How to Accidentally Get a Husband - Part Three: The One Month Husband

One wild night. One ridiculous bet.

Now he wants a month to make her fall in love.

 

Delaney didn’t plan to spend the day after her accidental Vegas wedding playing tourist with her supposed husband. But Nate shows up with room service, a charming grin, and a ridiculous proposition: stay married for one month. No pressure. No strings. Just one chaotic, chemistry-filled adventure.

It’s not a date. It’s not real.

Except… it’s starting to feel like it could be.

Part Three – The One Month Husband

One wild night. One ridiculous bet. Now he wants a month to make her fall in love.

The bedroom door creaks open, followed by the unmistakable smell of bacon.

I crack one eye open and immediately regret it. My head still feels like it’s doing laps in a cement mixer. I burrow deeper into the pillow, hoping he’ll take the hint and go away.

He doesn’t.

Nate’s voice filters through the room like he’s the world’s most obnoxious room service attendant. “Mrs. Carter. I come bearing hash browns and a very generous mini syrup packet.”

I groan. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I brought peace offerings,” he says, his tone light. “And coffee. You like coffee, right?”

I crack an eye again. He’s standing in the doorway, shirtless again—because of course he is—holding a tray with two plates, two mugs, and a cocky smile that shouldn’t be legal before noon.

“What do you want?” I ask warily, pushing up to a sitting position and clutching the blanket like armor.

“To spend the day with my wife.”

I arch a brow.

He shrugs. “One month. That’s what you agreed to, right? And I’m calling in day one.”

I blink at him. He just stands there, barefoot and smug, like this is how all good marriages begin, on a dare, with syrup.

The tray wobbles slightly as he shifts his weight, waiting for me to object. I really should but I don’t. And maybe that’s the weirdest part.

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth.”

“I brought mints, too.” He flashes the little foil packet with a wink. “Come on, Mrs. Trouble. Eat up so we can go see Vegas.”

My mouth opens. Closes. I want to roll my eyes, say something clever, but all that comes out is a tiny puff of laughter.

Because he’s standing there like some alternate-reality husband, room service tray in hand, hair messy, tattoos peeking out from the edge of his t-shirt, and somehow, I don’t hate the way that looks.

He says it like he’s done this before. Like waking up married and ordering waffles like it's just a normal thing

---

We start at the fountains.

Well, he calls them fountains. I call them jets of water trying to drown me while Celine Dion screams about her heart going on.

I stand there, arms folded, trying not to shiver in leggings and a thin zip-up I pulled from my overnight bag, definitely not warm enough for the fountains’ icy mist.

“You’re not actually into this, are you?”

He reaches over without looking and tugs my jacket tighter around my shoulders. His knuckles graze my collarbone. It shouldn’t send a shiver through me, but it does.

I tell myself it’s the wind. It’s not.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the water. “Of course I am. It’s Vegas. You’re supposed to be tacky and emotional and overwhelmed. You’re supposed to feel things.”

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“From the alcohol or the romance?”

“Both.”

He laughs, and the sound pulls something loose in my chest.

---

We get tacos from a cart that probably failed its last health inspection and sit on the edge of a fountain outside the Bellagio. Nate orders for both of us without asking, and I’m too tired to argue.

Turns out, he’s annoyingly good at picking food.

“You’re not allergic to anything, right?” he asks mid-bite.

“Only bullshit.”

I expect him to get offended. Or defensive. But instead, he laughs like I’ve just handed him a gift.

Like being sharp-tongued and hungover is something worth noticing.

He chokes on his taco and grins at me like I’m the most interesting thing in Nevada.

---

Everywhere we go, people assume we’re newlyweds.

A woman in rhinestone cat ears offers to take our picture in front of a fake Eiffel Tower. Nate throws an arm around me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Say ‘morning regrets!’” she yells.

His arm stays there a second too long, fingers warm against my waist. We’re playing pretend—but I’m starting to forget the script.

I glance at him after the picture. He doesn’t look like he’s pretending at all.

I fake a smile. He doesn’t.

He buys me a ridiculous floppy sun hat from a street vendor. Says it’s a honeymoon gift and insists I wear it the rest of the day.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “It brings out your eyes.”

“It brings out my rage.”

“Also a good look on you.”

Later, at a quiet slot machine lounge off the strip, I finally ask the question that’s been sitting on my tongue all day.

“Why me?”

He’s nursing a drink, watching the lights flicker across my face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… why go along with it? The wedding. This.” I gesture vaguely around us. “You could’ve said no. Could’ve run the other way.”

He looks down for a second, then back at me. The grin is gone.

“I saw you three nights ago. You were at the same bar. Hair up, red lipstick, laughing at something the bartender said.”

My stomach dips.

“I was gonna say something. Walk over. Ask your name. But you left before I got the nerve.” He smiles softly. “Didn’t think I’d get one night with you, let alone a wedding.”

The words settle between us, quiet and electric.

“I’m not some romantic story,” I murmur.

“Good. I hate predictable endings.”

I open my mouth to say something, what, I’m not sure, but the lights above us flash, and someone wins on a nearby machine, drawing attention away.

We both look. When I glance back, he’s still watching me.

His hand is on the armrest between us. Not touching. Just close.

I could lean in.

My pulse kicks up. I stare at that hand like it’s a line I’m not sure I’m allowed to cross.

One inch. That’s all it would take.

One inch, and this would stop being a mistake and start being something else entirely.

I almost do.

But then he stands, reaching for my hand with a boyish grin. “Come on, wife. We’ve got a whole city to disappoint.”

And just like that, the moment passes.

But it lingers.

And I’m not sure I want it to go.

To be continued… Come back tomorrow for Part Four.

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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