How to Accidentally get a Husband - Part One: The Hangover & the Husband

What happens in Vegas… doesn’t always stay in Vegas.

Delaney Quinn wakes up in a luxury suite with a pounding headache, no memory of last night—and a ring on her finger. Even worse? The absurdly hot, infuriatingly calm man making coffee in her kitchen claims to be her husband.

Apparently, she proposed.

And apparently… he said yes.

Now she has one day to figure out what the hell happened, survive the world’s most confusing (and kind of perfect?) newlywed breakfast, and decide if this accidental husband is her worst mistake—or her best impulsive decision yet.

Part One: The Hangover & the Husband

The Morning After – Vegas Suite

I wake up with a mouth like cotton and a headache loud enough to file a noise complaint.

The sheets aren’t mine.

Neither is the bed. Or the floor-to-ceiling windows where a soft golden sunlight is filtering through. Or the suspiciously expensive-looking chandelier hanging above me like a fancy middle finger.

I groan, throwing an arm over my eyes, only to realize I’m wearing… a robe?

Not my robe.

I peek down. White. Plush. Hotel embroidery on the lapel. And underneath it?

Nothing.

No bra. No panties. Not even a sock.

What in the holy hangover?

I sit up too fast and immediately regret it. My head pounds like a nightclub bass line, and behind my eyes, blurry flashes of last night start trickling in.

Bright lights. Loud music. A man’s hand on my waist. A dare?

I rub my temple, trying to blink the room into focus. It’s not just a hotel room. It’s a suite. A giant one. Vaulted ceilings, mirrored bar, marble floors, and a wraparound view of the Las Vegas strip. There’s even a grand piano in the corner like this is a romcom and not my personal crisis.

That’s when I hear it.

Whistling.

Cheerful, unbothered, someone-is-too-awake whistling.

There’s a man in the suite.

Whoever’s whistling sounds way too comfortable to be a stranger.

I ease off the bed, clutching the robe tighter, and tiptoe toward the sound, past an open suitcase on the floor, a discarded bowtie on a chair, and a very crumpled tux jacket hanging off a lamp. Definitely not mine.

“Good morning, Mrs. Carter.”

I yelp.

The voice comes from the kitchenette, and when I round the corner, I nearly choke on my own breath.

The man is tall. Shirtless. And absurdly hot.

Dark, mussed hair. Strong jaw. Muscular arms that flex as he pours two cups of coffee like this is the most normal morning ever. His abs could have their own social media following. And he’s wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants that do absolutely nothing to hide the fact that this man is… substantial.

I blink at him, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, what did you just call me?”

He turns with a grin and holds out a mug. “Mrs. Carter. Want cream or sugar, or are you a straight-up caffeine kind of girl?”

“I.. who…I don’t even know who you are!”

His brow furrows. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?!”

He pauses. “Last night.”

I stare at him, jaw falling open. “Oh my God. Did we…?”

He sets both mugs on the counter and tilts his head, considering. “Have sex? No. You passed out halfway through telling me how much you love miniature horses and guacamole.”

I blink. “I… wait, what?”

He chuckles. “You’re really cute when you’re drunk, by the way. But also very insistent. You refused to get married in anything other than your heels. And you kept calling the officiant ‘Your Honor.’ Which I’m pretty sure isn’t right.”

My blood goes cold. “Excuse me?”

He walks over and gently lifts my left hand. There, nestled against my very hungover knuckle, is a diamond ring.

Not huge. Not tiny. Just… there.

I stare at it. “This is a prank.”

“Nope.”

“Is this some kind of con?”

He lifts a brow. “I mean, if I was scamming you, I probably wouldn’t have booked the penthouse and ordered six hundred dollars’ worth of celebratory sushi.”

I look at him like he’s sprouted horns. “You’re saying we got married last night?”

“I’m saying you asked me. Loudly. And repeatedly. And then told me if I didn’t say yes, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.” He shrugs, way too amused. “So I said yes.”

I stumble backward and grab the counter for support. “This is not happening.”

“Oh, it definitely happened.”

He grabs his phone from the table and taps a few times, then turns it to show me.

There we are.

Blurry, disheveled, lit by neon hearts and chapel fairy lights. I’m in a ridiculous white feathered minidress and heels. He’s in the tux I passed in the hallway. We’re grinning like lunatics, kissing like we’ve been in love for years.

The caption reads: Mr. & Mrs. Carter, hitched at midnight.

I grab the phone from him, scanning the other photos, cake smeared across my cheek, my leg hooked around his hip, us dancing in the aisle while the officiant watches with a champagne flute in hand.

“This isn’t possible,” I whisper.

He sips his coffee. “Sure it is. This is Vegas, baby.”

I set the phone down, hand trembling. “I need to go. I need to call someone. I need a lawyer. Or a priest. Or a memory scrubber.”

He walks back over, sets a plate of room service pancakes in front of me, and smiles like he’s done this before. “Eat first. You’ll feel better.”

“I’m not hungry!”

“Liar. Your stomach’s been growling since you walked in.”

I glare at him. “How are you so calm?”

He shrugs. “Because I remember everything, and I’m not freaking out.”

“Well, I am.”

He leans against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest, and that stupid smirk on his face.

“You don’t strike me as the one-night-stand type,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “So what gives? Why are you so chill about being accidentally married to a complete stranger?”

His smile softens, almost… fond. “Because you’re not a stranger.”

I blink. “What?”

“You don’t remember meeting me before the bar last night, do you?”

I shake my head slowly.

He looks almost bashful for the first time. “I saw you three nights ago. You were at that hotel lounge with your friend, wearing a green dress and laughing at something on your phone. I’ve been trying to talk to you ever since.”

He shrugs. “Guess I finally worked up the nerve.”

My mouth is dry. My brain’s short-circuiting. And yet, beneath all the panic… there’s a flicker of something else.

Curiosity.

Maybe even attraction.

“Let me make a deal with you,” he says, stepping closer.

I back up half a step, pulse thudding.

“One day,” he says. “That’s all I’m asking. Spend one day as my wife. If you still want an annulment after that, I won’t stop you. But give me a chance to change your mind.”

I stare at him, caught somewhere between speechless and infuriated.

“You’re insane,” I mutter.

“Possibly,” he agrees, reaching for the room service menu. “But you’re hungover, still in my robe, and wearing my ring. So at least give me until brunch.”

To be continued… Come back tomorrow for Part Two.

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

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Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: August 2025

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