My Unexpected Vow: California Billionaires Book 2 by Harlow James (top 10 inspirational books txt) 📕

I got married. To Waverly Morgan.

I still can’t believe this happened.

I remember teasing this girl relentlessly growing up, thinking of her as nothing but the annoying little sister of my best friend who would follow us around when we were two boys trying to act like grown men. And as we got older, and she blossomed into a woman, her hatred for me only grew along with her curves.

I’m not blind. I know Waverly is beautiful. But I never allowed myself to acknowledge anything else about her other than what I saw on the surface. Besides, the woman hates me, so it wasn’t like I was going to put energy into exploring an attraction to her.

And then she’s Wes’s sister. And that adds an entirely different wall that never seemed worth scaling.

Now she’s my wife—in title only—but still.

On the one hand, seems my parents should be happy with this development. But that’s only if I tell them. If we get an annulment, there’d be no need to do that. Undoing our mistake would be painless and quick, but if my parents ever found out, it would only give my father more ammunition to prolong handing over his company to me. Furthermore, what if him finding out about my drunken mistake makes him conclude that I’m not responsible enough to handle being CEO at all? Would he hand over the firm to someone else to teach me a lesson?

And then there’s my mom. Her face during our conversation about the direction of my life has been etched into my mind since that night. I could see the hope in her eyes that one day I would have a family of my own and find someone like she found my dad.

But is Waverly that person?

My gut reaction is no. We can barely stand being in the same room together most days.

How on earth are we supposed to be married?

And then there’s Wes. What the hell is he going to say? If this happened pre-Shayla, I’d probably be calling to pick out my plot at the cemetery right now. But now that he’s in love, his edges have softened a bit, so maybe his reaction to the news will too. Maybe he’ll laugh and call us stupid, but understand that tequila can make you do irrational things—like lose your clothes and apparently get married. Although, I’m not sure how I would feel if I had a younger sister and found out that he married her during a drunken night in Vegas. I guess I can only hope that this stupid mistake won’t destroy our lifelong friendship.

Fuck. This is such a goddamn mess.

The more I ruminate over our circumstances, the more I shift to the conclusion that Waverly and I need to stay married. It’s the only way I can convince my parents that I’m not reckless. It’s the only way I’ll be able to look my best friend in the eye and not feel like shit for getting his sister in this mess. It’s the only way we can avoid bad press.

And surely Waverly can see that. But now the next mission is to get her to agree to it.

* * *

Waverly

My body jolts awake as the sound of the tires hitting the rumble strip on the edge of the road echoes in the car.

“I need food, and figured you did too,” Hayes speaks with an air of defeat in his voice.

“Yeah. Food sounds good.” I sit up taller in my seat, stifling a yawn while flipping down the visor to check my appearance in the small mirror. My eyes are bloodshot, my face still pale, but the color is slowly returning now that I’ve partaken in a short nap. I glance at the clock on the center display screen in Hayes’s car and note the time. Okay, not a short nap. Almost a two-hour nap—but needless to say, I needed it and feel slightly human again as a result.

But my head is spinning still—not necessarily from my hangover, but from the predicament I’ve found myself in.

I married Hayes Weston last night. In Vegas. And I don’t remember.

The picture we found on the hotel room floor provided a fuzzy memory or two, but honestly, nothing else is popping up.

And the more I come to grips with the truth, the more disappointment and frustration builds in my chest. I’m not a reckless person. I consider myself mature for my age and driven, focused on making a future for myself in a career that I love. It’s why I insisted on finishing school, even though my father suggested it wasn’t necessary, that my trust fund would be plenty to live off of until I got married.

Yes, you read that right. No wonder Wes and I aren’t the biggest fans of our father.

But ever since I was a child, I wanted a career that allowed to me to be creative, to keep a paintbrush or colored pencil in my hand at every turn. It’s how I meandered through my childhood—always drawing, sketching, coloring a world on paper that only my mind seemed to manifest. And the first taste of design I had at age twelve when I took a paintbrush to the walls of my bedroom and painted my own fairyland mural was enough to keep my blood coursing through my body at the rush of creating a space that was entirely mine. Of course, my parents were furious, but at that point, I begged them to let me keep it and decorate my room to match.

I still get giddy thinking about the enthusiasm I had walking through the stores, searching for the perfect pieces to make my room a personal paradise. It was the moment I realized that joy was a feeling that could seep deep into your veins if you found the right source, and mine became bringing the visions of colors and textures in my mind to life.

Having just graduated a few weeks ago and worked tirelessly on my