Read Online Tall Tales and Wedding Veils by Jane Graves - Free Book Online
Authors: Jane Graves
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Contemporary, Man-Woman Relationships, Love Stories, Texas, Women Accountants
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telling himself that this was fixable, that people got divorces every day. He fully intended to be one of them. Surely the woman he’d married would feel the same way. Anyone who did something as crazy as this would want to take it back.
Wouldn’t she?
He turned around and looked down at her.
Maybe not.
She lay on her side with one arm tucked under her pillow and her other hand beneath her cheek, her hair spread out across the pillow. She looked sweet and kind and trusting, like Mother Teresa without the advanced age and the religious overtones. He remembered thinking last night that she was a member of that species of woman on the endangered list: a nice girl. Last night, that had seemed like such a good thing. This morning it meant he was in trouble.
Big trouble.
Right now she was probably dreaming of a white picket fence, a pair of SUVs with car seats for the kids, and family vacations to her grandparents’ farm in Iowa. She was going to wake up like a bride on her honeymoon, all sweet and smiley and assuming all was going to be well until their golden wedding anniversary. When he told her he wanted to spend their first day of their marriage getting a divorce, she’d be in tears. She’d helped him win twenty thousand dollars last night—hell, she’d essentially
given
it to him—and now all he had to say about their wedding was . . .
oops?
She might even want the twenty thousand back. He didn’t even want to think about that.
He laid the license down and went to the bathroom to slap water on his face to wake up his brain so he could find a way to deal with this situation, because the last thing he wanted in this life, and maybe in the next couple as well, was to be a married man.
Just please, God, don’t let her cry.
When he came out of the bathroom, he was surprised to find her awake. Her brown hair was sleep-mangled, and she had mascara rings under her eyes. She was sitting up with her back against the headboard, one hand holding the covers to her chest, the other holding the marriage license.
She knows. And now you have to tell her you want out.
But before he could say anything, he realized the gooey smile he’d expected to see on her face was strangely absent. Her sweet slumbering serenity was nowhere to be seen. He’d been afraid of tears. Now he was praying for them, because anything would be better than the homicidal look on her face right now.
She held up the marriage license. “What the
hell
is this?”
Chapter 5
H eather’s mind was so hangover-fuzzy that she could think of only one explanation for the piece of paper she was holding. Somewhere in Vegas they sold fake marriage licenses you could take home and show your friends.
Ha, ha, ha! Look! We got married!
“This is a joke, right?” she said sharply. “Tell me this is a joke.”
She waited for Tony’s face to break into that million- dollar smile so they could both have a good laugh over it.
It didn’t.
Panic shot through her. “Are you telling me this is the real thing? We actually got
married?
”
Tony squeezed his eyes closed. “No shouting, sweetheart. If you shout, my head is going to explode.”
No kidding. If she shouted again,
her
head was going to explode.
“Why are you in my room?” she asked.
“Uh . . . we’re married?”
She swallowed convulsively. “Did we . . . ?”
“Have sex? Don’t think so. I woke up still dressed.”
Wincing a little, she lifted the covers and peeked beneath them.
Clothes, thank God.
Relief gushed through her.
“Tell me what you remember,” Tony said.
She bowed her head. Closed her eyes. Bits and pieces gradually came back to her, a jumble of images fading in and out. It was hard to make sense of them, though, when little guys with battering rams were trying to get out of her head.
“I remember winning the twenty thousand dollars,” she said.
“Good,” he said on a breath. “I was afraid I’d made that part up.”
Heather
Wouldn’t she?
He turned around and looked down at her.
Maybe not.
She lay on her side with one arm tucked under her pillow and her other hand beneath her cheek, her hair spread out across the pillow. She looked sweet and kind and trusting, like Mother Teresa without the advanced age and the religious overtones. He remembered thinking last night that she was a member of that species of woman on the endangered list: a nice girl. Last night, that had seemed like such a good thing. This morning it meant he was in trouble.
Big trouble.
Right now she was probably dreaming of a white picket fence, a pair of SUVs with car seats for the kids, and family vacations to her grandparents’ farm in Iowa. She was going to wake up like a bride on her honeymoon, all sweet and smiley and assuming all was going to be well until their golden wedding anniversary. When he told her he wanted to spend their first day of their marriage getting a divorce, she’d be in tears. She’d helped him win twenty thousand dollars last night—hell, she’d essentially
given
it to him—and now all he had to say about their wedding was . . .
oops?
She might even want the twenty thousand back. He didn’t even want to think about that.
He laid the license down and went to the bathroom to slap water on his face to wake up his brain so he could find a way to deal with this situation, because the last thing he wanted in this life, and maybe in the next couple as well, was to be a married man.
Just please, God, don’t let her cry.
When he came out of the bathroom, he was surprised to find her awake. Her brown hair was sleep-mangled, and she had mascara rings under her eyes. She was sitting up with her back against the headboard, one hand holding the covers to her chest, the other holding the marriage license.
She knows. And now you have to tell her you want out.
But before he could say anything, he realized the gooey smile he’d expected to see on her face was strangely absent. Her sweet slumbering serenity was nowhere to be seen. He’d been afraid of tears. Now he was praying for them, because anything would be better than the homicidal look on her face right now.
She held up the marriage license. “What the
hell
is this?”
Chapter 5
H eather’s mind was so hangover-fuzzy that she could think of only one explanation for the piece of paper she was holding. Somewhere in Vegas they sold fake marriage licenses you could take home and show your friends.
Ha, ha, ha! Look! We got married!
“This is a joke, right?” she said sharply. “Tell me this is a joke.”
She waited for Tony’s face to break into that million- dollar smile so they could both have a good laugh over it.
It didn’t.
Panic shot through her. “Are you telling me this is the real thing? We actually got
married?
”
Tony squeezed his eyes closed. “No shouting, sweetheart. If you shout, my head is going to explode.”
No kidding. If she shouted again,
her
head was going to explode.
“Why are you in my room?” she asked.
“Uh . . . we’re married?”
She swallowed convulsively. “Did we . . . ?”
“Have sex? Don’t think so. I woke up still dressed.”
Wincing a little, she lifted the covers and peeked beneath them.
Clothes, thank God.
Relief gushed through her.
“Tell me what you remember,” Tony said.
She bowed her head. Closed her eyes. Bits and pieces gradually came back to her, a jumble of images fading in and out. It was hard to make sense of them, though, when little guys with battering rams were trying to get out of her head.
“I remember winning the twenty thousand dollars,” she said.
“Good,” he said on a breath. “I was afraid I’d made that part up.”
Heather
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