and wait for the words to morph into something understandable, but reality chooses to grab me by the hair instead like a toxic member of The Real Housewives after a dramatic baby daddy reveal.
Congratulations on your Vegas wedding!
Once again, I’m staring down the barrel of a life-altering event that I can barely remember. And considering the last time I had a mental blackout was the morning I woke up naked in a Vegas hotel room wearing Hadyn’s wedding ring, that’s saying a lot.
I sink into the chair in front of the mirror. My fake eyelashes are suddenly too heavy and it’s a chore to blink or move or breathe.
“You’re never drinking alcohol again.” I jut a finger at the brown-skinned woman in the mirror. “Never.”
A commotion erupts outside.
“What’s taking so long? We’ve been waiting for Ms. Beckford for an hour.”
Juniper’s voice rings with heat. “She’ll be there, okay? Just have some patience.”
“I don’t have time to waste.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? She’ll be there soon.”
“Vanya needs to get her butt out here or she can kiss this editorial goodbye.”
“Hey, you’re the one who begged for Vanya to work with you.”
“That was before her scandal. Listen up. You think your client’s still at the top of her game? There are plenty more plus-size models to be found. Girls who are younger and fresher than her. Social media is full of them. It doesn’t have to be Vanya Beckford!”
Each word hits my heart like a flaming arrow.
Scandal. Sting.
Thin ice. Sting.
Washed out Vanya Beckford. Sting.
But just because it hurts doesn’t mean I can break down and cry. I didn’t make it as a plus-sized model by falling apart every time someone said negative words about me.
I grab a figurative shovel and two-by-four, pry up the grave in my heart where I keep all the things that hurt me and bury the pain deep inside.
That’s enough self-pity for one day.
Coaxing my face into my fiercest expression, I raise my chin and pat my hair to make sure all the bobby pins are secure. My real hair is in a pixie cut, so the team used extensions to complete the look for today’s spread.
I double check the integrity of the style. If the pins get loose, I’ll end up looking like an unhinged college student after a weekend at Coachella.
Hair, check.
The makeup artists did a soft, natural look on my face. The gentle, dewy makeup brings out the golden undertones in my mahogany brown skin.
Makeup, check.
Great.
I’m ready.
I press my fingers to the back of the chair and push myself up. Worrying about my Vegas marriage is not important right now. It’s time to work.
Juniper and the director are still locked in a heated argument when I shove the door aside.
The director jumps.
Juniper frowns.
“I’m ready,” I say calmly.
“Vanya.” Juniper’s eyes are big and wide.
“I’m ready,” I repeat myself, just in case he thinks harsh words are something he needs to protect me from.
“About time,” the director mumbles. With a huff, he marches down the hallway.
Juniper makes a fist and throws a punch at his head. “Idiot.”
“We can’t exactly blame him. Time is money and I’ve been holed up in that room since the packages were delivered.”
“So what?”
“So it’s not their fault I made a stupid mistake in Vegas.”
Juniper’s long fingers wrap around my arm. “I called my buddy who works in the municipal office. I’ll see if he knows a guy in the Vegas courthouse. We need confirmation that this marriage is legal before we decide what to do.”
“Okay.”
Juniper peers at me. “You going to be alright out there?”
My nerves are tangling into a ball and my brain is chanting ‘must… have… chai’, but Juniper looks worried sick.
“You do what you do.” I drum up a bright smile and aim it at him. “And I’ll do what I do best.”
My heels clop the floor with every confident step. I’m beautiful. I own this space. I repeat the mantra to myself until it feels real.
The bright lights on set welcome me the way water welcomes a swimmer. It bathes my skin in heat and fills me with an airy feeling.
I’m home.
I belong here.
Each breath gets a little easier.
It’s quiet on set and I take a minute to glance around. I’m impressed by what I see. The backdrop is steampunk inspired. Red walls. Metal shelves. Rusty gears stolen from Victorian-era air balloons. Whoever did the set design knows what they’re doing.
There are a handful of crew members moving behind the monitors. The director’s sulking in his chair and barely looking my way.
“Vanya.” The photographer floats to me and kisses both my cheeks.
“Helen.” My smile is fixed. “We haven’t worked together since Milan.”
“Glorious days, huh?” She winks. “You were several pounds lighter back then, weren’t you?”
I want to shoot daggers with my eyes, but instead I coach my expression. “Perhaps.”
“Now look at you. You’ve become so popular you can gain all this weight and still book gigs. It’s truly amazing what the body positivity gimmick can do for a model like you.”
I pin my lips together and give her a stiff look. “A model like me?”
“It’s a compliment, dear.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “We used to never glorify unhealthy bodies, but here we are. It’s truly frightening how much society has changed, isn’t it?”
My fingers curl into fists. “Truly.”
She lets out a loud and pretentious cackle. “Let’s begin. And don’t worry, Vanya. I’ll be sure to capture all your,” she gestures in the general direction of my stomach and Double Ds, “curves.”
Flames roar in my heart, demanding to devour her. But I can’t afford to piss off my photographer. She and the client have all the power here. That’s how it is in this business.
Helen gets into position and hefts her camera. “Let’s begin.”
At the first flash, I turn ‘on’.
I may not have control over the keyboard warriors. I may not have control of the snide comments from photographers. I may not even have control over my own stomach that’s currently bubbling with a strange sensation.
But none of that matters when I’m in front of the camera.
I try three different poses in the space of three seconds.
Arms raised. Click.
Arms on my hips. Click.
Back curved slightly. Click.
The camera is my boyfriend, my husband and my lover.
I flirt. Tease. Smirk.
Helen says nothing and the director remains silent too. They don’t need to hype me up or cheer every time I hit a winner. If they did, they’d be making noise the entire shoot.
I know I’m delivering face and body.
I’m the embodiment of the character.
If Helen thinks I got this far because I’m society’s pity project, she now has fifty rolls of film to prove otherwise.
“Not bad,” Helen says from behind the monitor. Her French-tipped nails slap the keyboard and the picture shifts. “Not bad at all.”
The director smiles at me. “Nice job, Vanya.”
I nod and sashay off the set. As I leave, my stomach roils. It feels like my intestines are playing Twister and someone just called ‘red, left, green, right’.
Slinging a hand over my stomach, I groan softly.
Juniper is there like a dark-skinned angel. “Vanya, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just feel… blegh.” I slap a hand over my mouth to stop myself from vomiting.
“Did you eat something bad this morning?”
I shake my head roughly. The room is spinning faster than that crazy cup ride my dad and I used to love at the amusement park.
“Vanya, you’re scaring me.” Juniper keeps rubbing my back.
I swallow the vomit that’s trying to launch up and plead, “Get me out of this corset.”
“What?”
I grab him by the collar and grunt. “Get this death trap off me now.”
“Okay.” Juniper helps me into the dressing room. He calls the stylist crew in to help unsnap the corset.
It gets harder and harder to breathe. My hair is sticking to the sweat on my face, making me feel itchy and uncomfortable. By the time the corset is off, I don’t have the strength to go to the bathroom. Juniper kicks the trash at me and I dry heave into the plastic bin.
After, I wilt against the trash, groaning softly.
“Go, go.” Juniper shoves the stylists out of the room. Then he bends down next to me and wraps a robe gently over my shoulders. His dreads swing back and forth as he stares. “What was that?”
“Must be the nerves from the shoot.” I scrunch my nose in discomfort. My belly is still gurgling a little.
“You never get nervous during a shoot. You come alive when those cameras are on you.” He gives me an I’m not buying it look. “Give me the truth, Vanya. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been feeling nauseous for a couple days now. It’s been hard to keep the meals down.”
He grabs my neck and pushes me toward him. Eyes burning into mine, he says sternly, “Vanya, I’m only going to ask this once. Are you trying to lose weight by overeating and then throwing up?”
“I’m not bulimic, Juniper.”
“Diet pills?”
“No.”
“Secret gastric surgery?”
“Juniper.”
“You know you’re beautiful just the way you are.”
“I—”
You’re beautiful.
The words unlock a memory from Vegas. Hadyn. A dark hotel room. Fingers grasping my body. Mouth open and sliding down my stomach.
I gasp and shake my head. “No.”
“No?” Juniper cries.
“I…” My eyes dart back and forth when I realize I’m not in Vegas and Juniper isn’t Hadyn. “I mean. I’m fine.”
Juniper folds his arms over his chest and gives me a dour look. “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling sick? I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“I can handle it.”
Juniper rolls his eyes. For a man, he’s really good at that. “What do you have against hospitals?”
“Nothing. I’d just rather not go to one.”
“Where else are you supposed to go when you’re sick?”
“The pharmacy?”
“Your stubbornness makes me want to just…” He holds his hands out as if he’ll choke me. “Girl, I’m tired.”
“And I’m naked.” I tie the robe and cinch it tight.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” He holds out a hand. “You ready to stand up?”
“No, not yet. Can you get me some water?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Juniper ducks out of the dressing room. When he’s gone, I drag my legs toward my torso and wrap my hands around my thick thighs. The nausea is starting to fade, but I still feel weak.
I rest my head on my knees. The moment I close my eyes, another memory expands in my mind. I’m back in the Vegas hotel room. There’s heat. The weight of a man on top of me. The musky scent of my pleasure.
‘You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen’.
I jerk up, my chest heaving and my mind spinning.
Holy.
Vera.
Wang.
Why am I remembering that?
Now is not the time to be having steamy thoughts of Hadyn of all people. And why the heck do I want to pull on the thread of the memory and see exactly where it leads?
“I’m insane.” I smack my head against the wall. “Can this day get any worse?”
The door bangs open. “Vanya, I have bad news!”
I fling my arms skyward and stare the ceiling down. “That’s not what I meant.”
Juniper hurries into the room, waving his cell around. “I just got off the phone with my buddy at the municipal office.”
I lean forward. “What did he say?”
“He found a copy of your marriage registration.”
“M-marriage registration?” I croak.
“You didn’t sign a waiver for a pretend marriage. You signed the form for a real one. It was filed by the chapel along with all the other marriages they’d officiated that day. You’re…” He covers his mouth and stares at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted two fangs and a tail. “You’re married, V. It’s legal.”
The floor drops from under me. If I were standing, I’d probably collapse. “No, that can’t be right.”
“Don’t you remember signing the marriage form?”
“Yes, I mean… somewhat. I’m certain we were supposed to have a pretend marriage. That’s what Hadyn said.”
“Well, maybe he lied to you.”
Something cold slithers into my stomach. “He might be a jerk, but he’s not that cruel.”
“How are you so sure?”
“I’m not.” I pick myself off the floor. “And it doesn’t matter either way.”
“Where are you going?” Juniper calls at me.
I scowl. “To get a divorce.”
Throaty engines roar like they have something to prove. A stadium overlooks a giant race track with fluttering flags and a sandy terrain.
I go in the opposite direction and blaze past two open doors. The race track’s lobby is decorated tastefully with black frames on the wall, stuffed red chairs, a whiskey bar and enough greenery to mimic a small jungle.
“Ms. Vanya.” The receptionist smiles at me from behind her desk.
I wave her away when she tries to stand. “Is he up there?”
“Y-yes.” The woman folds her hands primly together. Panic runs beneath her words. “But he’s… a little… um…”
“Occupied? I get it.” I stalk into the elevator.
I know exactly what kind of ‘occupations’ Hadyn enjoys. The man’s got way too much money and time to burn.
I can’t believe I slept with him.
I can’t believe I forgot.
According to all his groupies, being with Hadyn is ‘unforgettable’.
I snort. “Guess not.”
At that moment, another memory surfaces. Hadyn staring deeply into my eyes. The headboard smashing into the wall. My groans ricocheting in the air.
The elevator opens with a ding.
I stumble to the left, slamming my hand against the wall as I fight the heat in my cheeks. Fragmented memories of our night in Vegas have been plaguing me for weeks, but it was mostly contained to the chapel wedding.
Get yourself together, Vanya.
With a deep breath, I ignore the tingles down south and turn the bend. His office is the one at the end of the hall.
“Hadyn,” I slam the door open and barrel into the room, “put your pants on because we need to… talk.”
Five pairs of eyes swing to me and stare as if I’m some kind of supernatural creature.
I take note of two things in the space of a minute.
One—these people are all wearing clothes.
And two—I look like a lunatic.
I blink unsteadily. “Um…” Can lightning strike now and put me out of my misery? “Sorry. I didn’t… I’ll come back.”
“Wait,” says the growly voice from my memories.
I whirl around.
The man who unfolds himself from the chair at the head of the table looks like an expensive sculpture come to life, all steely perfection from his chiseled jawline to his full lips. Hollowed cheekbones that male models would give their left lung to own prove that the world is absolutely unfair and the jerks are the ones who win the genetic lottery.
Hadyn rises slowly. He’s tall enough that I keep waiting for his head to hit the ceiling as he makes it to his full height. I’m wearing my stripper heels and I still have to tip my head back to glare at him—which is an unfair advantage that I’m not used to giving up.
His hair is on that dark blonde spectrum, immaculately groomed yet roguishly undone as if he wants people to think that he puts no effort into his appearance.
After Vegas, I know exactly how he looks when he’s waking up and it’s ten times hotter than this groomed, non-naked version.
Not that I want him naked right now.
I’ll pass.
Never again.
The point is ‘Hot Guy Privilege’ is a thing and Hadyn’s got so much he could probably take over the world if he had a mind to.
“Vanya.” He calls my name like a song.
I get pulled into his eyes. They’re a steely grey. Like a wolf’s. The kind of blue that’s mysterious rather than vibrant. Glacial waterfalls.
Except at the bottom of that waterfall is a frothy and painful death.
Hadyn strides up to me and steps into my space as if he has every right in the world. When he wraps an arm around my shoulder, I jump in surprise.
“Stay a minute,” he whispers in my ear. Then he turns to his guests. “Will, something important just came up. It looks like we’ll have to postpone this meeting.”
“Master Hadyn—”
“How many times have I told you to stop with the ‘master’ stuff. People look at me sideways when they hear that.”
“Master—Mr. Hadyn, your father was very clear with his instructions.”
“And you relayed those instructions loud and clear, Will. But like I said,” Hadyn drags me closer to him, “something more important came up.”
Hadyn’s cologne brings another memory to mind. My hands on his muscular chest. My neck curled into his as we both float back into our bodies.
I stiffen.
Hadyn twirls his fingers around in my hair. His eyes brim with mischief. “Did you come from a shoot?”
Oh wow. I’m in trouble.
“No.” I frown. “I mean, yes.”
His perfect lips curl up as if he’s proud he got the answer right.
Oh Gucci. A lot of trouble.
“Mr. Hadyn—”
“Will, I need the room.” Hadyn tilts his head. “Vanya came all the way here to see me without my pants on.”
I shove him. My hands slam against an Italian suit, pale skin and solid muscle.
Will pops what looks like heartburn medication into his mouth and gathers his documents. He and the other suits edge around us because Hadyn isn’t even polite enough to move out of their way.
When the door swings shut, Hadyn retreats to his desk and leans against it. He crosses his legs at the ankles as if he’s posing for a watch commercial. One of those lusty, get all the girls if you buy this timepiece shoots that are basically printing money campaigns.
He smirks at me. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
My heart does a double-tap. I think I accidentally heaved up my common sense when I was brutally chucking into a trash bin earlier. Because the playboy across from me is the most annoying rich kid in the history of entitled money bags, and yet I can’t stop wishing I remembered everything he did to me in Vegas.
This is what I get for working two demanding jobs and getting drunk-married like an idiot.
Gathering the tattered threads of my dignity, I stomp to the desk and slam a folder down.
Hadyn doesn’t even glance at it. “What’s this?”
“I want a divorce.”
Dark eyebrows hunker low over his slate-toned eyes. “You remember now?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“That morning, you said you didn’t remember anything. And then you acted like Vegas never happened. Do you remember now?” He smirks. “Wifey?”
I stick a finger in my chest. “I am not nor will I ever be your wife.”
“Not according to the great state of Nevada.”
“Sign the papers, okay, Hadyn? I’m not playing with you.”
There’s a knock on the door.
The receptionist from downstairs enters, carrying a tray with a steaming mug. “Mr. Hadyn, I brought the chai you requested.”
“Sit, Vanya.” Hadyn juts his chin down. “Have a drink.”
“No thanks. I’ll wait right here until you sign that and then I’ll be out of your hair, legally and physically.”
Storm clouds roll over his silver-toned eyes.
Just then, my phone rings.
It’s Juniper.
“What,” I growl, in an awful mood now that chai is before me and I’m not allowing myself to drink it.
Must… have… chai.
I resist as best as I can. “I’m in the middle of something, Juniper.”
“Then un-middle yourself. I made a doctor’s appointment. You’re going if I have to drag you there myself.”
I groan.
Hadyn’s eyes latch onto me. He mouths, “What’s wrong?”
I turn away from him. “Why now?”
“Because watching you choke out your spleen was probably the worst part of my entire year,” Juniper drawls. “So get your butt to the doctor or I’ll do it for you. And trust me, girl. You won’t like being hogtied in my trunk. I’ll drive over every speed bump between here and the regional hospital.”
“You hate me.”
“A lot. Now get moving. You can’t be late.”
With a hard sigh, I stuff my phone into my purse. When I turn around, Hadyn is right behind me.
I blink and another memory shakes loose. It’s Hadyn, his nose on top of mine. His lips parted. His breath my only oxygen.
“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to kiss you.”
I gasp.
“Is everything okay?”
I clear my throat and take a giant step back. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because a cup of chai tea is about ten steps away from you and you’re not pouncing on it like a lion on a deer.”
“Technically, lions eat antelopes.”
He huffs. “Vanya.”
“I have to go. I’d say it was great being married to you, but that would be a lie.”
His lips twitch.
I turn sharply and march out of Hadyn’s office.
I’ve been a married woman for less than four hours and I’m already exhausted. I hope that night in Vegas has no more surprises for me.
