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I guess it's true what they say: what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Or at least I hope it stays here. The Romantic Style Book convention was meant to be a weekend of raucous fun with friends, sun, and enough poolside margaritas to forget about my ex. But now, instead of meeting my fans and signing books, I'm stuck with cocky divorce lawyer Nate Wexler. He's arrogant, infuriating, and I can't keep my hands off of him. Judging by the state of our hotel room, last night was wild. I just wish I could remember it. A pair of matching tattoos. A half empty box of glow-in-the-dark Trojans. And a... wedding veil? What the hell just happened?