Accidentally Married to a Billionaire

Sienna's POV

I felt the sunlight against my eyelids. It was harsh, the kind that demanded you wake up no matter how desperately you wanted to keep sleeping. My head throbbed, my throat felt like sandpaper, and my body protested every movement.

Ugh. Never again.

I promised myself internally as my hands felt the mattress underneath me and my brows furrowed in confusion.

This isn’t my bed.

My bed—well, my temporary bed—is in the tiny Airbnb apartment I rented for my week-long Miami escape/vacation. The apartment is small, cozy, and is facing a narrow street that smells faintly of sea salt and coconut oil. Definitely not this place. Because this bed is huge, soft, and smells kinda like luxury detergent.

I cracked one eye open and looked at the bed underneath me. The sheets are the kind of white you only see in magazines, and the pillow under my head felt like it was personally crafted by angels. I opened my other eye and gradually scanned the room.

Oh no.

This room is breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one side, framing the endless sweep of the Atlantic. The early morning sunlight danced across polished marble floors, and the air hummed quietly with the faint sound of waves below. There was a half-empty bottle of Dom Pérignon on the polished table beside a single crystal glass. A suit jacket hung carelessly over the back of a chair, and an expensive-looking watch glimmered near the minibar.

This definitely isn’t my rented apartment.

I sat up slowly, blinking at the lavish chaos around me. “Where am I?” I mumbled, my voice hoarse.

Memories of yesterday were scattered in my head like puzzle pieces but I can clearly remember the café near Ocean Drive where I accidentally spilled coffee on a handsome young man with a British accent, and a charming dimpled smile. I think I had too many drinks after that.

I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead. “Sienna, what did you do?”

As if in response to my question, I felt movement beside me and froze.

Please be a cat.

I turned my head.

It's not a cat.

It's a man. A very shirtless, sleeping man, sprawled beside me on the bed. And not just any man, it's the man from the café. The hot British stranger.

“Oh my God!” I yelped, scrambling backward so fast I nearly fell off the bed but my foot got tangled in the sheets, and I tumbled onto the floor with a very ungraceful thud.

The man stirred, groaning softly. “Bloody hell…”

I peeked over the edge of the bed, clutching the blanket like a weapon. “Why are you in my bed?”

He blinked at me, confusion crossing his face before amusement crept in. His voice was low and husky with sleep. “Your bed? I think you’ve got that backward, love. This is my hotel suite.”

“Your… what?” I looked around again, taking in the gold accents, panoramic view, and sleek decor. Okay, that explains a lot.

I'm in his hotel room.

Fantastic.

I clutched the blanket tighter. “Wait—how did I even get here? What happened last night?”

He sat up, rubbing his temples, his blonde hair falling into soft disarray. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Great,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face.

There was a long, awkward pause before he spoke again. “You don’t remember?”

“Bits and pieces,” I admitted. “I remember spilling coffee on you, you forgiving me way too quickly, and then we went to get drinks. And also something about—what was it? Roulette?”

He smirked faintly. “We were on quite the streak.”

“I can't really remember the details.”

He chuckled softly, leaning back against the headboard, the morning light outlined the edges of his jaw. “You’ve got quite the arm, by the way. I think you nearly took out the bartender when you tried to high-five me.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Kill me now.”

“I’m afraid that might complicate things further,” he said dryly.

I looked up to find him smiling, that same disarmingly charming grin I vaguely remember from last night. He dragged his hand through his hair and I saw a simple silver wedding ring.

My eyes widened. “You’re married?”

His brows knit in confusion as he followed my gaze. “What? No.”

“Then why—” I pointed at his finger accusingly.

He looked down, squinting at his hand, and froze. For a moment, his expression was blank. Then it shifted into realization. “Oh, bloody hell.”

“What?” I demanded, my voice rising.

He hesitated. “I think we… might have… gotten these together last night.”

I blinked. “Gotten what?”

“The rings.”

I paused for a moment. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. You have the same ring.” He said, looking at my left hand.

I followed his gaze and surely, there was a similar silver ring on my ring finger. “How did we get these?” I asked him with furrowed brows.

He gave a weak laugh, though his eyes were wary. “You don’t remember? The casino? The wedding exhibit?”

I stared at him like he’d just told me we adopted a penguin. “The what now?”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair again. “There was this event—a wedding thing happening at the casino. You said it looked fun, and somehow we ended up participating.”

The moment he said “wedding thing”, pieces started sliding into place, although they were a bit blurred and disjointed. I remember neon lights, and a bouquet of fake roses. Me, laughing so hard my sides hurt as we stood to ‘say our vows.’

Oh no.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my mouth. “Did we get married last night?”

He nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Seems that way. A fake wedding”

For a long moment, we just stared at each other. Then, laughter erupted from my chest.

“This is insane,” I said between laughs. “We fake married each other. That’s ridiculous.”

His own deep laughter joined mine. “Utterly ridiculous.”

Our laughter filled the room, the craziness of what we did felt too much to contain. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, interrupting our laughter fest.

Still smiling, I reached for it but paused when I saw a piece of paper lying beside it. It was cream-colored with an embossed gold seal.

Curious, I picked it up and read the contents.

State of Florida – Marriage Certificate

This certifies that Eric Alexander Macmillan and Sienna Marie Jones were lawfully joined in marriage...

I blinked, my smile fading instantly.

“Please tell me this is another joke.” I whispered, my throat suddenly became dry.

He frowned, leaning forward. “What’s that?”

I handed him the paper, my fingers trembling slightly. I watched as he read it and his face went pale.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered again, this time with panic.

I pointed to the bottom of the page. “Look! That’s my signature. And I'm guessing the one next to it is yours.”

He rubbed his forehead, disbelief written all over him. “But it wasn’t supposed to be real. The officiant said—well, I thought he said—it was just for fun!”

“Well, apparently it wasn’t!” I shot back.

The room fell silent.

I sank onto the edge of the bed as disbelief swirled in my chest.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, looking up at him. “We met yesterday, got drunk, and accidentally got legally married at a casino?”

He exhaled, leaning back against the headboard. “I think we did.”

“Oh my god!”