Fiction Fun

Chapter 11: Like Peaches and Rose Petals.

Simon ran for a half block before stopping. His chest and legs were cramped from the sprint.


Exercise was not his thing. In all the times he’d been married, this was the first time he ran into one of his “wives,” and the encounter was anything but pleasant.

Simon bent over. He grabbed his knees while struggling to catch his breath. As he stood back up, he caught a whiff of a familiar scent on his arm. He held his arm up to his nose and inhaled. Closing his eyes, he grappled with old memories, trying to pinpoint why this particular scent was familiar to him. All the women he met and married over the last two years. All the broken hearts. And then it hit him like a nuclear explosion. 


The night they met and all of the fun they had.


Their wedding.


The incredible night they shared at the hotel room. He turned back toward the chapel, trying to remember what the woman he ran into during his escape looked like. He squinted his eyes, fighting for a vision of her face but everything that came back was a blur. Still, that scent. Her scent. He couldn’t remember the name of his first wife or what she looked like but her scent was unmistakable. It was a unique blend of peaches and rose petals. 

Simon turned and ran back to the chapel, hoping to catch her before she left.


When he arrived, his angry, red-headed wife – Ruthie – was standing outside the door of the chapel, smoking.


“Where is she?” Simon pushed the words out as he regained control over his breathing.

“Why would I tell you anything?” Ruthie, flicked the end of her cigarette, knocking the ashes off the tip.

“So I can make it right. She deserves that and so do you.”

She looked down at her feet for several agonizing seconds. Raising her head up, she blew a long stream of smoke out of her mouth.


“Please,” Simon pleaded. “She was just here. Do you know where she went?”

“Her name is Trisha,” Ruthie began. “She’s staying at the Luxor and that’s all I’m giving you.”

To Be Continued

Chapter 10: Tip of the Iceberg

The woman with the pasties went to the door marked PRIVATE. She was there for a long time and my buzz was starting to wear off. Sober, the chapel looked cheap, well cheaper, and dingy. Sad. Finally, The pasties and the women stuck to them returned with a woman with red hair. It wasn’t a natural red, more of a tomato red.

“This is her.”

“Do we know each other?” I asked Red.

“No, but we know the same man. We both married Simon.”

“Simon! That’s his name!” I snapped my fingers as the name rang every bell in my head. “Yes, that’s it. Simon. Wait; you married him too? He’s a bigamist?”

“Yes, he’s a bigamist. And a jerk. Well, since we’re step-wives I should introduce myself, I’m Ruthie, wife number two – I think..” Ruthie stuck a hand out toward me.

“I’m Trisha. I’m looking for Simon.” I shook her hand.

“Well, honey, you just missed him. I confronted him and he ran out of here like a bat outta hell.”

“Wait. What? He was here? Just now?” Did I nearly get run over by my husband and not even recognize him? What kind of wife does that make me? Not that he recognized me either.

“He made up some cockamamie story about being a romance novelist doing research. He was trying to get Reverend Archie to go through the files to find his marriage certificate. Come to think about it, it was his marriage certificate to you he was looking for.” Ruthie put her hands on her hips. I couldn’t discern if she was angry or just uncomfortable in her show-girl costume.

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No, he just ran out of here.”

I dashed out of the chapel and into the night air. Was he looking for me? Would I be able to find him? Could I remember what he looked like? What number wife was I? Simon. Crap, I should have asked for a last name.

To be continued….

Chapter 9: What if?

The preacher, Bart Archie, poured a shot of whatever was in his flask into each coffee cup. His office was barely the size of a closet. Loose papers and food wrappers filled up most of his desk.  Layers of paint peeled away from the walls. A sickly-stale smell, something like old gym socks and cigarette smoke, filled the room.

The chapel offered two different types of ceremonies. Conventional for people who felt the act of getting married in Vegas was enough of a thrill and unconventional ceremonies for people who wanted to mark their marriage by having an impersonator preside over their vows. People could choose from Elvis, Liza Minnelli, Dolly Parton, and Michael Jackson.


Bart presided over the conventional ceremonies. And while he wasn’t the Elvis impersonator who attended Simon’s ceremony, he still had access to the chapel records.

Bart took a sip of his coffee and then stood up, walking over to a rusty, file cabinet. “Let’s see. It was 2016?”

“Yes.” Simon choked on his coffee. Whatever Bart spiked it with was much stronger than what he was prepared for.

Bart bent down, pulling open one of the lower drawers. “March 26th?”


“Yes.” Simon’s heart raced. He was so close to finding his mystery wife. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. His hair stood up on the back of his neck. This was it. This was what he’d been waiting for. All the past attempts: storming into the chapel and demanding information; pretending to be a cop and serving a fake warrant; getting drunk and begging – all of this attempts failed. But now, here he was, impersonating a romance novelist. Pretending to do research for a story. This was the one act that was about to pay off.

Bart pulled a thick file out of the drawer and then sat back down at his desk. He blew a layer of dust off the front cover.


The thick cloud went straight toward Simon, causing him to cough and sneeze.


“Sorry.” Bart sounded sincere as he passed a tissue box to Simon.

Simon yanked a tissue out of the box, sneezing into it. “That’s okay.” He choked on the words as he sneezed a few more times.

Bart opened the file and glanced at the first page. “We married 75 couples that day.”

“Sounds like it was a busy day.”

Bart nodded. He licked his fingertips and began flipping through the marriage certificates.

Simon’s excitement turned into anxiety. His stomach churned. 


“What if she’s angry with me,” he thought. “What if she hates me for how things ended? What if she never wants to see me again?” Acid reflux scorched his throat as he sat there and pondered the possible outcome. “What if she was so drunk she doesn’t even remember? What if she’s remarried and has a bunch of kids? What if finding her is actually the worst thing I could do? What if I ruin her life?”

“You don’t look so good.”

Simon looked up at Bart. “Uh. Yeah. It’s acid reflux, I think.”

“That happens.” Bart reached over, opening a desk drawer. He pulled out a small package and tossed it to Simon.

Simon accepted the antacids, popping one into his mouth.

“Ah ha!” Bart pulled a piece of paper out of the file. “I think I found what you’re looking for.”

The door to the office opened up. A tall, slender woman with red hair popped her head in. 

“Bart, you’re 10:30 is here.” She glanced over at Simon. Her eyes grew wide. “You!” She said through clenched teeth.” She burst into the office, slamming the door into the wall. “What are YOU doing here? What is HE doing here?” She turned toward Bart.

“You know this fellow, Ruthie?” Bart sat in his chair. His back was straight. His shoulders and arms were tense. 

“You bet I do. He was my husband.”

“You’re what?” Simon fell out of his chair. 

“You’re married?” Bart asked.

“Not exactly,” Ruthie scowled at Simon. “We met. We got drunk. We got married. It was all sunshine and rose petals for 12 hours. The next morning he was gone without so much as a note.” She stomped over to Bart, snatching the license out of his hands. “Who’s this?” She glanced down at the paper. “Another one of your victims?”

“It’s not what you think.” Simon pulled himself off of the floor. He stared at her, trying to remember anything about her. Nothing came to mind. He had no idea who this woman was.

“I think you’re a scam artist!”

“I think you’d better leave,” Bart added, placing a reassuring hand on his coworker’s shoulder.

“Please. Let me explain.”

“Out!” Ruthie’s arm flung toward the door.

To be continued…..

Chapter 8: The Way We Were

“I just don’t know whyyyy I can’t find a good maaaaan,” Betsy whined. Her head was resting on the bar, her big hair flattened.

“Well, for starters, men are put off by whining drunk women laying on the bar in a puddle of melted ice.”

“You’re always so mean.” She hoisted her head up and grabbed a stack of cocktail napkins to wipe her running nose and mascara. I picked stray pieces of popcorn our of her hair.

“Let’s do something. You choose; we can up to my room and watch ‘Titanic’ again, or, we can go for a walk outside and get some fresh air.” Deep down inside I really wanted to get as drunk as Betsy, if not drunker. But I longed for a happy-drunk time not a whiny-drunk time. I missed laughing and feeling carefree. The last time I was here was so much fun. Well, until the next morning.

I looked around. Mr. Sad Disco Toupee was still trying to make a positive impression. I admired his tenacity. The umbrella still clung to his shoe. I admired that as well. Another siren was going off in the casino and cheers went up. People were happy. I wanted to be happy.

“I want to go to bed,” Betsy announced.

With Betsy tucked away and snoring in her bed, I decided to take a walk. The pool was still lively even at this time of night. A dance party was going on on the far end by the cabanas. I meandered to the pool bar and squeezed my way up to the bar. I ordered my favorite frozen green beverage and sucked it down and then ordered another.

When I’d had about four of my favorite refreshments, I stumbled my way down the alley. It was more out of curiosity than anything else. There, tucked away between the tattoo parlor and the ice cream shop was the chapel. I peeked in the window. It was as tacky and over the top as I remembered it being. I wanted to go in but there were two couples waiting in line for their turn with Elvis.

A man came dashing out of the chapel, nearly knocking me over. He didn’t say a word, not even a half-hearted apology. Jerk.

“Come inside, we need your help,” the woman said holding open the door. I couldn’t imagine how a half-naked woman with big hair and pasties with tassels holding a Bible could need my help. I must have looked foolish standing there with my mouth wide open not knowing what to look at – hair, tassels, Bible, eyes.

“We’re backed up and we need an extra witness.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me inside.

I stood by the next bride while the tasseled woman performed the rite of holy matrimony. I suppressed the urge to giggle every time the bride swayed and I would dutifully nudge her with my shoulder into an upright position again. At the end of the ceremony, I was handed a pen with a big plastic flower wired to it and shown where to sign my name on the witness line. I handed the certificate back to Tassels.

“Huh, that’s interesting,” she said.


“Your name.”


To be continued….


Chapter 7: The Wedding Chapel

“Hey, Gloria.” Simon coughed and did his very best to sound like he had a scratchy throat. “It’s Simon. I’m coming down with something and I won’t be at work today.” Simon fiddled with the phone cord, nervous his hunch wouldn’t pay off. He had two more days until his next appointment with Dr. Bennett and he wanted to show her he was trying to find his wife. More importantly, Simon really just wanted to find his wife. He needed to explain to her that he never intended to leave things the way they were. He hoped he’d get a second chance with her.

After leaving a message with Gloria, Simon left his house and drove to the wedding chapel that was tucked in the alley behind the hotel. The last time he went there begging for information, he left empty-handed. This time, he planned on a different approach. Hopefully one that would be effective.

The closest parking spot Simon could find was two blocks away. As he neared the wedding chapel, he heard shouting. Looking up, Simon saw the preacher standing on one side of the street yelling to a couple on the other side of the street.

“I now pronounce you man and wife!” The preacher shouted. “You may kiss the bride.”

The newly married couple turned to kiss but just as their lips were about to meet, the woman pulled away, vomiting all over her husband’s shoes.

“Or not.” The preacher slapped his Bible shut and turned right into Simon.

“Oh.” Simon jumped back. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

The preacher tugged at his jacket, pulling it down. “It’s all right. You’d think after seventy years of living, I’d figure out how to watch where I’m going.” He smiled at Simon.

“That was an interesting service.” Simon pointed to the married couple. The husband picked up his wife and carried her over his shoulder as he stumbled into a hotel nearby.

“Yes.” The preacher sighed. “Yes it was. A couple of dumbasses if I do say so. I give their marriage two months. Tops.” The preacher looked up at Simon.

The expression on his face had Simon wondering if he was second-guessing his sales pitch. 

“They stumbled into my chapel drunk and reeking of God-Knows-What. The woman kept bumping into the pews on either side of the aisle.


“Her husband got angry – for no particular reason – and broke two of my vases.


“I told them the only way I’d marry them is if they left the chapel and stood across the street from me.”

“I bet you have some interesting stories about the people you’ve married.” Simon smiled, hoping he found a way to get information out of this man.

“Hoo-boy.” The preacher whistled through a small gap in his teeth. “The things I could tell you.” The preacher looked Simon up and down. “I don’t want to sound rude but, who are you?”

“Name’s Simon Macaby.” Simon held out his hand for the preacher to shake. “I’m a romance novelist, looking for a story. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

To Be Continued….

Chapter 6: Ships That Pass

“You promised, no men,” I reminded Betsy.

“I know, but it was nice of him to buy us drinks. He’s so cute. Don’t look, he’s looking at us.”

I looked over at the man at the end of the bar. He had a bad toupee and polyester clothing. He was trying to look younger than his middle-aged years and failing. It was sad. He waved at us and raised his glass. I rolled my eyes and Betsy wiggled her fingers at him and raised her glass back.

“Don’t encourage him. And how can you think he’s cute?”

“Not him. Eeww. But his friend next to him is really cute. Oh crap, the old guy is coming over. And he’s not bringing his friend.”

“I don’t think they’re friends.” I watched with negative anticipation as Mr. 1970s strolled over. He had hurricane glass filled to the top with a pink-ish beverage and an umbrella. On his way over the umbrella fell out and landed on the top of his shoe and stuck there. Sad.

“Hey ladies, what brings you to Vegas?” His breath smelled of cigarettes and rum.

“Business trip,” I said curtly. “Thanks for the drinks but we’re not interested.”

He glared at me and turned his attention to Betsy. “Are you hungry? Maybe we could have dinner together.”

Betsy panicked. “Oh, ummm, oh, no thank you.” She grabbed my hand with one of hers and the other she rested on my shoulder. “We’re together, if you know what I mean.” She batted her eyes at him and gave him a sheepish, apologetic smile.

The head nodded but the toupee did not. Sad. I watched with relief as he left our table and cruised to another table with four young ladies. His collar was turned up on one side, limp on the other, and the umbrella still clung to his shoe. I couldn’t watch anymore.

Betsy wasted no time whatsoever to glide over to the “cute” friend and took over the vacated bar stool. She placed her empty glass on the bar in front of her, running her finger around the rim. With a wave of his finger, the bartender brought a full glass. She was working hard, he was interested but restrained. This was better than watching the movie “Titanic” again, but the outcome was just as predictable.

I watched from my bar table the thrust and parry between the two. Betsy was clearly the aggressor. He was polite and he would occasionally rest his arm on the back of her stool only to pull it away. I couldn’t get a good view of his face; it was hidden behind Betsy’s hair. If I could just see his eyes, I’d know…

The sound of someone squealing and sirens in the casino caught my attention. Yup, about every 27 minutes someone won a jackpot of some kind. Twenty dollars was cause of a gigantic celebration. Someone brushing past me turned my attention back to the bar. Betsy had returned to our table.

“What’s up? Are you going to his room or is his going to yours?”

Betsy pouted. “No, he said I’m adorable but that he’s married.” she stared past me.

I followed her gaze and saw his broad shoulders and nice trousers stroll through the casino and disappear behind the Wheel of Fortune. Huh. A guy in Vegas with integrity. Who’d’ve guessed.

Chapter 5: Progress?

Simon worked his way past the slot machines at the Luxor, trying to get to the main entrance.


His promise to Dr. Bennett about staying off the Strip didn’t work out as planned. But that wasn’t entirely his fault. After all, it was his promise to Dr. Bennett that he would try to find his missing bride that prompted him to come back to the Luxor.

His first stop was at Customer Service. He remembered the room number and his wedding date and he hoped they could tell him who booked the room. The woman working behind the desk was reluctant to help him because of privacy laws but she couldn’t resist Simon’s charm.


The glare of the computer screen turned Cindy’s face blue as she clicked and scrolled through several different screens. “You’re sure it was the 26th?”

“Positive.” Simon smiled and took a deep breath. 

“Well,” she paused for just a second. “It looks like room 522 was billed to Dynamic Partners Incorporated.”

“Is the name of the person who stayed in the room available?” Simon’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Nope. Doesn’t look like it.” Cindy shook her head. “I’m sorry. Usually we do take a name down but we had a problem with our billing system several months ago and we lost a lot of our records.”

“That’s okay.” Simon sighed, disappointed. “I appreciate you trying, Cindy.”

“Sorry I couldn’t do more.” Cindy wore a sympathetic smile. “But you know, I get off in a few hours. Maybe we could grab a drink—”

“I don’t think so.” Simon hesitated before finishing. “That’s really nice of you, Cindy. I have somewhere I have to be.”

Cindy scribbled something down on a small card and passed it across the counter.

Simon looked down at the card.

He slipped it into his pocket, not wanting to hurt Cindy’s feelings.

“Well,” he thought as he made his way back toward the main entrance of the Luxor. “At least I have the name of her company. I think.”



Simon pushed his way through the revolving doors and stumbled outside into the bright sunlight.

He used his hand to shade his eyes, hoping they’d adjust to the sun before something embarrassing happened.

As per usual, the Strip was bustling with activity.

Simon checked his watch. “Crap!” He was late for a meeting. 

A cab pulled up in front of the Luxor. Simon ran over and opened the rear door. Two women exited the vehicle. The first woman looked down at the ground. Her arms were crossed against her chest. She headed straight for the hotel, never looking up.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” The second woman – dressed in a loud Hawaiian shirt – smiled at Simon. 

“No problem,” Simon said. “Is your friend okay?”

“Uh….It’s jet lag or something. I’m sure she’s fine.” 

Simon helped her get her bags out of the trunk and then hopped into the back of the cab. “Enjoy your stay!”

“Thanks.” The unknown stranger waved at Simon as he drove off.

Chapter 4: Party Girls

Betsy lay on her bed, eyes closed, arms and legs spread eagle. She sighed deeply. “Oh my God. I can’t take it.”

“What’s your problem?” I asked.

“My love life is in the toilet. I need a change of scenery. I need a vacation.”

“You have more changes of scenery than anyone else I know. You need to stay in more.”

Betsy sat up and leaned forward. “Where did you go on your training thing?”

“Vegas,” I winced at the memory.

“Let’s go there!” She bounded off the bed and went to her closet. Clothes flew out and onto the bed. “We can go for a few days, hit the casinos, eat great food, site see, shop, hit a spa… It’ll be fun! Just us girls.” She hopped up and down and clapped her hands with gleeful expectation.

“Betsy,” I said shaking my head, “Vegas is not a good place to go. Bad things happen there. Things that can’t be undone. I promise, you do not want to go there.”

“Oh come on. You make it sound like a house of horrors. We’ll have a good time.” Betsy grabbed a suitcase and began stuffing clothes into it. “It doesn’t matter if I forget anything, I can just get it there. Go home Trisha and get packed. I’ll meet you at your house in an hour.”


I pulled out the dress I wore for my wedding. I have self control. I don’t have to repeat the actions of the past. I can just go to Vegas and have a fun week without making a fool of myself – or get married again. Yeah, I’ll keep telling myself that.

It was flurry of motion. The cab ride. Betsy’s Hawaiian shirt dress, big hair and sunglasses. The ticket counter and credit cards. Betsy giggling like a toddler going to Disney. Security lines and pat-downs. And after what seemed like a second and an eon at the same time were were on the plane.

“This is so exciting!” Betsy squealed.

“I know. You’ve said so. Where are we staying any way? The Golden Nugget? The Bellagio?”

“No! But I want to see the fountains. We’re staying at the Luxor. They have the Titanic exhibit there. Isn’t that amazing?”

“The Luxor? Uuuuggghh.” I moaned.

“What’s the matter? I thought you’d like it there.”

“It’s fine,” I said turning away from her, hiding my face. Memories of the giant pyramid flooded me. The spotlight from the top – the beacon. The casino, the bar, the restaurants, the chapel in the alley. I wondered if I’d see whats-his-name again. I wondered if I would be able to  resist the urge to look for him. I wondered if I’d recognize him.

“We will begin our departure from the gate….” the announcement started.

To be continued….

Chapter 3: Serial Coupling Syndrome

Dr. Bennett’s office wasn’t what Simon imagined it would be. There was no sofa – a fact that surprised him. He always figured a psychiatrist’s office would have a sofa. Instead, two over-sized chairs sat in front of a wooden desk. A laptop sat on the far right corner of the desk, leaving a clear line of sight to the center of the desk.

“Hello, Simon.” Dr. Bennett greeted him as he entered the office, pointing toward one of the chairs. “Please take a seat.”

“Hello, doctor.” Simon pulled one of the chairs out at an angle and sat down, resting his right ankle on his left knee.

Dr. Bennett pulled out a notepad and a pen. “How was your weekend?” She clicked the pen and scribbled something down on the notepad.

“I got married.” Simon smirked.


“Again?” Dr. Bennett set the pen down and looked up. “Simon, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know. I know.”

“You’ve made so much progress over the last few months. What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Simon shrugged. “I was on the Strip, walking around and I accidentally bumped into this young girl—”

“Young girl?”

“Woman.” Simon stuttered as he corrected himself.


“Woman, doctor. A young woman. Please don’t add pedophilia to my list.”

“Woman.” Dr. Bennett smiled. A sigh of relief followed. “Simon.” She tapped the pen on her desk. “Let’s forget for a second that polygamy is illegal and that you’ve broken this law—” She scrolled through a screen on her computer. “—34 times in the last two years. Marrying all of these women and then abandoning them the next morning is damaging to them and undoes all of the steps you’ve taken to overcome your syndrome.”

Simon slumped down in his chair, running his hands through his hair. He inhaled, puffed out his cheeks and slowly exhaled. “I don’t know, doc. I guess…” His voice trailed off as he struggled with the words. “Maybe it’s my own way of trying to relive that one amazing night I spent with her.”

“Her?” Dr. Bennett leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk. “Are you referring to your first wife?”

“Yes.” Simon nodded, chewing on his thumbnail.

“The one you left?”

“The one I left believing I’d find her again. Except when I got home, I realized I couldn’t remember her name. And when I went back to the hotel, she was gone.”

“Serial Coupling Syndrome is nothing  to be ashamed of, Simon. It’s a compulsion that requires a lot of discipline to control. There’s only so much I can do to help you. I’m going to end today’s session by giving you some much-needed advice.”

“I’m ready for it.” Simon straightened his posture. “What should I do?”

“You’re going to find her.”


“Start with the wedding chapel.”

“I’ve already tried that.” Simon’s face flushed with frustration. “They won’t release any records without a court order or a copy of the marriage certificate – which I lost somewhere on the Strip after we got married.”

“Do whatever it takes.” Dr. Bennett stood up from her desk. “When we meet next week, I expect to hear you’ve done something constructive to find her and for God’s sake! Stay away from the Strip!”

To be continued

Chapter 2: It’s No Big Deal

I can’t really say I’ve never been in a relationship. There have been a couple of times where I tried to attach myself to someone and be happy with it. It just never really worked out in the end. And recently, as in the last two years, Betsy was right, I hadn’t been with anyone. But that’s because of my secret. I don’t know why I keep it a secret, it’s no big deal really. I mean everyone gets married. And everyone splits up. So, I guess my life is pretty normal in that regard.

We just skipped the whole get the divorce part. So, technically, I’m still married. And actually, what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas. You’re married everywhere. I’d ask for a divorce if I could remember his name. And I guess, I’m a little embarrassed about turning what should have been a great drunken one night stand into a HUGE mistake I can’t fix. So, I keep it a secret.

It had been a great time. I was in Vegas on business. The last training session was boring so I feigned a headache and left. It’s Vegas, a girl is entitled to a little fun after all. And the idea of a group outing to go bowling or golfing with other people from my company didn’t sound like the kind of Vegas fun you want to have. Instead, I hit the pool bar.

I love pool bars. You sit at the pool, listen to reggae music, and you get served these cool drinks which are pretty colors with fruit and tiny umbrellas. My favorite drinks are the green ones. They are so refreshing. And they will get you drunk faster than you can slap your granny.

Eventually, you have to pee which means you have to get off your bar stool which means you have to stand and walk. Well, after too many refreshing green beverages, you can’t do that very well and you may step on your own flip flop. Fortunately, I was caught in mid stumble by a really great smile with big brown eyes. The rest of him was pretty good too. I giggled because I was drunk and embarrassed but it must have come off like I was flirting. Next thing I know we are hanging out and having a great time.

It was a magical night. There was food; an endless buffet of food. Music and dancing. And everywhere there was booze. I loved how his eyes crinkled when he smiled and laughed. His laugh was musical and infectious. We got married in a little chapel tucked away in an alley. It was very cliche but our officiant was an Elvis impersonator. We laughed all the way through the ceremony.

I may not know my husbands name, but I remember our wedding night. I still dream about our wedding night. He was an incredible kisser. He made my knees weak,  made me short of breath, and made my heart pound. I won’t tell about the rest of the honeymoon but lets just say, I will remember that night for the rest of my life. And I smile when I do. The next morning I woke up alone. A note was scrawled on a cocktail napkin. It read, “Thank you for a beautiful honeymoon. I look forward to our life together when the time is right. I will find you later my wife. Your loving husband.”

And that’s what I get for letting my guard down and getting all happy-feely. I’m married to a guy I don’t know. I don’t know his name, where he is, what he does, or anyway I can correct this huge mistake. So I just keep it a secret and try to go on with my life. And still, in the back of my mind I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. It’s no big deal really.

To be continued…..


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