Shit. She sat straight up, hugging the blanket to her breasts. At least it looked like she was properly covered. She seemed to be wearing one of her tanks and Remy’s boxers. How had she gotten into those? One minute she’d been swearing she wouldn’t talk to the man again and a few tiny cups of wine later and she was wearing his shorts. Okay, they’d been rather large glasses. Still, she hadn’t realized she was such a lightweight.

And now she had a strange man in her room.

“Many a bad decision has been made while downing that wine. I myself prefer a nice beer, but there are days when nothing else will do,” the man was saying. He was a tall, slightly lankier version of Remy. A bit younger, but those years and maturity made all the difference for Lisa. Though she did like the longer hair.

Not that she would talk to Remy about growing out his hair because that wasn’t any of her business. It wasn’t her right to run her hands through that hair and feel it tickle her body as he kissed his way down.

Except…something played at the back of her head. Something she’d done. How had she broken that nail? And there was a rocking bruise on the knuckles of her right hand. She didn’t remember any of that. She chose to deal with the problem at hand. “Why are you here? You’re Zep, right? Remy’s brother. You look a little like him.”

“Although I’m considered the handsome one in my family. Zéphirin Guidry, at your service.” He gave her a jaunty bow and a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Tell me something, Lisa almost Guidry. If you’re engaged to my brother, why is he sleeping on the couch?”

Oh god. The night flooded back in. The Ferris wheel. She’d almost kissed him. When they’d reached the top, the wind had been chilly and she’d snuggled against him. She’d giggled as he won her a tiny teddy bear that only cost him an hour of his life and forty bucks.

The dance floor. They’d swayed and held each other, and in that moment the world had seemed perfect. The whole night had been perfect and she’d decided to forget about their previous problems. Who needed to think about the past when the present had cotton candy? That’s what she’d told herself. Or maybe the strawberry wine had told her. She seemed to have listened to it a lot the previous night.

What happened next, that had been a product of her imagination, right? It was nothing more than a bad dream. She glanced over and there was a stupidly long hair extension on the pillow beside her, the one where Remy would normally sleep if he hadn’t turned out to be a liar.