Cora Hayes was done.
Done with her brothers' overbearing protectiveness. Done with her father's endless lectures about "responsibility" and "family legacy." And most of all, done with being treated like a porcelain doll who might shatter if she so much as breathed too hard.
She was twenty-six years old, for heaven's sake. If she wanted to spend her trust fund on a weekend in Vegas, she damn well would.
"One margarita, please," Cora said, sliding onto a stool at the high-end casino bar. She flashed the bartender a grin that was equal parts charm and mischief. "And make it strong. I'm celebrating my freedom."
The bartender, a tall man with a tattoo sleeve and a smirk, raised an eyebrow. "Freedom, huh? What kind of freedom are we talking about?"
"The kind that involves no brothers, no lectures, and absolutely no responsibility," Cora declared, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder. She was wearing a sequined dress that sparkled under the casino lights and heels that were probably a terrible idea for walking but a fantastic idea for feeling fabulous.
The bartender chuckled and slid her drink across the counter. "Well, welcome to Vegas. Where freedom comes with a side of bad decisions."
"Cheers to that," Cora said, clinking her glass against an imaginary one. She took a sip, the tangy lime and tequila hitting her tongue in the most satisfying way. This was exactly what she needed—a night of fun, spontaneity, and maybe even a little trouble.
The casino was a sensory overload of flashing lights, ringing slot machines, and the low hum of conversation. Cora wandered through the maze of tables, her drink in hand, feeling like she'd stepped into another world.
She paused at a roulette table, watching the ball spin and land on red. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Cora felt a thrill of excitement. She'd never been much of a gambler, but tonight felt like the perfect night to take a risk.
"Feeling lucky?" a deep voice asked beside her.
Cora turned and nearly spilled her drink. The man standing next to her was, in a word, breathtaking. Tall, with dark hair that looked like it had been tousled by the wind (or possibly his own frustration), and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. He was wearing a tailored suit that screamed money and power, but there was a hint of something else in his expression—amusement, maybe?
"Depends," Cora said, recovering quickly. "Are you offering to be my good luck charm?"
The corner of his mouth twitched, and Cora felt a spark of triumph. She'd always been good at banter, and this guy looked like he could use a little loosening up.
"I'm Jace," he said, holding out a hand.
"Cora," she replied, shaking it. His grip was firm, his skin warm against hers. "So, Jace, do you always lurk around casinos looking for damsels in distress, or am I just special?"
"You're definitely special," he said, his tone dry but his eyes sparkling. "I was just about to leave, actually. But then I saw you arguing with the slot machine."
Cora gasped in mock offense. "I was not arguing with the slot machine. I was… negotiating."
Jace laughed, and the sound sent a shiver down her spine. It was a rich, deep laugh that made her want to hear it again.
"Well, if you're done negotiating," he said, "how about a real game? Roulette, maybe?"
Cora tilted her head, pretending to consider it. "Only if you promise not to cry when I win."
"Deal," Jace said, holding out his arm.
Cora looped her arm through his, feeling a jolt of electricity at the contact. This was going to be fun.
The next few hours were a blur of laughter, champagne, and increasingly ridiculous dares. Cora discovered that Jace had a competitive streak a mile wide, and she was more than happy to exploit it.
"Double or nothing," she said, leaning across the blackjack table. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was a mess, and she was pretty sure she'd lost count of how many drinks she'd had.
Jace raised an eyebrow. "You're going to regret that."
"Doubt it," Cora said, grinning. She placed her bet, and the dealer dealt the cards.
When she won, Jace groaned and handed over his chips. "You're a menace."
"And you're a sore loser," Cora shot back, sticking out her tongue.
By the time they stumbled out of the casino, the sun was starting to rise. Cora's heels were dangling from her fingers, and Jace's tie was loosened around his neck. They were both laughing like idiots, and Cora couldn't remember the last time she'd had this much fun.
"So," Jace said, leaning against the wall of the hotel. "What now?"
Cora tilted her head, pretending to think about it. "Well, there's a chapel down the street that's open 24/7…"
Jace laughed, but there was something in his eyes—a spark of something reckless, something daring. "You're not serious."
"Why not?" Cora said, stepping closer. "What happens in Vegas, right?"
Jace hesitated for a moment, then grinned. "You're insane."
"And you're boring," Cora said, poking him in the chest. "Come on, live a little."
The next morning, Cora woke up with a pounding headache and a vague sense of dread. She blinked against the sunlight streaming through the window, trying to piece together the events of the night before.
And then she saw it.
On her left hand, sparkling in the sunlight, was a ring. A big, shiny, unmistakably wedding ring.
Cora sat up so fast her head spun. She looked around the room, taking in the scattered clothes, the empty champagne bottle, and the man sleeping beside her.
Jace.
"Oh my God," Cora whispered, her heart racing. "What did we do?"
As if on cue, Jace stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked at her, then at the ring on his own finger, and groaned.
"Please tell me this is a dream," he said, his voice hoarse.
Cora shook her head, her mind racing. "I think… I think we got married."
There was a long pause, and then Jace buried his face in his hands. "This is a disaster."
Cora couldn't help it—she started to laugh. It was either that or cry, and she wasn't about to let Jace see her cry.
"Well," she said, holding up her hand to admire the ring, "at least I have good taste in jewelry."
Jace groaned again, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. "You're impossible."
"And you're stuck with me," Cora said, grinning. "At least until we figure out how to undo this."
But as she looked at Jace, a small part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the worst thing that could have happened.