Neon Vows Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Jessica Gadziala Advertisement

Advertisement

“I think you ate both our body weights in lobster.”

Just the word had my stomach rolling, recoiling.

“Oh. Oh, no,” Harrison said, likely watching me go green.

There was no time for modesty.

I threw off the covers and made a mad dash to the bathroom, bare-assed naked.

But that lack of self-consciousness let me get there right on time.

There was a soft knock on the door after a long break in getting sick.

“Open that door and I’ll blind you with your own toothbrush,” I snapped.

I didn’t do sick well.

And I was feeling especially uncharitable toward the man who’d married me when I’d been too drunk to even know what was going on.

Married.

Just the word had me leaning over the toilet once again. Only my stomach was empty, leaving me dry heaving with another rush of stupid tears pouring down my cheeks.

Eventually, I peeled myself off the floor, washing my mouth out with the little mini mouthwash on the counter, then brushing my teeth ruthlessly with the spare toothbrush.

Feeling slightly more human after that, I turned my attention to the shower.

Ordinarily, I would have fawned over it.

The niche was large enough for a dozen people and set deep enough not to require doors. White marble with light veining stretched up the sides with white river stone on the floor.

There were six shower heads, including a rainfall one in the center.

But I wasn’t in the mood to luxuriate.

I just wanted to wash the night before away and get my mind right.

Then, maybe, just maybe, I could deal with the repercussions of the night before.

Twenty minutes later, I felt, well, less buttery, at least. Awake, but reluctantly so. Every muscle felt oddly tender and weak. Just toweling off felt like too much work.

I needed coffee.

Something to settle my stomach.

Electrolytes.

A divorce.

There was a soft knock at the door. A low growl was all I could manage in response.

A soft chuckle sounded from the other side that had my eyes narrowing even as my belly did a little twist.

“I have something for you to wear,” Harrison called.

I sighed, yanking the door open, grabbing the bags he had outstretched—one, a white Dior bag with a pretty spring floral design, the other a light pink Agent Provocateur with a little black bow—and immediately slammed the door.

I hated that I was impressed with how quickly he pulled the task off. Sure, a bunch of the hotels on the strip had designer boutiques available. And, yeah, he likely just called down to have the concierge run the errand for him.

Still, it showed forethought and thoughtfulness that caught me off guard.

I reached into the bag without a lot of hope. I’d never been a designer clothing kind of person. I often wasn’t fashionable enough to ‘get’ the styles and cuts.

So I was pleasantly surprised to pull out a pair of flared jeans that wouldn’t cling too much to my suddenly sensitive body.

And, damn him, they were the right size somehow, too.

I laid them on the sink counter and reached in to pull out… a simple t-shirt.

I didn’t even think Dior had plain tees. This one was as simple as they could come, too. Just white with a tiny little shamrock and their name under it.

Next, I went to the pink bag.

I’d seen the store more than a few times over the years. It was one of those upscale lingerie stores that some part of me did kind of drool over.

No, I wasn’t a fancy dresser.

But who didn’t like a pretty pair of panties?

I reached inside and found a whole bunch of different pairs of undies in black, red, white, and blue. All of them were lacy and sexy, just how I liked them.

He hadn’t gotten me a bra.

I couldn’t be mad about that. It took me years to find the right size. I couldn’t expect a man who’d only seen my tits once—ugh, twice—to be able to guess.

Besides, the last thing I wanted was to strap myself into a torture device when I already felt like crap.

I put on a pair of black panties, the jeans, and the tee, combed out my hair that was not happy to be without my deep conditioner, conditioning spray, and oil. My hair had always been thick, wavy, a bit unruly. I knew it was going to dry and be tangly and frizzy. But it was the least of my concerns on this particular day.

My gaze slid down to the rings on my finger.

I couldn’t tell you why I hadn’t taken them off yet.

Even as I moved to do so then, there was a weird hiccuping feeling in my chest.

I ignored it, pulling the rings off and wondering what the hell Harrison had been drinking to buy an engagement ring that had to cost six figures, easy.

Clearly, the man was rich.

I’d known that when he’d sat down at the poker table.


Advertisement

Advertisement