“No,” I whispered, staring at the gold ring on my finger.
“What?” Owen groaned, rolling towards me. He pressed his forehead into my shoulder, totally familiar, like he had the right to be encroaching on my space this early in the morning, while the mother of all hangovers ravaged my brain.
The first time I laid eyes on him in LA a couple of days ago, he took my breath away in a way no guy had ever done. Not even my ex, who I wasted three years of my life with. Between his almost white-blond hair and his piercing blue eyes, Owen was captivating.
I hadn’t been in the best of moods, waiting for Rhiannon’s tour bus to roll into LA, knowing that I needed to present a happy front when Ryan proposed to Alys. My best friend deserved every ounce of joy he could give her, but my life hadn’t been sunshine and rainbows for a while. It didn’t help that rumours were floating around claiming that bad boy Jared had let a woman tame him, when he’d done nothing but lead me on for months.
Then, a gorgeous guy walked into the coffee shop with quiet confidence, all smiles and easy-going laughter. A complete stranger, and he seemed to see straight through me. We spent the afternoon chatting like normal people, just two strangers getting to know each other. No baggage.
It was glorious.
Of course, I wasn’t blind. His baseball cap didn’t have a chance at disguising his identity. Especially not when his own Welsh accent had barely dulled with all the years he’d lived in LA. Owen Parry was the lead singer of Marable, and I could totally understand why millions of women all over the world salivated over him and his music.
Did that mean I was okay waking up in bed with him and a goddamn ring on my finger?
“No.”
“I’m going to need more words, Sweetness.”
I took a break from staring at the ring to glare at him.
“I’m not your sweet anything.”
“Whatever you say.” He settled in, going back to sleep. Oh, no you don’t.
I shoved the ring in his face, stopping short of straddling him. “What is this?”
He peered at it with one eye open. “A ring.”
“Yes, I got that. Why is it on my finger?”
Owen shifted away from me, positioning all the extra pillows on the excessively big bed behind himself. He studied me with his jaw set, a wariness in his eyes I’d never seen. Not in all the interviews he’d done.
Yes, I’d followed his career. Very few Welsh bands hit it big. Marable took off into the stratosphere nearly ten years before The Brightside. With Owen Parry fronting them – with that traffic-stopping face – everyone and their mother watched them.
“It’s what happens when you get married, Em.” He chuckled.
My eyes narrowed and I waved his answer off. “Yeah, yeah, that’s lovely. Explain to me how that happened.”
Every ounce of amusement drained from his face. I swallowed. I couldn’t remember him ever looking that serious. Not at me anyway. He was the fun-loving frontman, eager to wind up unsuspecting victims.
I’d only known him for three days, mind. Maybe I had him all wrong.
“You don’t remember?” The words fell from his lips slowly, with a deadly calm I wasn’t believing. The stillness. It was unnerving.
I shook my head and immediately regretted it, as pain shot through my frontal lobe. No sudden movements.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.
Why was it a problem I didn’t remember? Surely, we just got too drunk after their Las Vegas show and made a mistake.
He eyed me from beneath his lashes, his lips pursing. It was a mistake. Right?
“Was it my idea or yours?”
“Why does it matter?” he asked, all cagey.
“Because I’d like to not feel like an ass when I blow up at you and it turns out you went along with my drunk impulsive ideas.”
I tilted my head, considering the enigma of the man sprawled out naked before me. Almost naked. His chiselled torso was something to behold, plastered in black ink. As drool-worthy as it was, though, I couldn’t tear my gaze from the bulge hidden beneath the white sheet.
Would it be bad of me to ask him to remove the sheet while I was telling him off for marrying me?
Yes, Emily. That would be a seriously fucked-up request.
“It takes two to sign a marriage licence,” Owen said, dragging my attention back to his face. His lips twitched, but he made no comment about my distraction.
Heat filtered into his blue eyes, triggering a deep ache between my legs. I pressed my thighs together. It would not be a good idea to jump my unwanted husband while sober. No matter how hot he looked sprawled out before me.
Before I could do something reckless — more reckless — I rolled back, fixing my gaze on the ceiling. Safer to make life-altering decisions when not tempted by a gorgeous rock star.
“I should have known better.” I groaned. “I was a children’s counsellor, for fuck’s sake. If anyone should have impulse control, it’s me.”
Sheets rustled, the mattress dipped, and Owen’s body heat caressed my side. I refused to turn my head. Somewhere inside my brain, logical Emily, who possessed a shit tonne of psychology training hid. I needed to find her.
She’d get me out of this mess.
Too bad I’d put her on ice after catching the prick-who-shall-not-be-named in bed with an exchange student.
No. Not too bad. That girl was weak and far too trusting.
The new me wouldn’t take shit from anyone. Not Jared, who thought he could use me as his plaything while he cowered behind a wall of anxiety at his band’s mounting fame. Definitely not the guy in Hong Kong, whose name I’d completely forgotten.
Would Owen make life painful?
I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye. Despite the monumental screwup we’d made, he looked peaceful. Relaxed, like it wasn’t a huge misstep that would bring him a world of paparazzi chaos if those sharks ever caught wind.
That would put a dent in my travel plans.
What would an unplanned marriage do to my visa? Surely the Australian border control wouldn’t stop me because none of my ID technically matched my legal name. It would not be for long.
Although Emily Parry had a ring to it…
No. Don’t bloody go there. It was a mistake. No one wanted a chaotic mess like me in their lives permanently. Especially not Owen Parry, the Welsh rock god himself.
Owen’s strong fingers grasped my hand, tugging me from my doom spiral.
“After the show last night, we both agreed that it was worth a shot.”
I twisted my head, my brows tugging together as I considered his patient expression. “Worth a shot? We planned this?”
When I’d agreed to jump on his private jet yesterday morning, backstage passes were the only things on my mind. I’d never seen Marable live, and I seriously wanted to tick that off. Plus, being the new uncontrolled and spontaneous me, an unexpected trip to Las Vegas sang at the right frequency. Especially after using my best acting skills to see Alys through Ryan’s greenroom proposal. Escape had been a perfectly reasonable reaction after smiling so hard my face hurt.
A ring hadn’t been on the cards.
He nodded. “We drank a lot between the show ending and going to the registry office, mind you, but yes, we planned it. From what I remember, you were pretty convincing.”
My jaw dropped. “And you went along with it?”
Owen pressed his lips together and said no more.
“You do not want to be married to me, Owen. I’m an unmitigated disaster.” Settling on my back again, I scowled at the ceiling once more. “I have no idea what I want out of life anymore. All I can do is keep following the urge to move. If I stand still too long, life gets too serious, and I…” I swallowed, letting the silence claim my courage before I spilt far too much of myself to this virtual stranger.
It didn’t matter how much it felt like I knew him, as if he’d always been a solid feature in my life. Spilling my guts was a bad idea. No one needed to hear my pathetic woes. There were people in the world with far worse problems.
People with serious struggles that far outweighed the crisis of self I was suffering after finding my ex cheating and enduring Jared’s games for far too long.
What did it matter if all the men who flocked to me saw no one but themselves? I had me, no matter how impulsive I’d become.
No regrets.
Those two words had become my new motto. My guiding star. If something seemed too big or daunting, I reminded myself of that, and then I did the scary thing.
I glanced at Owen again. I guess that’s what I’d done with him. Drunk me probably reminded me it was a bad idea and then recited my stupid fucking motto back at me, getting me in trouble.
One day, I was going to find myself in a hole too deep to escape unscathed.
Owen watched me, his brows puckered, and something far too close to concern darkened his eyes. He used his grip on my hand to pull me into his arms, settling me against his chest. My eyes fell shut, both savouring and guarding against the peace and comfort of his hold.
“Everything will work out, Sweetness. Just go to sleep.” His hand smoothed up my back, soothing away the chaos. “I’ve got you.”
With my ear pressed to his chest, I let the racing panic inside me fade into the silence. It was so effective, I didn’t even tell him off for calling me that ridiculous name again. Didn’t the man realise by now, there was nothing sweet about me anymore?
I’d been robbed of my soft edges.
