Chapter 2: The Morning After
1204 Words
Elizabeth POV
I couldn’t move. My brain refused to catch up with reality. Married? That word kept spinning in my head like a broken record. My hands clutched at the sheets, my pulse racing, and my stomach twisting.
Jackson sat across the room in an armchair that probably cost more than my monthly rent, legs stretched out, completely at ease as if he owned the place. Which, I realized with a sick lurch, he technically did.
“You’re really quiet,” he said, his gray eyes tracking every flinch I made. “Did Vegas knock you out or is it just me?”
I glared at him through the haze of disbelief.
“This isn’t funny, Jackson. I—I don’t remember agreeing to—”
“You do now,” he interrupted, smirking.
“Last night, you said yes. Loud, clear, and very convincing. Vegas chapel, Elvis officiating, witnesses…my nerves were shot, but apparently yours weren’t.”
I buried my face in my hands. Elvis officiating? This was insane. I didn’t even drink that much. How had I gone from shaking hands and signing NDAs to being married to my stepsister’s ex in less than twelve hours?
A thought slipped into my mind, and I couldn't help but widened my eyes in disbelief.
Before I left California, Pearl had shoved a glass of something bright and fizzy into my hand.
“Drink this, you look like death,” she’d slurred, still half-asleep and reeking of last night’s alcohol.
Pearl never liked me. She'd insisted on carrying out the duty, even though she's drunk. But my stepmother had taken one look at her, sighed dramatically, and turned to me.
“You’re more presentable, Elizabeth. Go. Don’t embarrass the family.” It wasn’t a request.
Could she have tempered with the drink? Could she have added something that made me lose my mind?
Jackson chuckled, then got up and began to walk closer again. “Relax, wifey. You’re safe. Don’t look so terrified.”
“Safe?” I whispered. “I can’t believe this. I don’t even—”
My cheeks flushed as Jackson suddenly looked into my eyes. I shoved the memory away immediately, and turned my gaze away from him.
"Focus, Elizabeth. Focus!" My instincts yelled.
“I—need a minute,” I muttered, scrambling to the edge of the bed.
Jackson followed slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Take all the minutes you want,” he said in a low tone. “But we need to talk.”
Talk. That word made my stomach knot even tighter.
“About what?” I asked cautiously.
“Us. You. Me. The…marriage.” His tone was casual, but the weight behind it made my pulse jump.
I wanted to scream, cry, and laugh all at once. Instead, I did the only thing I could. I bolted from the bed, picked up my handbag which I found on the table, and headed toward the door.
“You can’t run,” Jackson called after me, his tone calm but firm. “Vegas doesn’t divorce that fast.”
I froze mid-step. Divorces? Oh God, he wasn’t joking.
“I—I need to think,” I stammered. “You can’t just…just—”
“Elizabeth.” He walked toward me slowly, stopping just short of touching me.
“You don’t remember much, but I do. I know what happened. I’ll be honest—it was…impulsive. I was angry about Pearl, the breakup, everything. I shouldn’t have pushed it.”
I blinked, stunned. “I…did I—” My voice broke. “Did we—”
“Yeah.” His gray eyes softened for just a second.
“We did. And, honestly? I don’t regret it. Not entirely.”
I bit my lip, torn between fury, embarrassment, and a strange, undeniable pull. God, why do I still feel this way about him?
“Safe,” I whispered again, remembering his words. “Right now, I don’t feel safe with…with any of this.”
Jackson’s lips quirked into a grin. “Then let’s make a deal. We figure out everything together slowly. No rushing. No pressure.”
My heart throbbed at the sound of his voice. But part of me wanted me to run, screaming.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I quickly snatched it up. The moment I looked at the caller ID, my heart sank instantly. It's none other person than Pearl, my stepsister.
I hesitated, then answered. “Hello?”
“Elizabeth?” My sister’s voice echoed in my ears sharply.
“Where are you? I’ve been calling all morning. Mom is freaking out. And…wait…you’re—”
I froze. Did she know? “I…uh…just at a friend’s place. Don’t worry, I will be back in a jiffy.”
Her sharp inhale told me she didn’t believe me.
“Friend's place? When did you have a friend in New York? Elizabeth, don’t lie. Where are you?”
I swallowed. “I—I’ll explain later.”
Pearl’s silence on the other end was almost worse than yelling. Then she gasped, raising her voice she blurted.
“She's married? How did this— Elizabeth!"
The way she sounded, made it obvious that someone was feeding her information in the background.
Jackson cleared his throat beside me. “I can explain,” he said lightly, but there was steel beneath his casual tone.
Pearl groaned audibly into the phone. “So it's true! This isn’t over, Liz. Not by a long shot.”
She hung up the call, and I sank onto the bed, my head in my hands. “This is…a nightmare.”
Jackson crouched next to me, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Or…an adventure,” he murmured.
“Depends on how you look at it.”
I glanced up at him, my heart hammering loudly. Adventure? That word felt wrong. Exciting, yes—but dangerous, reckless, and chaotic. Exactly like Jackson.
I wanted to hate him. I wanted to scream. But I couldn’t ignore the flutter in my chest when he leaned closer, close enough that his breath brushed my skin.
“Wifey,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face, “whatever happens…we figure it out together.”
Then he tilted my chin up with the lightest pressure, his gray eyes searching mine—intense, unguarded, and almost vulnerable. For once the smirk was gone. In its place was something I couldn't explain, something that made my heart stutter.
He closed the distance slowly, giving me every second to pull away. But I didn't. I couldn't, even though I wanted to.
His lips met mine, but he hesitated. As if he was asking for permission before taking things further.
When I didn't react, he slid his tongue in, and cupped the back of my neck with one hand, threading his fingers into my hair, and anchoring me while the other slid to my waist, pulling me gently but firmly against him.
I fisted my hands into his shirt without conscious thought, holding on as though letting go would send me spinning into the abyss.
When he finally drew back, he rested his forehead against mine and breathed heavily.
- Writer
