Accidental Soulmates_A Vegas Accidental Marriage Romance Read online

  I was on my feet, reaching for the envelope and he reluctantly handed it to me. The postmark was from Las Vegas which had apparently inspired all the questions but the address was confusing.

  To Mr. and Mrs. Julian Bryant.

  My home address was printed on the package and I got a chill of apprehension reading it.

  What the hell was it?

  I gave Terry another look of confusion and reached for a letter opener, my pulse quickening.

  Mr. and Mrs. Julian Bryant.

  “Julian, what did you do?” Terry mumbled but I barely heard him as I tore open the manila and peered inside.

  “Holy shit!” I choked and dropped it as if it was on fire. “No way.”

  I stared at it for a long moment, wondering if I was dreaming again. Then, I picked it up and carefully withdrew the square page inside.

  Certificate of Marriage.

  “Who is she?” Terry demanded. “Please tell me this wasn’t a drunken night you don’t remember.”

  “I wasn’t drunk,” I replied truthfully. I had been higher than I’d ever been, that was true. Well, the champagne and scotch I’d thrown in there probably hadn’t helped matters at all…

  “Julian, who is she?” he asked again and I scanned the letterhead carefully.

  “According to this, her name is Kennedy Christensen.”

  “According to that?” he echoed dubiously. “You really don’t know the name of the woman you married in Vegas? Is this a prank? Obviously you must remember something. People don’t just get married and forget it completely. Someone is just playing a joke on you or trying to extort money.”

  “I don’t think so…” I murmured, closing my eyes as I sat back. I remembered her so clearly and now, there was proof that she wasn’t something I made up in my own mind. I didn’t know how I felt about that. On one hand, I was excited to know that this surreal woman existed somewhere out there but then again, did I want to be married to her? Not really.

  No offense, Kennedy Christensen. I don’t really want to be married to anyone.

  Shit, even her name was lyrical.

  Kitten. Kennedy. Christensen.

  Could she really have been so beautiful or was it my high mind?

  If so, there was nothing about the girl which didn’t appeal to me. She had been fun, sexy, sweet from what I recalled. Her mouth…my God…her mouth…

  “What are you going to do about this?” Terry demanded, his nearly-panicked voice shattering my reverie. I must have been lost in thought.

  “Jesus, Terry, have you seen a woman around here the last couple months claiming to be my wife?” I demanded, forcing him to think reasonably. “Obviously we both did something stupid and she’s trying to forget it somewhere.”

  “Somewhere? You don’t even know where she’s from?”

  Fearing Terry was going to have a heart attack, I laughed, hoping that my mirth would lighten his mood. I failed miserably. Terry’s scowl deepened.

  “Terry, it will be ridiculously easy to find her,” I assured him. “Internet remember?”

  As I expected, my announcement was met with a blank stare. Finally, he spoke again.

  “Julian, what if she won’t agree to the divorce? Or she demands money?”

  “I have money,” I reminded him flatly but I was bothered by the insinuation that Kennedy had married me because she was after my money. I had no idea if she even knew my name.

  What a mess. How did this even happen?

  “Look at the bright side,” I chuckled. “No one can claim I’m gay if I got married in a secret Vegas wedding, right?”

  “This is not a laughing matter,” Terry grumbled. “Your father would be spinning in his grave right now.”

  My grin faded.

  “Really? Because Maddy was a much better choice?”

  Terry clamped his mouth shut.

  “I’ll hire investigators to find her and serve her with papers,” he muttered but I held up my hand.

  “No,” I told him. “I’ve got this.”

  He stared at me balefully.

  “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

  “You have a bad feeling about everything,” I reminded him. “Anyway, it lacks a certain amount of chivalry to have strangers deliver divorce papers, don’t you think?”

  “Right. You married a woman whose name you don’t know in Vegas two months ago and you’re concerned about chivalry.”

  I scowled at him.

  “You’re dismissed, Terry,” I told him curtly, turning back to my computer to open a new search bar.

  “Deal with this, Julian. This family does not need more scandal.”

  The statement left me scratching my head. When had we ever been met with scandal? But Terry was gone before I could push him on the issue.

  I typed in Kennedy’s full name and the usual Facebook and LinkedIn profile searches appeared but instantly I found her, the amber eyes glowing out from the page.

  If possible, she was even more attractive than I remembered her but it was hard to be certain through the grainy photos which I didn’t have access to without friending her. I was tempted for a second but I stopped myself. I didn’t want to shock her and scare her off without talking to her face-to-face. It seemed likely that she had no idea what we had done or if she did, she didn’t know my name to find me.

  She’ll be just as relieved as I am to put an end to this, I assured myself, exhaling in a whoosh of air which could have meant anything.

  I still hadn’t decided if I was happy or sad about this.

  6

  Kennedy

  The morning sickness got worse, much worse and for three days, I was forced to stay in bed. I would seem to be fine and then I would be knocked down again the following morning like a bomb had been dropped on me.

  “You should really go see a doctor,” Belle chirped on the third day when she called into the store. “That sounds like a bad flu. Or maybe you have salmonella poisoning. Or mono!”

  Everyone was a doctor in the day of Web MD.

  “I’m going today,” I lied. “If I can make it down the stairs.”

  “I’ll bring you some soup and Gatorade tonight,” she promised. “Just don’t get me sick.”

  Don’t worry, idiocy isn’t catching, I thought darkly. I wondered if Belle would consider that I might be pregnant.

  Probably not. Who the hell would ever expect the Virgin Mary Kennedy Christensen to be with child.

  I got sick in waves, first thing in the morning, then I’d be fine until about noon where I’d retch again for another hour and then I would repeat one or two more times in the late afternoon. Some nights I’d spring from bed at two or three o’clock. I wondered if it was normal or if I really did need to see a doctor.

  At some point, it would be unavoidable—I’d need to find an OBGYN but hopefully I had some time to worry about that. My online research told me otherwise, that I should be in the care of a physician right away and start taking prenatal vitamins.

  The problem, of course, was money. I didn’t have health insurance and it wasn’t like I had a rainy-day fund kicking around.

  And it’s only going to get worse when the baby comes.

  The cruelty of what was happening scared me and I half-wondered if it wasn’t morning sickness I was experiencing but a malaise for my situation.

  There was no one to turn to, no family to call.

  I’d been part of the foster care system since some crackhead had left me at a firehall when I was two. He claimed he wasn’t my father but found me wandering through some flophouse and when no one admitted I was theirs, he took it upon himself to get me out of there.

  I guess I should have been grateful that man had enough clarity to see that a toddler shouldn’t be walking around a drug house but in the back of my mind, I always wondered about my parents.

  Like all kids who grew up in similar situations, I had fanciful ideas about who my parents were and how I’d come to be in such a place.

&nb
sp; I was a princess from another country, kidnapped by junkies for drug money. I had stolen out in the middle of the night while my parents slept in their mansion and made my way into the flophouse. I had special powers and my parents sent me away to protect me from evil scientists.

  Of course no one ever claimed a lost toddler or foreign princess and my powers had yet to materialize.

  It’s not easy growing up realizing that no one wants you, that you’re not special nor bound for great things.

  Even if you are a Kennedy.

  Thankfully, I never dealt with some of the psychological trauma that young children face when they’re separated from their parents at that age but I had other scars, deep and permanent that no social worker ever really knew about.

  I was never adopted but I did get identification with one of my many foster parents’ names for posterity.

  I was just another number in the system, a no one, a nothing.

  I’d be damned if my baby was going to grow up the same way but how could I possibly make it better for her?

  The evening light was overshadowing the bright sunshine of day and I was just drifting off again when I heard someone climbing the steps in the hallway.

  A quick glance at my alarm clock told me it was almost eight o’clock which meant that Belle wouldn’t be off work yet.

  There was a pause outside my door and I heard the shifting of weight beyond. Was someone trying to break in? It had never happened before but I had always lived on the edge of my seat expecting it. My neighborhood was not renowned for its safety features.

  Fear gripped me and I bolted up, too quickly. I looked around for a weapon and settled on the desk lamp sitting on the floor.

  Slowly, I rose, creeping toward the front door. As I approached, a sharp rap caused me to scream. I collected myself quickly.

  Robbers don’t knock on doors, I reminded myself quickly, taking a deep breath.

  “Hello?” a man called from the other side of the door. “I’m looking for Kennedy Christensen.”

  I slumped against the wall, my mind exploding. I knew his voice. I knew the timbre, the pitch. I’d heard it in my dreams or in my memory.

  It was him. Unmistakably, undeniably him.

  It couldn’t be, could it?

  Of course it can be. He’s the father of this baby. You’ve already established he’s real. Get a grip on yourself, Ken.

  “Hello?” he called again when I remained silent. “My name is Julian Bryant. We met in Las Vegas a couple months ago. I…I’m not sure if you remember me because I had a hard time remembering you.”

  And there it was, out in the open. I wasn’t crazy. I hadn’t developed him in the throes of alcohol psychosis.

  A whoosh of relief sucked out of me and into the air but the consternation mounted simultaneously.

  Slowly, I unlocked the deadbolts, painfully aware of how I must look and smell at that moment but I had to open the door. I had to see him for myself, see if he was exactly how I remembered in my spotty recollection.

  The door creaked and we stared at each other. Again, I had to cock my head back slightly to stare into his face, the scent of that aftershave filling my nostrils.

  “You’re real,” he laughed and I felt an embarrassing spring of tears fill my eyes.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “So are you.”

  More silence ensued and I ran my eyes over his broad chest, covered in a shirt that cost more than my monthly rent and car payment combined.

  He was rich, also how I remembered him.

  What had he seen in me that night in Vegas? What was he doing here now?

  “You left all your clothes behind,” he finally said and I could see he was trying not to appear nosy as he casually glanced around my dim, tiny apartment. “I seem to recall a shopping spree but truth be told, I don’t remember much of what you bought.”

  He flashed me a brilliant white smile and it lit a fire inside my abdomen. A now-familiar gush of warmth eased through the crotch of my shorts and I hoped he didn’t see it.

  “I don’t remember much about what happened,” I confessed, lowering my eyes. “But yeah, I remember there being a lot of packages inside your hotel room.”

  I blushed when I said the words “hotel room”. I felt so dirty, like I was a call-girl or something. I didn’t know if I should invite him in but talking to him in the hallway where the neighbors might hear seemed conspicuous. On the other hand, my unit reeked of the aftermath of morning sickness. What if he figured it out?

  I realized I was being ridiculous. He had no reason to guess that I was pregnant, not when I hadn’t believed it myself. Even if he did, he wouldn’t assume the baby was his. I hadn’t seen this man in two months. Anything could have happened in that time.

  I was getting way ahead of myself.

  He saved me from having to decide.

  “Would you mind if I come in, Kennedy? There’s something we need to discuss.”

  I nodded quickly and stepped back, allowing him inside. My cheeks were on fire and I hoped he didn’t touch anything with his insanely expensive clothes. I couldn’t afford the cleaning bill.

  I have to tell him about this kid. The baby deserves better than this.

  But then I reasoned that I would never have known who this man—Julian—was if he hadn’t shown up on my doorstep. I was going to figure out a way without him before…

  But now you don’t have to. Now he’s here and you have no excuse. You’re not asking him to help you, you’re asking him to help your baby.

  “I’ve shocked you,” he said, closing the warped door behind him. “I would have called you first but I couldn’t find your phone number online.”

  “You found my address?” I asked, stunned. God, nothing was sacred on the web.

  “Well…that took a little more digging but it wasn’t that hard,” he confessed, looking around for a place to sit. “In any case, I didn’t mean to just show up like this. It’s really not my style.”

  I was slowly learning what his style was exactly. I think I liked it but it was too early to tell.

  I gestured for him to sit on the futon and he nodded gratefully.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized quickly. “I’ve been sick for a few days. The house is a mess.”

  “It’s cozy,” he lied to my face. “And I’m the one who’s sorry for surprising you.”

  I perched on the edge of a dilapidated armchair which had seen its best days in the early nineties sometime. I was lucky it didn’t have bedbugs when I found it on the curb a couple years back.

  “I…uh, I don’t have much here. I need to go grocery shopping,” I stammered, lying through my teeth. I never went grocery shopping. I lived off Mr. Noodles and water. “Would you like a glass of water?”

  His eyes narrowed pensively and he studied my face a little longer than necessary.

  “Can I take you out for dinner?” he asked. “I saw a handful of places on the way over here from the airport.”

  I blinked. It hadn’t occurred to me that he had come from the airport.

  “Where did you fly in from?”

  “Home. Miami.”

  “Oh.”

  I have no idea why that was surprising. He certainly didn’t seem like the type to live in Indiana.

  “Were you here on business?”

  He laughed, his ivory teeth flashing in the darkness. It was only then I realized that there were no lights on in the apartment. I rose and began to flick them on. I also saw that I still held the table lamp in my hands although Julian made no comment.

  “I don’t have properties in Indiana,” he replied and my brow furrowed. I guessed that meant he was in real estate.

  I was surprised to notice that I didn’t feel sick or sluggish. Maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe Julian simply had a calming effect on me.

  “Well?” he asked and I stared at him curiously. “Can I take you out for dinner?”

  “Oh.”

  I considered his offer but I couldn’t imag
ine going somewhere while he was dressed to kill and I looked like the bride of Chucky. Not to mention I had no money to even pretend to split the bill.

  “I’m really not hungry,” I replied. As soon as the words left my lips, my stomach growled loudly in protest. I knew he heard it.

  He pursed his lips together in thought.

  “How do you feel about ordering a pizza?” he suggested. “I hate to admit it but I’m starved and even my private jet has shitty food.”

  I felt my back tense.

  He had to mention his private jet, didn’t he?

  “Sure, I can order you a pizza,” I replied tersely, trying to remember how much money I had on my credit card. I hoped enough to cover a pizza.

  “Let me,” he replied, whipping out his phone. “I’ve got this great app which tells me all the local restaurants.”

  I watched as he toyed with the buttons and a few minutes later, he grinned happily.

  “Done!” he said. “Although they might be a while.”

  I didn’t ask how he knew.

  “You said you aren’t feeling well. Do you need me to get you something? I thought I saw a drugstore nearby also.”

  My emotions were too close to the surface for his pleasantries and I couldn’t hold back the pressing question on the tip of my tongue.

  “What are you doing here, Julian?”

  His lovely aqua eyes seemed to darken.

  “That’s a fair question,” he replied. “I’m not really sure why I came myself. I can’t believe you’re really real. I know I sound like a broken record but I really had convinced myself that I imagined you.”

  I knew the feeling.

  “I wanted to see you and…” he trailed off as if he caught himself saying something he shouldn’t. “I wanted to see you, Kennedy. I didn’t come here to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset.” I wasn’t. Confused, yes. Maybe even elated. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t under the spell of his charms again. He was precisely how I’d imagined him but had I ever really thought I would see him again…?

  “How much do you remember about that night, Kennedy?”

  “Not much,” I replied. “I get flashes here and there but it mostly is blank to me.”