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  Diana couldn’t seem to think beyond the misery of her entire body. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a small croak. She swallowed and tried again. “What—happened . . . to me?”

  “It’s only a theory, but your nervous system is probably under assault by a buildup of acetaldehyde,” he provided with cheerful sympathy as he put the tray on the nightstand. “In severe cases, that causes blurred vision, headache, nausea, trembling, and dry mouth. At least that’s the theory we’re working on at Unified’s pharmaceutical division. In layman’s terms, you have a colossal hangover.”

  “Why?” Diana whispered, closing her eyes against the glare of bright orange liquid in a tall glass on the nightstand.

  “Too much champagne.”

  “Why?” she said again. She wanted to know why she was here, why he was here, and why she’d made herself sick, but her brain and her mouth refused to function properly.

  Instead of answering, he sat down on the bed, causing her to moan aloud when the mattress shifted and she rolled a little sideways. “Don’t try to talk,” he said with stern authority that contrasted with the gentleness in his movements as he slid his left arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her slightly upright. “This is buffered aspirin,” he said, giving her two white tablets. Diana’s hand shook as she took them from him and pressed them awkwardly between her lips. “And this,” he added as he lifted the glass of orange liquid from the tray and held it toward her lips, tipping it carefully so she could drink, “is orange juice with a little ‘hair-of-the-dog.’ ”

  Diana’s stomach lurched violently at the thought of dog hairs in her orange juice, but before she could react, he tipped it up, forcing her to swallow; then he eased her back down onto the pillows. “Go back to sleep,” he said gently as her eyes closed. “You’ll feel much better when I wake you up later.”

  Something cold and soothing was pressed against her forehead. A washcloth.

  Cole Harrison was a kind, caring man, she thought. She needed to tell him that. “Thank you for helping me,” she murmured as his weight lifted from the mattress and he stood up.

  “As your husband, I consider it my duty to nurse you through any and all hangovers.”

  “You’re very nice.”

  “I was hoping you’d still think so this morning, but I had some doubts.”

  The carpet muffled his footsteps as he walked away, and she heard the door close softly behind him as she lay there, waiting for the anesthesia of sleep. For several moments, his parting remarks were merely a baffling joke she tried to ignore, but they’d evoked stubborn images that began marching insistently behind her aching eyes. She remembered being at the Orchid Ball and drinking wine and champagne . . . and an amethyst necklace, and more champagne. She remembered going up to Cole’s suite . . . and more champagne . . . and a limousine ride to Intercontinental Airport . . . and the cabin of a private jet, where she drank more champagne. She remembered another limo ride through a city ablaze with lights . . .

  The images slowed and sharpened into better focus. She’d gotten out of the car and walked into a place with an arched trellis covered with fake flowers. A short, bald, smiling man had talked to her while she leaned her head back and mentally removed those awful flowers, replacing them with fresh ivy vines.

  Swallowing against a surge of nausea, Diana tried not to think about the bald man and the flowered trellis, but the tableau seemed to be etched into her aching brain, a foggy, strangely ominous vignette—and yet, he’d seemed a pleasant enough man. . . . He’d walked Cole and her to the door when they left. He’d waved to them and called out something to her as the limousine started to roll away from the curb. She’d leaned out of the window and waved back at him as he stood in the doorway beneath a pink-and-green neon trellis, with blinking neon bells above it and some words below it.

  Words below it.

  Words . . .

  Words, in scrolling pink-and-green neon letters.

  WEDDING CHAPEL

  The man in the doorway had been calling out, “Good luck, Mrs. Harrison!”

  Reality struck Diana with enough force to set off fresh explosions of pain in her head and a holocaust in her stomach. “Oh, my God!” she moaned aloud, and she rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow, trying to blot everything from her mind.

  Chapter 29

  WHEN DIANA AWAKENED AGAIN, SOMEONE had opened the heavy draperies, letting filtered sunlight into the room through the filmy sheers, and a telephone was ringing somewhere in the suite.

  For several moments, she lay perfectly still, her eyes closed, taking cautious mental inventory of her body’s condition, afraid to move lest her nerves begin to jangle and her head pound as it had earlier. She still felt shaky and her head still ached, but her skull no longer felt as if it were going to split in half.

  Having dealt with the physical side of her situation, she reluctantly allowed herself to contemplate the outcome of her first true bout with inebriation.

  She had married Cole Harrison.

  Her heart began to hammer as the reality of that reckless, irrational act clamored in her brain. She was married to a stranger! He was a heartless opportunist who’d taken advantage of her state of mind last night and convinced her that marrying him would also benefit her, not just him.

  She was clearly insane. So was he.

  She was a fool. He was a monster.

  She needed to be locked up in an asylum.

  He needed to be shot!

  Somehow, Diana forced herself to break off her unjustified mental tirade and block out the guilt and panic that were causing it.

  She had not been completely irrational last night, and Cole had not coerced or forced her into marriage. As calmly as she could, Diana reviewed everything she could remember about his reasoning and her reactions.

  In the bright light of day, without the lulling effects of champagne, it was obvious that Cole had amazing powers of persuasion. It was equally obvious that she’d let emotion and sentimentality drive her to do something that was incredibly impulsive. But the more she thought about it, the more Diana realized that the logic behind their agreement was still sound.

  Last night, Cole had been the pawn of a well-meaning old man named Calvin, who was jeopardizing the business empire Cole had built. This morning, Cole was victor, not victim, and the uncle he loved was going to be a very happy man.

  Last night, the credibility and the financial future of Foster Enterprises had been in jeopardy, and Diana had been the object of scorn and pity—the discarded fiancée of a wealthy Houston socialite. This morning, Foster Enterprises was secure and Diana was the “cherished wife” of a handsome billionaire tycoon.

  Diana felt vastly better, though she was not looking forward to trying to convince her family that Cole wasn’t some sort of manipulative monster and that she hadn’t lost her senses.

  To escape thinking of that scene, she tried to remember more about what had happened after Cole’s plane took off from Las Vegas, but her memory was fuzzy. She remembered being impressed when she first saw the interior of his plane, and she remembered asking Cole if they could go to Las Vegas instead of Lake Tahoe, because she’d already been to Lake Tahoe. From then on, things began to blur and meld with her dreams. She wasn’t certain whether her disjointed memories were real or only part of the vivid dreams that had pursued her while she slept, and she wasn’t up to thinking hard enough to solve the mystery.

  Rolling over, she shoved back the sheets and was surprised to discover that she was naked. Considering how inebriated she’d been last night, it was amazing that she’d managed to unfasten her gown and get undressed herself. It occurred to her that Cole might have had to undress her, but that mortifying possibility was more than she could bear to contemplate at the moment. It was then that Diana realized she had nothing to wear except the purple silk gown she’d worn last night. The dining room at the Grand Balmoral was a favorite for Sunday afternoon dinner, and the prospect of walking through the hotel lobb