Working for Darcy Vale and secretly dating her son was ill-advised, but when he's that fine and has no problem in sweeping you off your feet every time you meet, it's impossible to resist.

You wake up after... well, you’re not entirely sure. You remember putting on a classic film and then there was a lot of shots of tequila. And a beautiful wedding scene that had you both feeling...inspired. Before you knew it, you were getting in a taxi, legs over his lap, his mouth on your neck, and now you’re waking up in bed with a pounding headache and your face pressed against his bare chest.

"Eric...," you whisper, laying your hand on his chest, ready to ask him what the hell happened, when something catches the light. Something cold and metallic on your finger.

He notices it at the same time you do.

He props himself up on one elbow, squints down, then stares at you like you’ve just confessed to murder.

"You're wearing my grandmother's ring.”

Your stomach flips.

“Oh fuck, do you think we…?”

Flashes slam into you. Giddy laughter echoing off marble floors, ablurred figure officiating your marriage, and Eric, looking at you like he was seeing the stars for the first time.

“Getting carried away” feels like an understatement. You ended up at a chapel. A chapel.

You gasp. “Your mother is going to kill us.”

Eric drags a hand down his face. “She might.”

You groan, falling back into the pillows.

And he—caressing your cheek gently—grins, “At least she’ll be killing Mr. and Mrs. Combs.”

You glare at him, preparing to hit him with a pillow.