Amber Leigh Williams - Married One Night

“Yeah,” Olivia said. “Let me in, will you?”

“Jesus,” Adrian said as she stepped back and let Olivia stride into her tidy, shabby-chic living room. She took a moment to lock all the doors again and then turned to frown at her impromptu guest. “Why the hell are you pounding on my door at midnight? Is something wrong at the tavern? Is water getting into the shops?”

Olivia waved off the suggestion impatiently. “Never mind that. Remember when we were in Vegas?”

Adrian rolled her eyes and groaned, crossed to the sofa and had a seat. “Are you kidding? I’m still trying to live it down.”

Olivia not only remained standing, she chose to pace from one wall to the other, gesturing in jerky, sweeping motions as she spoke. “Do you happen to remember the hot blond British guy who I spent the night with?”

“Yeah, we talked about him on the flight back,” Adrian reminded her, placid in the face of Olivia’s franticness. “You two met at the club. You danced. We all drank and you two wandered off for a night well spent from what you told us.”

“It was more than that,” Olivia said. She stopped in the middle of the room and spread her arms. “We’re married.”

Adrian raised her brows. “Married. As in...”

“As in white gown, black tie, bouquets and corsages.”

“Boutonnieres,” Adrian, the florist, corrected her.

“Whatever,” Olivia said, waving that off, too. “Only it wasn’t any of that. No, for me it was a red clubbing dress. My groom might have been wearing a black tie. Though I’m not quite sure because I was one shot of Cuervo shy of drooling on Elvis’s gold lamé cape. And for all I know you and Roxie, who served as witnesses, by the way, carried shiny silk flowers.”

Adrian winced. Whether it was from the image of shiny, silk bridesmaids bouquets or from being told she’d served as a witness, Olivia couldn’t be sure. “Wow. That’s...something.”

“And get this,” Olivia said, lifting a finger. “My hot British stranger of a husband is here, in Fairhope.”

Adrian shook her head slightly as if dazed. “Wait. Now you’ve got to be jerking me around.”

“Nope. He popped by the tavern this evening and is at this very moment checking in to one of Briar’s suites at the inn. When she called just a few minutes ago, she said, ‘Um, Liv? Do you know there’s an Englishman here renting a room who says he’s your husband?’ He’s telling people, Adrian.”

“Get out of town.”

“And as if that weren’t enough...” Olivia laughed a sour laugh “...he wants to stay married.”

Adrian frowned. She raised her hands to stop the fast flow of shocking information. “Okay. Now you’ve lost me.”

“That’s what he said,” Olivia informed her, pacing once again. “He says he wants to give it a go. He wants to see if what he felt that one night in Vegas is enough to sustain a bond everlasting. I didn’t know whether to pat his head and coo over his eight-year-old-worthy idea of married life or call up the deputy and have him hauled out of the bar for lunacy.”

“Huh.” Adrian fought a smile. “Interesting.”

“So...” Olivia stopped pacing to face Adrian, and lifted her shoulders helplessly. “What do I do?”

“You’re asking me? ”

“Do you see anybody else here?”

“No, but if we don’t keep our voices down, there might be.”

Olivia glanced toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms where Adrian’s seven-year-old son, Kyle, was down for the night. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“I don’t know, Liv,” Adrian said, rubbing her eyes. “I’ve never been in this situation. Or anything quite like it.”

“I don’t know too many people who have.”

“You’ve got that right.” Adrian sighed, dropping her hands into her lap. “How long does he plan on sticking around?”

“Three weeks.”

“Does he strike you as...all there?” Adrian pointed to her head.

Olivia nodded slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes. Despite the frightening optimism and the fact that he braved tropical storm conditions to tell me all this, he seems pretty lucid.”

“What’s your impression of him?”

“He’s...” Olivia stopped, thinking of the man who’d sat across the table from her tonight. She lowered into a cozy armchair. “He’s...sexy.”

Adrian nodded approvingly. “Uh-huh. Go on.”

“He’s intellectual, but in a sexy way. Very Tom Hiddleston. Proper and upper-crust but not at all haughty. He’s accessible, down-to-earth and so damned charming he can make your toes tingle just by smiling at you....”

“I’m intrigued, and also slightly confused.” Adrian licked her lips. “What you’re saying is...this Tom Hiddleston-esque, sexy, intelligent man-hunk walks into the tavern and has decided to stay next door for three weeks so that he can, basically, try and woo you into staying married to him. Correct?”

Olivia nodded, thinking it through carefully. “In a nutshell. Yes.”

“And you, Olivia Lewis, who has no problem letting men woo her is freaking out because...”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “He and I are married.”

Adrian shrugged. “In my experience, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But, hey, some people like it. Look at Briar and Cole. Look at your parents.”

Olivia made a thoughtful noise as she gnawed on her thumbnail. Her parents’ partnership, which had spanned three decades and the hell-raising teenage version of herself, was a lot to live up to. From an early age she’d known that it was the ultimate ideal—the kind of love she’d once ridiculously envisioned for herself.

As a young adult, however, she’d learned the hard way that that kind of love and bond didn’t come easily. Nor did it happen for everyone. And she was sure it never would for her. “So you’re saying...” Olivia took a deep, steadying breath “...I should just let it ride?”

Adrian lifted her shoulders. “Why not? He’ll definitely be gone by the end of the three weeks?”

“He says so. And he said he’d file for separation himself, take care of the legal fees, everything—as long as I give him these three weeks.”

Tired, Adrian gave Olivia a telling look. “Then what’s the harm?”

Olivia narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Usually, I can count on you for cynicism. What the hell?”

Adrian lifted a shoulder. “It’s midnight. I’ve been up since 5:00 a.m. Penny and I threw together over a hundred arrangements at the shop today. My bed’s calling me. That’s all. Talk to me tomorrow after coffee if you want practical advice.”

Olivia sighed. “Right.” She rose. “Sorry to barge in so late.”

Adrian stood. “For curiosity’s sake, what’s the name of this British man-hunk who intends to sweep you off your feet?”

“No sweeping,” Olivia said pointedly. “There will be no sweeping. And his name is Gerald Leighton, for what it’s worth.”

Adrian blinked in surprise. “Gerald Leighton? The writer, Gerald Leighton?”

“That’s his name,” Olivia said. “I don’t know what he does for a living. I don’t know anything about him.”

“Hang on.” Adrian disappeared into the hall where she kept books on built-in shelves. She strolled back in with a dog-eared paperback, turned it over and opened the back cover for Olivia to see the black-and-white picture on the inside. “Is this him?”

Olivia gawped at Gerald’s face for what had to be the third time that night. “Oh, my God. What’s he doing there?”

“Liv.” Adrian closed the book, firming her lips together as her eyes lit up and she clutched the worn paperback to her chest. “Your husband is Gerald Leighton.”

“So?”