Arranged •{ONC 2020}•

《 Chapter Five 》

"Of course I was."

She blinked. He admitted that more readily than she expected.

He continued, "What would people think if you pass out from a hangover while we are filling out our marriage licenses tomorrow? Aren't we doing this to protect the company? How are they going to react when they hear their new boss passed out drunk on her wedding day? That, and I didn't like the way that guy was looking at you."

"Excuses..." she muttered, waving her hand. Darkness was filling her vision rapidly. Turning to face him so the last pinpricks of light she saw were his eyes, she tried to slur out one last sentence. "It's 'cause...you..."

Wesley watched her head nod and fall back on the seat. She was out like a light. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she had been about to say, he was just glad she hadn't finished.

Some things were better left unsaid.

To Wesley, Ashlynn Whittaker was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and tucked away inside a conundrum. When they were kids, they'd gotten along just fine—up until that day, anyways. She'd clocked Wesley on the nose pretty good and vowed to hate him forever after that. They'd gone their separate ways after elementary school, but he never forgot her. How could he? She wasn't the only one who blamed him for what happened that fateful day; he blamed himself, too.

Yet here they were, fifteen years later, about to get married. Albeit, it wasn't out of love, but marriage is marriage.

Fate is funny like that.

She mumbled something in her sleep and wiggled closer to the middle seat, bringing Wesley out of his reverie. Her hair fell out of her face, which was now flushed with intoxication. He slipped out of his coat and draped it over her sleeping form.

Wesley hoped to God that he would be able to survive the next six months without doing something stupid (again). The look Arnold was giving him in the rear-view mirror—a smug, toothy grin with mischievous eyes—wasn't helping. At this rate, it was going to take a miracle.

It's alright, he told himself. God can do miracles.

The only issue was if He was going to.

《♡》

Ashlynn awoke bright and early the next morning with a headache that made her whole body hurt.

She really needed to stop drinking.

She vaguely remembered getting home and being carried upstairs by someone wearing Calvin Klein. She told herself it was Arnold. (She knew it wasn't.) María had helped her change into pajamas and climb into bed.

Her stomach churned more violently than usual, although she had emptied it of its contents when she got home last night. The birds singing outside her window sounded more like a heavy metal concert and she fought the urge to tell them to shut up. Her body was super stiff and sore. The lights were ten times too bright, and they weren't even on. Everything sucked.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand next to her bed. Squinting at the screen, she could see dozens of messages from Hana and Cassidy. As much as she loved her friends, she didn't want to deal with them right now. After all, they didn't show up last night, which left her at the mercy of her sworn enemy.

Her sworn enemy that would become her sworn partner later today.

Ashlynn wanted to scream into the pillow at the mere thought of it. Instead, she opened her phone and set a countdown for March 28th—exactly six months away.

Only 182 days to go.

Maybe getting new copies of the paperwork wasn't a bad idea after all.

Shifting the blankets off her body so she could move, Ashlynn started to sit up in bed. Then she saw something that made her freeze.

A few feet away, Wesley sat passed out in her bouncy chair.

She knew he had carried her to her room—no matter how many times she told herself it had been Arnold, she couldn't ignore the distinct smell of Calvin Klein—but she thought he had gone home after that.

Obviously, he hadn't.

Ashlynn was in a predicament. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to kick him out of her room. On the other, she didn't want to wake him. He had, after all, kept her from falling on her face again, brought her home, and carried her up the stairs. If she'd been in his shoes, he'd still be on the floor of the club.

Should she wake him? No. Did that stop her? No.

Crawling out of bed at an agonizing pace—her body refused to let her move faster than a turtle—she made her way to the bouncy chair where Wesley was sleeping peacefully.

Two seconds later, María was kicking down the door. Ashlynn's ears rang with the noise, and Wesley jolted awake. "¡Se acabó el tiempo de dormir! Get up, get up!"

"María, it's seven thirty in the morning."

"You made a mess in your bathroom last night, and I cleaned it for you. You needed to have someone help with your piyamas, and I dressed you. You are an adult! ¡Te responsabilizas!" On that note, she threw open the curtains, letting the sunlight in.

Ashlynn winced. The light and the shouting were not helping her headache. "Thanks, but why is he still here?"

María looked at Wesley, who was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "He said you were acting very weird, and wanted to make sure you were okay. He is a good man, no matter what happened in the past."

"What happened...?" he mumbled, blinking and looking around the room.

"That was María. Better get used to it. Why are you still here?"

"You were acting weird."

"I always act weird."

"Weirder." He rubbed his face again. "What time is it?"

"Seven thirty-two. Aunt Leah wants to go to the courthouse by noon and asked me to wake you early. Come," María marched out the door, "breakfast is ready. I made coffee."

That woke them up. Within five minutes—five times longer than it usually took Ashlynn—everyone was seated at the dining room table.

Breakfast was filled with Aunt Leah gushing about the visit they were going to pay to the courthouse. Wesley sat in silence, and Ashlynn nursed her headache. It was torture.

When the plates had been cleared, Aunt Leah pulled Ashlynn aside. "I hear you had an interesting night, Dearie."

"No thanks to you." Ashlynn stabbed her pancake. "And I met someone who offered—"

Aunt Leah interrupted her, "I had María go through your closet and pick out a nice dress. I want you to look presentable for your 'wedding day.' She'll help you with the preparations."

Wonderful. Ashlynn's head hurt too much to argue with her aunt. She felt just fine in the baggy t-shirt and Snoopy sweatpants she was wearing, but she didn't dare say it. Getting this all over with was her priority.

Ashlynn went up to her room and found a dress laid out on her bed. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes." María stood in the doorway behind her. "Sit down, chica. We have a lot of work to do."

Ashlynn tried to turn around and make a run for it.

María clicked the hair clips she held threateningly, like a crab's pincers.

Ashlynn changed her mind and sat down.

Thus, began the grueling process of 'wedding prep.' One day she would stop fearing the Latina.

Today was most definitely not that day.