What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Or does it?
Okay, let me explain. I broke into my crushās dressing room to sniff his tights (not in a pervy way, I swear!) and got busted while, um... you get the idea. He then kind of, sort of blackmailed me into agreeing to a fake green card marriage with him. But hey, Iām not complaining.
Next thing I know, weāre on a flight to Vegas to make our friends and family think we had a crazy drunken night and, in the spur of the moment, tied the knot. Exceptā¦ thatās exactly what happens. (Thanks a lot, vodka.)
Considering that heās the most desirable ballet dancer in New York City and Iām a garage-dwelling secret blogger with a major sweet tooth, thereās no way this marriage could ever become real. Not to mention my totally crazy family and my aversion to every smell under the sunāexcept his.
All I can hope for is to not fall in love with my husband. That shouldnāt be too hard, right?