VOWS WRITTEN IN CHAMPAGNE

CHAPTER5

THE PROBLEM WITH WAKING UP MARRIED

(Benjamin's POV)

Saturday morning I opened my eyes and the first thing I registered was the weight on my chest. Warm, soft, smelling like coconut and vanilla. I blinked against the sunlight pouring through the windows and looked down. Dark braids fanned across my skin, a slender arm draped over my ribs, fingers curled loosely against my shoulder. Her breathing was slow and even. Still asleep.

I did not move. My head was pounding, a deep throb behind my eyes that told me I had done something very stupid the night before. I stared at the ceiling and tried to remember. The club in Sandton. A girl in a black dress. Dancing. Champagne in the car. The jet. Cape Town. Her laugh. More drinks. Then... nothing. A wall of black.

I turned my head carefully and studied her face. Full lips, slightly parted. Long lashes resting against her cheeks. Smooth brown skin. Beautiful. Even with smudged makeup and messy braids and the faint shadow of exhaustion under her eyes, she was stunning.

Who was she? Shaznay. I remembered that much. Shaznay who was honest and sharp and made me laugh harder than anyone had in months. Shaznay who had no idea who I was and talked to me like a regular person and I had loved every second of it.

I eased her arm off my chest gently and slid out of bed. She mumbled something and rolled over, pulling the pillow close. I stood there for a second, watching her, then spotted the trail of clothes from the door to the bed and cursed under my breath.

In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and gripped the sink. My reflection stared back at me looking rough. Bloodshot eyes, stubble darker than usual, hair a disaster. I reached for the tap and froze. A gold band sat on my left ring finger. Simple, polished, unmistakable.

I pulled it off and held it up to the light. A wedding band. My stomach dropped.

I walked back into the bedroom and found my jeans on the floor. In the back pocket, folded and slightly damp, was a piece of paper. I opened it with hands that were not as steady as I wanted them to be.

Marriage Certificate. Issued by the Cape Town Marriage Registry. Benjamin Victor and Shaznay... her surname was there, scrawled in her own writing, but slightly smeared. Witnesses signed at the bottom. Names I did not recognize.

"No," I said aloud. "No way."

I looked at the girl in my bed. At the ring glinting on her left hand as it hung off the edge of the mattress. We were married. I had gotten blackout drunk and married a woman I met six hours before.

I grabbed my phone and walked out to the living area, dialing Francis before I could think about it twice.

He answered on the fourth ring, groggy. "Benjamin? It is six in the morning."

"I need you to tell me something. If two people get married in Cape Town while heavily intoxicated, is it legal?"

A long pause. "Do you have a certificate?"

"I am looking at one right now."

Another pause, longer this time. "Send me a photo."

I did. Thirty seconds later, Francis sighed heavily. "Benjamin, this is a formal government-issued document. It is legal."

I closed my eyes and pressed my fist against my forehead. "How do I undo it?"

"Annulment. Grounds of intoxication. But..." He paused and I heard papers shuffling. "There is a seventy-two hour window after the ceremony to file in the same jurisdiction where the marriage was registered. After that, you need to go through full divorce proceedings or file an annulment application through the courts. That takes longer. Weeks, possibly months."

"Fine. I will file today."

"What time was the ceremony?"

I looked at the certificate. The timestamp read 2:47 AM, Friday night. Which meant Saturday morning. It was now Saturday afternoon. "Around three in the morning last night."

"Then you have until three AM Monday. Technically. I will start the paperwork immediately."

I hung up and leaned against the kitchen counter, staring out at the Cape Town skyline. What was I doing? I did not do this. I was calculated, controlled, disciplined. My life was work. Six AM gym sessions, back-to-back meetings, flight to Dubai, flight to Lagos, flight to London, deal after deal after deal. I did not get drunk. I did not take girls on my jet. I certainly did not marry them.

But she was different. Even through the fog of whatever I could remember, I knew that. She had looked at me without recognition, without that flash of calculation I saw in every woman who learned my surname. She had teased me, challenged me, told me my champagne was unnecessary while drinking it anyway. She was real in a way that I had forgotten people could be.

My phone rang. The screen read: Dad.

"Benjamin." Richard's voice was warm and firm the way it always was. "I have news."

"I am listening."

"I have made a decision. Monday, you start at Crown Properties. Officially. No more travelling, no more consulting from afar. You are co-CEO and in twelve months, you take over fully."

I exhaled slowly. We had discussed this. I had been avoiding it for three years, building my own ventures on the side, but my father was sixty-three and tired and the company needed me. I knew that.

"Understood," I said.

"Good. Also, I hired your new assistant last week. Brilliant girl. Young, sharp, hungry. Her name is Shaznay."

The kitchen went silent. The entire world went silent. I gripped the counter until my knuckles paled.

"What did you say her name was?"

"Shaznay. She starts Monday."

I turned and looked through the open bedroom door at the woman sleeping in my bed. My wife.

"Benjamin? You still there?"

"I am here," I managed. "I will be there Monday."

I hung up. My heart was beating too fast and my mind was racing through every possible way this could go wrong. She worked for my father. She was about to become my assistant. And she was legally my wife.

I ran both hands over my face and exhaled hard. Then I looked at the gold band sitting on the counter where I had placed it. I picked it up and turned it over in my fingers, thinking.

I should have told her immediately. That afternoon, when we were eating breakfast and she was wrapped in the bathrobe looking small and worried, I should have said "By the way, you are starting work at my father's company on Monday." But the words caught in my throat every time I tried because I could see how overwhelmed she already was. The ring, the certificate, the blank spaces in her memory, all of it was crushing her quietly.

So I said nothing. I flew her home. I gave her my card and watched something sharp cross her face when she read the company name, but she did not say anything either. Maybe she had not made the connection yet. Maybe she was too tired. Maybe she was hoping, like I was, that this could all just disappear.

But it was not going to disappear. And standing in my apartment Sunday night after dropping her off, I knew that.

Francis called me back that evening. "Benjamin, we have a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"The seventy-two hour window. The registry office in Cape Town is closed over weekends. We cannot file until Monday morning at the earliest. But by then, the window will have passed by six hours."

I sat down slowly. "Meaning?"

"Meaning the fast-track annulment is off the table. You will need to file through the courts. It could take three to six months."

I stared at the wedding band, now sitting on my nightstand. Three to six months. Married to a woman who was about to walk into my office thinking she could pretend none of this happened.

"There is more," Francis continued. "I reviewed your grandfather's estate documents this afternoon, as you asked me to last month. Benjamin... the inheritance clause is still active. You must be married by your thirtieth birthday to claim the full estate. If you are not, it goes to the next eligible family member."

My thirtieth birthday was in four months.

"Who is the next eligible family member?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Your cousin. Clinton."

Clinton, who had been circling this company like a vulture for years. Clinton, who had never built anything in his life but felt entitled to everything my grandfather created.

I picked up the wedding band and slid it back onto my finger. It fit perfectly.

"Francis," I said slowly. "Hold off on the annulment paperwork."

"Excuse me?"

"Just hold off. I need to think."

I hung up and sat in the dark, turning the ring on my finger, thinking about a girl with braids and sharp eyes who had no idea what she had stumbled into.

Monday morning was going to be interesting.