The first thing Isla Quinn noticed when she woke up wasn’t the pounding in her head.
It was the ring on her finger.
A thin gold band glinted against her skin, catching the early sunlight leaking through the hotel curtains. She blinked, confused, then froze when a deep voice came from beside her.
“You married me.”
Her head snapped toward the sound.
A man—half-naked, infuriatingly gorgeous, and looking like sin and bad decisions sat up in the bed. His hair was dark, his eyes golden, and his expression was pure murder.
Isla stared at him. Then at the ring again. Then at him.
“I… what?”
“Married. You. Me.” His jaw tightened. “Congratulations, Mrs. D’Arden.”
She laughed. Because that’s what you did when the world made no sense.
A nervous, breathless laugh bubbled out. “Okay, sure. Very funny. You're still a bit hungover. Alchol does make people sound crazy sometimes.”
The man didn’t smile. Not even a twitch.
She frowned, sitting up and tugging the sheet closer around her chest. Her head throbbed, her mouth was dry, and her memory of last night was a blur of champagne, music, and… dancing? Definitely dancing. And tequila. A lot of tequila.
And those eyes.
His eyes.
Her stomach dropped.
“Wait. I know you,” she whispered. “You were at the rooftop bar.”
His expression darkened. “And you wouldn’t stop talking about architecture and bad ex-boyfriends.”
She groaned, pressing her palms to her face. “Oh, God. This can’t be happening.”
Flashback — The Night Before
Twelve hours earlier, everything had been brighter, louder, and funnier.
The rooftop bar glittered above Monaco, all champagne lights and sea air. Isla had been halfway through her fourth drink when the tall stranger beside her caught the bartender’s attention with a voice that made her skin prickle.
“Two more,” he’d said. “She looks like she’s had a week.”
“More like a year,” Isla had muttered. “And I don’t need charity, thanks.”
He’d smirked. “It’s not charity. It’s company.”
Somehow, one drink turned into three, and by midnight, they were laughing at everything the stars, the music, the fact that his name sounded like something out of a fantasy novel.
Kael D’Arden.
He’d teased her about being too serious. She’d teased him about being too full of himself. Then someone joked about marriage vows, and Isla—loud, bold, tipsy Isla… had grabbed his hand and said, “Fine. Let’s get married, then. I would be your wife. Except you're scared.”
He’d said, “Try me.”
And she had.
They’d stumbled out of the bar still laughing, the city spinning around them in a blur of lights and sea breeze. Isla’s heels clicked unevenly against the pavement as Kael’s hand steadied her, warm and sure against her back.
“Careful,” he’d said, his voice low and teasing. “Wouldn’t want my new wife breaking her neck before the honeymoon.”
She’d burst into giggles, half mortified, half giddy. “You’re ridiculous,” she’d managed between laughs. “We’re not actually married.”
Kael had leaned closer, eyes glinting like the Mediterranean at midnight. “Not yet.”
Her heart had skipped. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the way he looked at her…. like she was the only thing keeping his world in focus. Either way, she didn’t stop him when he tugged her gently toward the waiting elevator.
The ride up to the hotel felt like forever. Silence pulsed between them, electric, charged with something neither of them could name. Isla’s pulse raced as he brushed his thumb over her hand, lazy circles that sent shivers up her arm.
When the elevator doors opened, she almost ran out just to breathe again…. but he followed, slow and confident, that half-smile still curving his lips.
“Which room?” he asked softly.
“Eight-thirteen,” she whispered before she could think better of it.
They stopped outside her door, the hallway hushed and golden under the low lights. Isla fumbled with the keycard, but Kael caught her wrist, turning her gently until she faced him. The laughter was gone now, replaced by something deeper…. something that made her forget the taste of air.
“You sure?” he murmured.
She nodded, words caught somewhere between her chest and her throat.
Then he kissed her.
It wasn’t soft or uncertain. It was hungry….like he’d been waiting all night to taste her. His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head as his mouth claimed hers. The world spin around them. The champagne haze, the city, the reason…. all of it vanished until there was only the press of his body and the sound of her heart hammering in her ears.
She tasted salt and heat, felt the scrape of his stubble against her skin, the rough slide of his thumb along her jaw. He kissed her like he already knew her secrets, like he was daring her to stop him.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she kissed him back….reckless, breathless, and far too gone to care what tomorrow would bring
They stumbled backward into the room, still tangled in each other’s arms, half laughter and half heat. The door clicked shut behind them, shutting out the noise of the city and trapping them in a haze of adrenaline and desire.
Kael’s jacket hit the floor first. Then Isla’s heels, one after another, clattering uselessly against the marble. His hands found her waist, pulling her close until her back met the wall. The contact sent a shiver through her spine.
“You’re trouble,” he whispered against her mouth, voice rough.
“So are you,” she breathed, her fingers curling into his shirt.
He chuckled, low and dark, before kissing her again….slower this time, deeper. The kind of kiss that made her knees weaken and her mind go blank. She could feel the strength in him, the restraint. Like every touch was a question he was asking silently, giving her a chance to pull away. But she didn’t.
When she finally did speak, her voice was barely a whisper. “Kael…”
He lifted his head, his eyes locked on hers. “Hmm?”
“Don’t stop.”
That was all it took.
The tension broke, unraveling fast. His hands slid along her arms, down her sides, memorizing the curve of her body through the thin fabric of her dress. Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned his shirt, one by one, revealing hard lines and warm skin that made her breath catch.
The air felt heavy, thick with something that wasn’t just attraction. Two strangers who’d found each other at the edge of exhaustion, trying to forget the world for one night.
He kissed her again, softer now, like he wanted to remember her. And she let herself fall…into the moment, into him, into the dizzy comfort of not thinking.
They moved toward the bed, the city lights spilling through the balcony doors and painting them in gold. For a second, Isla caught sight of her reflection in the window her hair mussed, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She barely recognized herself.
Kael brushed a thumb over her lip, gaze unreadable. “Still think it’s a joke?”
Her breath hitched. “Maybe.”
He smiled faintly. “Then let’s make it one worth remembering.”
