It was hours after she’d said, “I do.” Thirty minutes had passed since the last guest left. Minutes ago, she’d taken off her wedding dress and had put on her ultra-moisturizing under-eye patches. Then she’d followed that up by shoving her hair into a half-assed bun that skipped messy and went straight into just survived a hurricane.

Still, she couldn’t get that kiss out of her head.

No one—absolutely no one—had ever kissed her like that before. It was as if Nash wanted to wipe her memory of every other man she’d ever been with. It had been amazing and she wanted more. Of course, she couldn’t have more, because it had been a pity kiss meant to shut up her asshole of an uncle.

And yet…

Butterflies were doing synchronized loop-de-loops in her stomach, and she stopped in the middle of buttoning up the pajama shirt that matched her black-and-white dragon pajama pants and brought her fingertips to her lips. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the sizzle that had her whole body a little trembly and put herself back in that moment as music poured in through her earbuds.

They hadn’t had a first dance. Instead, after the ceremony, they’d had a very civilized cocktail party—if she didn’t count the fact that Sir Hiss had spent the whole time stalking Nash’s cousin Dixon as if he had pockets full of catnip treats. Then everyone had gone home and she’d gone into hiding.

Okay. She’d told Nash she needed a bath to recharge and then a book to unwind before she could even think about talking to another human being ever again, but they both knew she was running away because she had no idea what to do with the man staying in her guest room for the next month.

She’d figure out the answer to that tomorrow. Tonight, she was going to forget about that kiss. Somehow. Someway. She’d figure it out.

“Fuck!”

Nash’s curse came through over the Game of Thrones soundtrack (don’t get her started on that last season) and she yanked out one of her earbuds. It took her a second to work out what the scraping and soft thumps coming from the living room meant, but when she did, she marched over to her bedroom door and flung it open.

That.

Giant.

Prick.

He thought he could ignore her and rearrange her life as if her wishes didn’t even matter? No effing way. She’d lived through that already. It wasn’t going to happen again. Ever.

Was she hyping herself up for exactly what she spent her entire real life avoiding—confrontation? Fuck yes, she was—she had to.

She could do it.

She could do it.

She could do it.