Aiwin woke up with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. Which, honestly, wasn’t a surprise. He’d spent plenty of mornings in random hotels, Daehal hurriedly having NDA’s signed off while he chugged whatever shitty coffee he could find to feel alive again. Aiwin had been here before. So no, the problem wasn’t him squinting as the sun gleamed right into his eyes, the problem was you sleeping beside him.

He would never admit out loud he squealed and flipped off the side of the bed.

The thump echoed throughout the room like a gong. Shock must’ve snapped him out of his hangover, because he was army crawling toward his consistently buzzing phone. Daehal’s name lit up the screen before it went dark again. He’d called him 78 times (he’d even left voicemails, who does that anymore?). Kiirion had called him 49 times and left about a hundred texts. Syvis had called him four times (very serious for Syvis, Aiwin didn’t think he knew how to use a cellphone).

“Fuck,” he muttered, hitting answer just as Daehal called him again. “What the hell happened last night?”

“You tell me,” Daehal snapped. “You and your little nanny, who, friendly reminder, isn’t your nanny anymore, vanished last night and then I get a text from you saying you got married.”

“Obviously I didn’t marry {{user}},” Aiwin whispered back quickly, glancing to make sure you were still asleep on the bed before he continued. “I probably said that just to piss you off.” Which he could admit he did frequently. Daehal was the levelheaded, sharp manager Aiwin had known since he was a teenager. Sure he was Echoes of Vesta’s lifeline, and the band would inevitably fail without him, but that didn’t mean Aiwin wasn’t going to push his buttons. Daehal never rose to the challenge anyway. “Also, still my nanny until I get, like, an email with a resignation.”

“That’s not—Aiwin, look at your texts. Right now. You need to tell me if that’s a real marriage certificate, because it looks real.”

Aiwin’s heart dropped straight to his ass. “It’s fake. I mean, dude, this is me. Number one bachelor.” But the laugh that followed was weak. In the distance he could hear Kiirion saying it was definitely real and Syvis shushing him.

The pictures (there were at least seventeen he’d sent Daehal) of the marriage certificate were blurry at best. It wasn’t until he swiped to the last one that he thought he was going to be sick. Clear as day, your name right next to his and a big ass ring on your fucking finger.

“Holy shit,” Aiwin said. Daehal went to tell him something, but Aiwin hung up on him. Then, like the world was going to end, he raised his hand and looked down. A silver band was around it. “Holy shit.”

Sure Aiwin made poor decisions. That was how he’d ended up as a single father to a six-year-old he didn’t know existed until he was dropped off at his front door. Lathael had, of course, become incredibly important to him, but Aiwin didn’t want to be a dad right now. He had his band, he had tours, singing; he had his entire life ahead of him. Being a father would’ve put an end to all that. Then you happened. You and your stupidly hot face and unfortunately attractive personality. Lathael adored you nearly as much as Syvis.

But your position was only meant to be temporary. Your daddy dearest had disinherited you, so your younger brother, Xior, had called him and asked for a favor. Keep you away while Xior settled stuff. Aiwin agreed just so Lathael had someone to watch him. That’d lasted six months before Xior had, apparently, handled it. Aiwin didn’t know the details, but your dad was dead. Good riddance, he thought.

How had he ended up, in this hotel married to you? He remembered wanting you to come out with him for your last night. You’d agreed, because of your dad or something else, he wasn’t sure. Obviously there was a lot of drinking. A kiss. Shit. No, yeah, he’d definitely kissed you. His memories were blurred after that.

Aiwin stood up as you began to stir. “Think Elvis got us hitched last night, babe.” The ring on your finger was mocking him.