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Elvis?

Nero's expression shifts from confusion to a shit eating grin, clearly forgetting we broke up for a reason. Him, he is the reason. "Well, well, well, we had a bit too much fun last night," he remarks with a smirk.

I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if hungover Raine can bail me out of jail after assaulting her cousin. "What the actual fuck, Nero. How did this even happen?"

"Pretty sure Tequila and my amazing personality."

I scoff, disbelief washing over me. "You are the reason God created the middle finger"

I start searching around the room for the rest of my clothing, something about being naked while discussing a marriage that shouldn't have happened doesn't sit right with my soul.

Nero watches my movements, leaning back against the headboard, crossing his arms casually. "That wasn't very nice, but I assure you, I have zero fucking memory of a chapel and Elvis."
"Elvis?"
"Yeah, Elvis. If I got married by anyone else but him I'm going to be pissed and demand a redo."
I stop in the process of putting my shirt on. "Drugs."
"Drugs?"
"You must be on drugs to think I'd ever redo whatever the hell happened last night sober."

As I start pacing the room, trying to wrap my head around how this became my life, Nero watches me with an expression that screams male pride. "You know, I've heard crazy shit happens in Vegas, but this was not on my bingo card."

I shoot him a withering look. "I was today years old when I realized you're an idiot."

After rolling his eyes he looks at me while raising a dark eyebrow. "Yet, you married me."

I stop pacing and face him, running my hands through my messy hair. "I am very clearly being confronted with the consequence of that action, right now."

Nero scowls, his gaze meeting mine with unexpected seriousness. "Calm down."

"What the fuck do you mean calm down!"

"Le-Le. Relax, we can figure this out."

Despite my frustration with the situation, I can't help don't feel the emotional hit my heart takes when he calms me by his nickname. Maybe, just maybe, I'm not as healed as I thought I was.

As I sit in the arm chair facing my new husband, I look down at the thing that set me off this morning. My wedding ring. Not going to lie, the man has good taste in jewelry. Leaning back in the chair, I try to sift through last nights drunken mistake, one thing becomes increasingly clear: I married the man who emotionally broke me. I hear Nero clear his throat, and start to finally get out of the bed chuckling while he tosses aside the shoe I chucked at him earlier.
"My wife."
Well shit, I've been called worse things by better men.