The Accidental Mrs Williams

Chapter3:What I Cannot Remember

CHAPTER 3: What I Cannot Remember

Pain. That was the first thing. A deep, hammering ache behind my eyes that made me want to claw my own skull open. The second thing was sunlight, too bright, too hot, pressing against my eyelids like it had a personal grudge against me.

I groaned and rolled onto my side, burying my face into the pillow. Soft. Too soft. My pillows at home are flat and cheap and smell like the lavender spray Shaznay uses on everything. This pillow smelled like fresh cotton and something expensive I could not name.

I opened my eyes.

The ceiling above me was mirrored. I stared at my own reflection, lying in a king-sized bed with white silk sheets tangled around my body. My braids were a mess. My makeup was smeared under my eyes. And I was wearing nothing but a man's white shirt.

My heart began to pound.

I sat up and the room spun violently. I grabbed the edge of the bed and waited for it to pass, taking in my surroundings. The room was massive. Floor to ceiling windows, a view of sand and water and buildings so tall they looked like they were trying to stab the sky. This was not London. This was not anywhere near London.

"Oh God," I whispered. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

I looked down at my hands and my entire body went cold. On my left ring finger sat a diamond so big it caught the light and threw tiny rainbows across the white sheets. I lifted my hand slowly, staring at it, turning it left and right like it might disappear if I looked hard enough.

It did not disappear.

I scrambled out of the bed, my bare feet hitting cool marble floor. Clothes were scattered everywhere. My green dress in a heap by the door. A man's black shirt on the back of a chair. Shoes, a belt, my clutch bag tossed onto a sofa. A trail leading from the door to the bed like a map of bad decisions.

My phone. I needed my phone. I found my clutch and ripped it open, pulling out my phone with trembling fingers. Dead. Completely dead.

"No, no, no." I dropped it on the sofa and pressed my hands to my face. Think, Clara. Think. What do you remember?

The bar. Victor. Dancing. The car. Champagne. An airstrip. Laughing on a plane. Lights, so many lights. A building shaped like a sail. His mouth on my neck. Music. Someone singing. A man in a white robe saying something I could not understand.

My blood turned to ice.

I spun around and spotted a piece of paper on the bedside table. I walked over on shaking legs and picked it up. It was damp, slightly crumpled, but the words were clear enough.

Certificate of Marriage. United Arab Emirates. Dubai.

Bride: Clara Okafor.

Groom: Benjamin Victor Williams.

I read it three times. Then a fourth time. My vision blurred and I gripped the edge of the table to keep from falling.

"No." I shook my head. "This is not real. This cannot be real."

A sound from behind me made me jump. Water running, then stopping. A door opening. I turned and there he was, standing in the doorway of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and water dripping down his chest. Victor. Or whatever his real name was.

He looked at me. I looked at him. His green eyes dropped to the paper in my hand and something flickered across his face. Guilt. Or maybe it was just the hangover.

"You found that," he said.

"What is this?" My voice came out higher than I wanted. I held the paper up. "What the hell is this?"

He ran a hand through his wet hair and sighed. "I think we got married."

"You think?!" I backed away from him, clutching the paper to my chest. "How can you think? Either we did or we did not!"

"We did." He leaned against the doorframe and rubbed his temples. "I called my lawyer an hour ago. It is legal."

My knees gave out and I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. The marble was white with grey veins running through it. I counted the veins because if I did not focus on something small, I was going to scream.

"Clara." His voice was closer now. I looked up and he was standing in front of me, his expression serious. "I know this is... a lot."

"A lot?" I laughed, but it came out broken. "I woke up in a strange country, wearing a stranger's shirt, with a ring on my finger and a marriage certificate I do not remember signing. This is not a lot. This is a catastrophe."

"I understand."

"Do you? Because you seem very calm for someone who apparently married a woman he met six hours ago."

His jaw tightened. "Trust me, I am not calm. I have been awake since five dealing with this." He walked over to a chair and pulled on a pair of trousers. "My lawyer is already working on an annulment. We will sort this out."

I looked down at the ring again. "Who are you?"

"What?"

"Your name. The certificate says Benjamin Victor Williams. You told me your name was Victor."

He paused, his back to me. Then he turned and met my eyes. "Victor is my middle name. I use it when I... when I am not working."

"When you are not working," I repeated slowly. "And what exactly do you do when you are working, Benjamin?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but his phone rang. He held up a finger, turned away, and took the call. I sat there, my bare legs cold, my head splitting, and my whole life falling apart around me like a house made of wet paper.

When he hung up, he faced me again. "I have arranged a flight back to London. We leave in two hours. I had clothes sent up for you." He gestured to a shopping bag by the door that I had not noticed.

I stood and walked to the bag, pulling out a pair of jeans and a simple black blouse. My size. How did he know my size?

"The concierge estimated," he said, reading my face. "And I packed your dress in another bag. Your shoes are by the door."

I took the clothes and went to the bathroom without saying another word. I locked the door, turned on the shower, and stood under the water until it ran cold. Then I pressed my forehead against the tile and whispered the only thing I could think.

"I start work tomorrow. I start work tomorrow and I am married to a stranger."

When I came out, dressed and somewhat composed, Benjamin was sitting at a table with two cups of coffee. He slid one toward me.

"Thank you," I said stiffly, taking a sip. It was good. Strong and dark and exactly what I needed.

"Clara. I give you my word that this will be resolved quickly. I have the best lawyers in the country."

"Good." I set the cup down. "Because I need this erased. All of it. I cannot afford this kind of... complication."

He nodded. "Neither can I."

We sat in silence for a moment. Then I pulled the ring off my finger and set it on the table between us. He looked at it but did not pick it up.

"Keep it until the paperwork goes through," he said. "Just in case we need proof of... what happened."

I stared at him. "I do not want proof of what happened."

He almost smiled. Almost. "Fair enough."

The flight back was long and quiet. I sat on one side of his private jet, he sat on the other. Somewhere over Europe, exhaustion pulled me under, and when I woke up, London was below us, grey and wet and familiar.

He dropped me home in his car. I stood on the pavement outside my building, looking up at him through the open window.

"My lawyer will be in touch within the week," he said.

"Fine."

"Clara." I paused and looked at him. His green eyes held mine for a long beat. "I am sorry. For all of this."

I nodded, turned, and walked away. When I got inside and collapsed on my bed, I did not sleep. I stared at the ceiling and thought about the fact that in eight hours, I had to be at The Williams Group.

The Williams Group. Williams.

I sat up so fast my head spun.

Benjamin Victor Williams.

Williams.

No. It could not be. It was a common name. Lots of people were called Williams. It did not mean anything. It did not.

But my hands were shaking as I reached for my dead phone and plugged it in, waiting for it to power on so I could search his name and prove myself wrong.