Ten minutes, fourteen gerbils, one bearded dragon, an unopened five-pound bag of sugar-free gummy penises and twelve half-eaten chocolate dongs later, they leave us with a change of clothes and promise to return shortly to finish.
Tap tap tap.
“That better not be my dad,” I mutter, opening the door.
Worse.
It’s Declan and Shannon.
“Back for more abuse?”
“To receive it or hand it out?”
“Both.”
“Where’s Amanda?” Shannon asks, peering around, her nose wrinkled.
I point to the kitchen. Shannon makes a hasty retreat.
“This is your biggest screw-up yet,” Declan says drolly.
“How was the meeting with the Sultan?”
“There was no meeting. He was kicked out of his suite here and is on his way back to Dubai. Said you ordered him out.”
“WHAT?” Damn it. Brona sent out feelers and signals got crossed.
“Dad says it’s a stroke of genius,” Declan says pleasantly.
“What?”
“Has your vocabulary devolved into the word what?”
“Huh?”
“That’s an improvement. Variety is the spice of life.”
“Says the man who just tied himself to one woman for the rest of his life.”
Dec yanks my hand. I steel myself. He can’t move me an inch.
“People who live in glass wedding rings shouldn’t throw stones, Andrew.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
He laughs. “But it’s funny.”
“What do you mean, Dad thinks accidentally kicking the Sultan out of the Presidential Suite was a stroke of genius?”
“The Sultan’s had too much power in all the negotiations. Being an asshole to him helps reset the balance.”
You have got to be kidding me. Only Dad could take this situation and turn it into a positive.
“Do we get the deal?”
“You figure it out. Dad wants you in Dubai next week.” His eyes land on my ring finger. “Unless you’ll be too busy on your honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon? Why would I—”
He yanks on my ring finger.
“Oh, screw off,” I grumble.
“You’ve always been jealous of me, Andrew, but upstaging my wedding?”
“Upstaging? You think I did this on purpose?” None of this involved volition.
Not mine, anyway.
“Who, exactly, are you married to?”
I go silent.
“You still don’t know?”
More silence.
“What do you remember about last night?”
“Nothing.”
“You drank so much you blacked out?”
I shrug. “If I did, so did Amanda. We can’t remember a damn thing after you and Shannon left your reception.”
“You don’t remember marrying someone?”
“We’re just piecing it all together.”
He shakes his head in disgust. “You partied in college, but nothing like this. It’s not like you.”
We both frown. The staffers return, moving swiftly around us as they pack the rest of our belongings, and I let his words sink in. He’s right. This isn’t like me. I don’t do this. I don’t black out, and I don’t party hard to the point of marrying someone.
Especially potentially marrying one of three different people.
Deeply disturbing thoughts begin to surface inside me. What if we didn’t get drunk last night? What if—
“Amanda seems to be taking this in stride.” Declan tips his chin toward the kitchen, where Amanda is whispering in Shannon’s ear. “And you’re too blasé. How can you both be so calm?”
“Because being calm is my job, Dec.”
He snorts. “Showing up for business meetings is, too.”
“And then there’s that whole Cheeto coochie condition.”
“Cheeto what?”
I wave around my crotch. “You know. She keeps calling it Cheeto coochie.”
“The right drugs can cure that.”
“Don’t talk about my girlfriend’s sweet cave.”
“Her what?” He grabs my jaw and peers at my mouth. “You have Cheeto mouth.”
“I do?” Amanda wasn’t joking.
“Cheeto coochie is contagious.” His eyes drop to my junk.
Reflexively, I cover my crotch with my hands. “My junk is not orange.”
“Oh yeah?”
“What—you want me to show you?”
“Are you two having a penis contest again? Can you just measure and be done with it?” Shannon keeps making this joke. It’s not funny. But if I roll my eyes in front of Declan, he’ll yell at me, and my hangover headache is still in that precarious zone where yelling makes me want to stab my eye with a chopstick.
“Depends. Does Cheeto dust add an unfair advantage to length?” I mutter.
“Cheeto what? Is that a kink?”
“Ask Andrew!”
The sound of running water interrupts the argument. Amanda must be in the shower. I grit my teeth. If the suite were empty, I’d be in there right now. Talking might be awkward, but I can express an incredible amount of emotion in other ways.
And by incredible, I mean—
“Excuse me, Mr. McCormick?”
“Yes?” Declan and I answer in unison as a staffer comes back down the hallway.
“We found this among the gerbils.”
“Gerbils?” Dec’s eyebrows go up.
The staffer holds out his cupped hands, which contain a baby chick.
“I can’t believe this, Andrew.”