A Dance Of Crowns & Thrones | Book I

Chapter 152 | June 19th | The One That Doesn't Remember 🍆 👰🏼

Timeline - June 19th | 2 Days To The Wedding.

Jesse woke up sprawled across the foot of a king-sized bed, the twisted sheets clinging to her body like a boa constrictor determined to drag her back to unconsciousness. The soft morning light filtered through the half-closed blinds, casting a warm, almost deceivingly peaceful glow over the room.

She groaned, her head pounding from what had to be the worst hangover in recent memory. With bleary eyes, she tried to stretch out but found herself blocked.

"Ek's, scoot over," Jesse mumbled, her voice hoarse from whatever shenanigans had occurred the night before. "You're taking up the whole bed."

The groan from her bedmate indicated that either Eko's voice had dropped a few octaves overnight, or something had gone seriously wrong. Maybe Eko had caught a nasty cold... or, far more likely, Jesse had somehow ended up in bed with someone of a distinctly male variety.

Alarmed, Jesse propped herself up on one elbow, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of the situation. Her eyes landed on the tiara tangled in the raven-colored hair of her bedmate. The strands were far too short to belong to Mya, and the dark color made it clear it wasn't Eko's either.

Oh no. Oh hell no.

A surge of adrenaline hit her, sending Jesse leaping out of bed with more panic than grace. Her "stranger danger" alarm blared in full effect. The room was a foreign landscape, littered with remnants of last night's revelry—empty bottles, scattered party favors, and glitter everywhere. It felt like the aftermath of a tornado masquerading as a celebration.

She barely made it to her feet before the twisted sheets betrayed her, sending her crashing face-first to the floor. Groaning in pain, she untangled herself from the fabric prison, her face throbbing in time with her pounding headache. What hurt more—her pride or her forehead? It was a toss-up.

Finally managing to stand, Jesse blinked blearily, her sense of disorientation deepening. Something was off, and it wasn't just her head.

Where the hell was her green dress?

She remembered wearing it... definitely. Yesterday, it had been her favorite, something classy for the dinner that seemed miles away now. But why the hell was she in pants now? Not just any pants either—coeurl print skinny pants. She stared down at herself, her heart skipping a beat. These pants were awesome, she had to admit that much, but they didn't belong to her.

She furrowed her brow. These were guy pants—too big at the waist, definitely not her size, and they had that unmistakable feel of being "borrowed." She glanced down at her body. Where was her bra?!

Had she lost a bet? The memory was fuzzy, lurking in the hazy aftermath of too many drinks. Jesse was positive there was some kind of challenge from the night before, but the details were elusive. Why did she have this sneaking suspicion she had agreed to something ridiculous?

She glanced back at the bed. The figure still lay motionless under the sheets, the tiara still tangled in their short, dark hair.

Oh hell, what did I do last night?

Jesse's eyes swept the room in a frantic search for her bra, only to land on scattered pieces of men's clothing strewn across the floor —pants, a jacket, a tie—and panic began to build.

With her pulse thudding in her ears, she leaned forward, squinting at the man's figure as he snored softly, his face still hidden beneath the pillows. The familiarity of the snoring nagged at her brain—a sound oddly familiar but just out of reach.