Her Reckless Rockstar by Gena Snow
Chapter 13
Avery
I return to my room and plop down on the bed. Seeing a missed call from Harper, I Facetime her.
It’s Saturday, and she’s still in bed.
“Hey, how’s last night?” she asks with a yawn. “I was dying to hear about it, but you never called.”
“I’m sorry, Harper.”
“What happened?” she sits up. “You don’t look good.”
“I’m in deep shit,” I say. Harper is my sister and my closest friend, so I tell her the absurd story.
“Ohmygod!” she squeals after hearing my summary of the event. “You’re married, and to Tristan?”
I nod while rubbing my temples.
“Congrats, Sis! “I’m happy for you!”
“What?” I frown. “Were you even listening? We were drunk and it was a mistake!”
“Come on! It’s just an excuse. You had to have wanted it. The alcohol is just a push.”
“That’s what Tristan says, but still. We weren’t in our right minds.”
“So, what’re you going to do about it?”
“He’s calling his lawyer to see how we can annul it.”
Harper pouts. “Are you sure you don’t want to give it a try first? I mean. He’s such a great guy. Look what he’s done for Jamie and you. And I can tell he really likes you even though I haven’t met him.”
“Really?” I chuckle.
A knock on the door stops our conversation, and I open it. It’s Tristan and Max. “You’ve got a moment? Can we talk?”
“Sure,” I say and end the call with Harper.
They get into my room and close the door behind them.
“So, did you talk to a lawyer? What did he say?”
“Well, I did,” Tristan says. “He says we don’t have the grounds for annulment.”
“What? But we were both drunk!”
He shrugs. “We weren’t according to their definition of drunk because we were able to go through the paperwork which required a sober mind.”
“You must be kidding.”
“No, I’m not. It’s actually illegal to marry drunk people, so the marriage officers made sure we weren’t.”
“That’s absurd!” I cry. “The fact that I couldn’t recall how we got married was because I had a blackout, which means drunk, right?”
Tristan is about to explain, but Max chimes in. “Actually, I went with you guys to the chapel. Honestly, you were excited but not drunk. You might’ve blacked out later at the celebration party, though.”
“See here,” he shows me a video on his phone.
I see myself gazing at Tristan like the happiest person on earth. Damn. They’re right. I looked sober.
In a different clip, I’m dancing like a crazy woman with a liquor bottle in hand and shouting, “I’m married to a rock star!”
“Oh God!” I grimace. “This is so embarrassing.”
“No, it isn’t,” Max says. “It’s cute. But I can delete it if you want.”
I say “yes,” and Tristan says “no” at the same time, and Max’s eyes dart between us.
“Just keep it for now,” Tristan says. “Let’s talk about what we should do next.”
“I guess we’ll get a divorce if annulment doesn’t work for us,” I mumble.
Tristan and Max look at each other, and then Max speaks, “There’s something you should know.”
“What is it?”
“The thing is, some paparazzi and fans followed you to the chapel and took pictures of you. And the news has already spread on social media.”
I gasp. “No way!”
He swipes his phone. “See for yourself.”
I glance at the screen and see Tristan and I kissing at various places, including the parking lot of the chapel and the lobby of the Cosmopolitan. We aren’t alone. There’re lots of spectators. God. The horror of being with a celebrity. You don’t have the freedom to make a single mistake, do you?
I whine. “So what’re you trying to say? That we can’t divorce just because your fans were around?”
“Yes and no,” Tristan says with a sigh. “We could divorce if you insisted, but I want to ask you to please wait.”
“Why?”
He takes a deep breath. “This concert is my attempt to re-establish our band after a long slumber. And it was a success. We got a surge of record sales, according to Max.”
I nod. “Okay. Congrats. But what does it have to do with our accidental marriage?”
Max clears his throat and chimes in. “Your wedding helps. The picture of you guys kissing right outside the chapel? It got a million views. Fans were thrilled to see Tristan not only recovered from addiction but found the girl of his dreams.”
He doesn’t say the rest, but I get it. “So, if we canceled the marriage, your fans would be disappointed?”
“Not just disappointed, but mad as well. And that could be the end of Triple Shot.”
Oh my God. I can’t let that happen, can I? The band means a lot to them, and it’s the major motivation for my brother Jamie at the moment. Damn. What a mess. I’ll never have piña colada again in my life.
“How long do I have to wait?” I ask weakly.
“At least six months,” Max says. “And then you could get a divorce. By then, people will forget. It would still be bad news to them, but at least it wouldn’t create as much negative impact.”
“Let me think about it,” I say, waiting for them to leave the room so I can think.
But they linger. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” Tristan says sheepishly. “You might need to move into my house.”
“Why?”
“Because otherwise, our marriage will look fake, and the fans will know.”
Shit. I imagine living with Tristan for six months. His house is nice, and I really like the pool. But how am I going to resist the temptation to sleep with him again if we live together? I shiver just recalling the flashbacks of last night. My blush must give away my dirty thoughts, because Tristan says, “We don’t have to stay in the same room, you know? I have five bedrooms.”
Five bedrooms? Right. It’s a large house. We could probably stay on different floors and that would be plenty of distance. “Sure,” I say with a shrug.
And on top of that,” he says. “I’ll pay you compensation for your sacrifice.”
“What do you mean?” I blink.
“You shouldn’t work at Tropic anymore because you’re now the wife of a celebrity. Your image is tied to mine. I can’t have fans take pictures of you serving at a bar all the time.”
I frown. “B-but…it’s my job.”
“That’s why I’ll pay you. Let me know how much you get paid there and I’ll double it.”
I do a quick calculation. I make about five thousand a month on average, or thirty thousand for six months.
“I’ll pay you a hundred thousand,” he says.
My mouth opens. That’s a lot of money. And I’m sure I can get the job back later. Hell, I might not need to. I can find a teaching job instead.
“Deal!” I say.
