Ch.2: The Morning After

This couldn't be happening.

No, seriously, this could not actually be happening.

Tentatively, I touched the ring, hoping that maybe it was plastic and this was just some crazy joke.

Nope.

That was a diamond.

That was a giant fucking diamond on my finger, and I had no memory of it, or . . . anything else.

"Shit," I whispered. "Oh shit, shitty, shit, shit, shit."

Jude shifted slightly, and I leaped out of bed like it was on fire. A quick glance down told me that I was still fully dressed – thank fuck – though Jude was missing his shirt. At least, I hoped that was all he was missing, but I couldn't see beneath the covers that were bunched around his waist.

Any other time, the muscled, tatted view would have had me drooling, but I was too distracted by the hotel room I'd woken up in. The huge bed and what had felt like feather pillows, the framed artwork on the walls, the sleek modern fireplace set close to the bed, the incredible view of the Strip that I glimpsed through the partially closed curtains – this was a far cry from the grubby little hostel where I'd been staying..

But what the hell had we done to it? A ceramic lamp lay in pieces near the nightstand, and the massive TV on the opposite wall was cracked down the middle – as if someone had hit it with the upended chair lying underneath it. A bottle of champagne lay on its side nearby, and judging by the size of the damp stain around it, neither of us had even drunk any of it.

"Fuck," I whispered, looking closer.

That was a vintage Dom Perignon, and even I, who was a total amateur when it came to all things wine-related, knew that the cheapest bottle was out of my price range.

I stumbled back and something crunched under my foot. A tiny bottle of shampoo lay on the floor, oozing into the carpet. A Gucci bottle of shampoo.

"No, no, no, no, no." My voice rose as panic climbed up my throat, making it hard to breathe. I couldn't afford any hotel that offered Gucci to its guests. I couldn't afford fancy champagne. I sure as shit couldn't afford to cover the costs of the damage.

"Keep it down, would you?" said a sleep-hoarse voice from the bed.

Jude was facing me now, blinking those intense brown eyes, and despite the shit we were in, my girly parts couldn't help but sit up and notice how ridiculously good-looking he was, even first thing in the morning. I suspected if I even looked in a mirror right now, it would crack like the TV.

"Are you kidding me? That's all you have to say?" I said shrilly. "Have you seen this?" I brandished my diamond ring at him.

Jude frowned, and looked down at his own ring. For what felt like a million years, no one said anything.

"Huh," Jude said at last.

My jaw dropped. "That's it?"

Jude scrubbed a hand over his face, his palm scraping against the bristles on his chin. "I have just woken up."

"So have I." I flung my arms wide. "Look at this place. What happened? What did we do?" I didn't give him a chance to answer. "Oh my God, what am I going to do? I can't believe this is happening, I just can't."

"Wake me up when you're done freaking out," Jude said, and rolled over, as if nothing was wrong.

I stared at his back. The words Born to Rock were tattooed onto a scroll that stretched from shoulder-blade to shoulder-blade. I'd seen that tattoo before – on his first album cover, and way too many times I'd imagined tracing each letter with my tongue. I didn't want to do that now.

Marching over to the bed, I grabbed my pillow, and thwapped Jude across the head with it. "We have to talk about this," I cried. "We're married."

Jude rolled over again, the covers twisting around him. His tattoos were splashes of colour against the white sheets. "I had noticed," he said dryly.

I shoved my fingers through my tangled hair. "This is the stupidest thing I've ever done."

"Really?" Jude propped himself up on one elbow. "This wouldn't even make my top ten."

"How is this not a bigger deal to you?"

"You're talking to the guy who once got high and rode a motorbike through the Bellagio fountains and into a strip club, where I crashed into the bar. I was getting a lap-dance from two strippers when the cops showed up."

"I'm not you, okay? I don't do stuff like this."

"I'll admit though, waking up married is a new one for me," Jude said, looking at his ring again.

"Do you remember anything about last night?" I said.

"Not much." A wicked smile spread over his face. "Looks like I picked a good bride though."

I doubted that, because I'd just glimpsed my reflection in a small mirror on a table next to the window, and wow, did I look like hell. My blonde hair was a crazy bird's nest, with bits of coloured confetti caught in the knots. My pupils were huge – probably from the weed – and my smeared mascara made me look like a panicked panda. Definitely not my most attractive moment.

By contrast, Jude looked like he was ready for a photoshoot, with his rumpled curls, and stubble shadowing his jaw, and those brown eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep.

The jungle sleeve tattoo on his right arm was on full display – a snarling tiger covered most of his upper arm and half of his forearm, while vines and leaves in varying shades of green, all stunningly realistic, surrounded the big cat, with a few flowers and brightly coloured birds peeping through the foliage.

The sleeve on his left arm wasn't finished yet. A huge snake was wrapped around a sickle, the blade of which curved along his shoulder and chest, pointing down to his heart. In between the snake's coils were the outlines of roses, stark black lines against Jude's skin, not yet filled in.

"This isn't fair," I muttered, trying to rub away my ruined makeup with my finger. "I wake up looking like Frankenstein's monster, whereas you?" I waved a hand at him.

Jude smiled, lazy and arrogant.

"Even tired and hungover, you're still Hotty McHotpants. It's not normal," I said.

"I've got a lot of experience bouncing back after a night of getting absolutely shit-faced," Jude pointed out.

"Where are we, anyway?"

"Not sure." Jude looked around the room, not batting an eyelid at the damage. "The Venetian, maybe? The Bellagio?"

I buried my face in my hands. "I can't afford this. Look at everything we've broken."

Jude smiled again. He made me think of a cat lying in the sun, languid and utterly unconcerned with anything. "We?" he said. "I don't remember much about last night, but I'm pretty sure this was all you."

"I did this?" Tears welled up. "What the fuck am I going to do? I don't have any money."

Jude sat up and leaned against the headboard, the covers slipping a little further down his sculpted stomach. "I'll pay for it."

"I can't let you do that."

"C'mon, can't a guy do something nice for his wife?"

"I am not your wife," I snapped.

Jude held up his hand, waggling his wedding ring at me. "This says different, baby."

I slumped onto the edge of the bed and hunched over, trying to calm my racing mind. The invisible douchebag was still hammering away at my skull, but that paled against the knot of raw panic in my chest. It felt like there was no air left in the room.

"Look, someone has to pay for this, but you've just told me you can't afford it, so do you have another solution? Or will your pride stop you from accepting help?" Jude said.

A few tears leaked out. "This is all wrong." Something occurred to me, and I spun to face Jude. "We must have got married at a wedding chapel, right?"

"Probably."

"But we were trashed. Chapels aren't allowed to marry people if they're drunk," I cried.

Jude scratched his chin. "That's probably my fault."

"Why – oh." Our taxi journey from yesterday evening rushed back to me, when Jude had literally thrown money at our driver, rather than put out his joint. "Are you suggesting that you bribed the chapel?"

"Quite possibly."

"They could lose their licence over this."

"Knowing me, I probably gave them so much that they've already shut the chapel and retired," Jude said.

I had no idea if he was joking. I had a horrible feeling he wasn't.

"I guess I really, really wanted to marry you last night," Jude said.

"Do you always get what you want?"

"Usually." Jude tilted his head, and early morning sunlight sparkled off the rings in his ear. "Hey, look on the bright side. If they broke the law by marrying us, then the chapel can't risk selling any photos or stories to the press. We can keep it private."

Oh God, that hadn't even occurred to me. It would have been bad enough to wake up married to any man that I barely knew, but no, I had to pick one of the most famous rockstars on the planet. Good job, Camden.

"We have to get the marriage annulled," I said.

That was the logical solution, right? We ended the marriage, and then both went our separate ways and pretended this had never happened.

"Why?" Jude asked.

"I'm sorry, what?" I blinked owlishly at him.

"Why?" Jude repeated.

"Because."

"A compelling argument."

I gave him an evil look. "We were drunk. Neither of us knew what we were doing, or even remember most of last night. Why in the actual hell would you not want an annulment?"

I expected him to come back with another glib comment, but instead he tilted his head again and studied me. I'd read women in interviews saying that Jude Scott's stare made it feel like he was undressing them with his eyes, in the most delicious way, but I felt more like he was trying to see inside me in some way. It made me squirm, but I couldn't decide if that was a bad thing or not.

"What do you know about me, Camden?" he asked.

"How do you mean?"

"Before we met last night, what did you know about me? You said you were a fan, so I'm guessing you know some stuff."

"Yes," I said cautiously, wondering where he was going with this.

"You ever see or read any of the interviews where I talk about marriage?"

"Yeah."

"What did I say about it?"

"You said that you'd never get married."

More than that – two of his longest and most high-profile relationships had famously ended the moment that marriage was brought up, with one of his exes publicly accusing him of being too afraid to commit.

Jude pointed at me. The skull ring on his finger gleamed. "Exactly. You know how fast Angels & Demons shot to the top, and I won't pretend that women haven't thrown themselves at me every day since then. Models, film stars, you name it, I've had it. But I've still never wanted to marry anyone."

"You didn't want to this time," I argued. "It only happened because you were shit-faced drunk."

He smiled lazily at me. "I'm Jude Scott. This isn't my first time getting completely fucked-up in Vegas, sometimes worse than last night, and I've still never wound up married."

"Where are you going with this?"

He treated me to another piercing look. "Obviously I saw something special in you last night, or I wouldn't have married you." His perfect lips twitched. "I don't remember what that special something was, but I'd like to find out."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Stay married to me –"

"But –"

"For one month," Jude cut me off. "That's all I'm asking, just one month for us to get to know each other, and see if we can find that special thing again."

I toyed with the covers so I didn't have to look at him. "What if there is no special thing?"

"Then at the end of the month, we end the marriage and we never have to see each other again."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"I really am. I swore that I'd never get married, and I'd like to know more about the woman who finally got a ring on my finger."

I pinched myself. Hard. "Ow," I muttered.

"Yeah, this isn't a dream," said Jude, sounding amused.

"It feels like it," I muttered.

"Good dream or bad one?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"Ouch." Jude chuckled. "How many women would give their left tit to be where you are now?"

"I have some idea." I looked up at him.

Jude still reclined, cat-like, against the pillows, one arm tucked behind his head. With those messy chocolate curls, those deep eyes, and that tattooed, muscled body, he would have had women falling at his feet even without the fame, the wealth, and the raw rockstar charisma. Many of those women really would cut off a tit if it meant they could be here instead of me. If they knew that I was second-guessing his offer, they'd probably rip me apart with their bare hands.

"Are you serious? This isn't some PR stunt?" I said.

"Not my style. You either want to give me a chance or you don't. I can't force you." Jude paused. "Although, you did tell me that you had nowhere to live now you've ended things with your cheating prick of a boyfriend. Moving in with me would take care of that."

"You want me to move in with you?" I was struggling to wrap my brain around this. Was I sure that I wasn't dreaming? I gave myself another pinch just in case.

"That's usually what married couples do," Jude said.

"But . . . I have a life in England." I'd seen photos of Jude's fancy LA mansion, and while it would be a dream home for so many people, I didn't want to live in America. It was such a beautiful country, so rich and fascinating and wild in so many ways, but my heart belonged to England.

"You realise I'm living in the UK at the moment, right?" Jude said.

I shook my head.

"I've got a loft apartment in London, and that's where I spend most of my time these days. It's smaller than the mansion, if that's what you're worried about."

I hadn't mentioned size being an issue, though it had been on my mind. I was used to living in a shoebox flat in Brentford, and commuting into central London to work every day, and the thought of swapping all that for some glass-and-steel megahome in LA was more than a little daunting. Had Jude guessed that, or we talked about that kind of thing last night? I tried to think back but my memory was still a black hole of nothing.

"What happens if you get bored of me in a week?" I said.

"I'm not a complete bastard, Camden. Even if this doesn't work, I wouldn't kick you out with nowhere to go." Jude's face darkened. "Unless you start selling private shit about me to the media. I've got zero fucking patience with that kind of thing, so if you're thinking that I'm a ticket to a quick buck, you've got the wrong guy."

"I would never do that," I said, stung.

Although I guessed I couldn't blame him for considering the possibility. The more famous a person was, the more leeches hung around, trying to feed from them.

Jude slowly nodded, then his expression relaxed. "Good. So what do you say? One month of marriage? Or do you need more time to think about it?"

I could think about it for a lifetime and still not be convinced that this was a good idea, but the alternative was going back to my parents' place. While they'd gladly put me up, they'd downsized when I moved in with Jake, so I'd have to sleep on their sofa until I could scrape together enough money to live on my own, and who knew how long that would take?

This was the strangest, most impossible, and yet potentially most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. How many people had fantasised about marrying their favourite rockstar – and now I actually had. Was I really thinking about throwing it away because I was scared?

Jude nudged me with his foot. "Well?"

I took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's do this."

Jude's face broke into a smile, so bright and brilliant that I discreetly touched my hips to make sure that my panties hadn't flown off.

"Okay," he said. "We're going back to England together."

"When?"

He fumbled under the covers until he located his phone. "In two hours."

"Wait, what?" I squawked, almost falling off the bed. "Two hours? I'm booked at my hostel for another two days."

"I'll change your flight."

"I can't afford that."

"Good thing I didn't ask you to pay." Jude tapped away at his phone. "Done. My PA's taking care of it. She'll collect your luggage and let the hostel know you're checking out. She's already booked a car to take us to the airport, and you'll go through the private terminal with me.

Of course he had a personal assistant. Probably more than one. Having said that, if I was as rich as him, I'd probably have one too.

"Famous people have private terminals?"

"Some of us, yeah. It's safer. Imagine how mobbed we'd get if we queued with everyone else."

I had a feeling that living with Jude Scott was about to open my eyes to a way of life that I couldn't even imagine.

"Besides," Jude said, "even if we weren't leaving today, I'd have upgraded your flight. I'm not having my wife sitting in economy while I'm up in first class."

Jude flung back the covers and bounded out of bed. He was wearing the same faded jeans from the night before, but seeing that bare chest in all its glory, the way his jeans hung low on his hips, showing off the sculpted abdominal V lines that looked like an arrow pointing straight down to the good stuff, was enough to make me light-headed. I'd heard people say that his pictures were photoshopped, but seeing him like this put those rumours to bed. Every inch of him was real, no editing needed.

Just above the waistband of his jeans, tattooed flames licked along the edge of his hip, and not for the first time, I wondered what the rest of the tattoo looked like.

"I'm going to grab a shower," Jude said. He disappeared into the bathroom, then poked his head out a second later. I tensed, thinking he was going to tell me I'd trashed that too, but instead he gave me a wicked grin. "Feel like joining me?"

"In the shower?" I squeaked.

"You are my wife." His eyes sparkled with laughter.

I folded my arms. "I'll shower after you."

"Your loss."

"Can you please take this seriously?"

"I never take anything seriously," Jude informed me, and vanished back into the bathroom.

I heard the shower turning on, the patter of hot water against the floor, and then the faint rustle as Jude stripped off the rest of his clothes.

Heat rose in my cheeks.

Jude Scott was naked in the room next to me. If I climbed off the bed and took just a few steps in that direction, I'd be able to see everything. And I really wanted to.

I might not be one of the hardcore fans who stalked the band on social media, or went to every gig, or got tattoos of the members' names, or confused the lines between fantasy and reality, but I was also human, and Jude Scott seemed so much bigger and bolder and brighter than any guy I'd ever met.

I'd helplessly crushed on him ever since I'd watched my first Angels & Demons music video, where Jude had swaggered onto the stage wearing nothing but a pair of leather pants, but it had seemed impossible that I'd ever even meet him, let alone be married to him.

I really, really wanted to see what he looked like without his clothes. Sue me.

But I didn't peek.

Instead, I went over this increasingly bizarre morning in my head, replaying every word we'd exchanged, and wondering what in the hell I'd let myself in for.