The last thing she remembered was an orange and pink lei.

It was flimsy looking, though slightly endearing, and it was currently the last vivid memory she had of the night before besides a tray of some drink she couldn't remember. Maybe that was why her confusion was only deepened slightly when she awoke with it in her grasp, tightly woven around her left hand. What confused her more though, was how she could be so tired upon just waking up...or why she was waking up barefoot yet otherwise, as far as she could tell, fully clothed in an empty bathtub for that matter.

The young woman was jarred from her thoughts by a shrill beeping noise that sent sound waves that could be from nowhere but Hell reverberating in and around her skull.

Her eyes shut instinctively as she wildly pawed the cool, smooth white surface for the stupid device she knew had to be nearby. Just when she thought her brain was going to combust, her lei wrapped hand grasped onto the flat, silver and violet cellphone. Daring herself to squint at it as she brought the phone to her face, trying to block out the disturbing echo in her brain, she touched the screen two or three times until she had shut off the alarm.

'12 Hours Left!' the phone flashed at her obnoxiously.

The alarm faded to show her missed calls, which there were thirty-two of, all from the same number. Said number, she blearily noted, left her eleven voicemails, all marked urgent. Speak of the devil, the number popped up on the screen under 'Incoming Call'. She clumsily slid her thumb to the button with the green phone shaped icon and pressed the phone to her ear.

"You called?" she croaked groggily.

As she spoke, she tasted the worst possible taste in her mouth. It was a mix between something metallic tasting and putrid. From the awful whiff she received, she could tell that it was a stench way beyond morning breath and that it could possibly have been mixed with death itself.

'''YOU CALLED'?" came a loud and highly unwelcome screech. "I HAVE BEEN CALLING FOR HOURS AND I GET AN INQUIRY TO WHETHER I CALLED? YES, I CALLED! Where the hell are you, Samantha Manson? You sound like shit, by the way."

Her friend's words forced something to occur to her. "I...don't actually know."

She should have been smart enough to move the phone away, but she was still out of it from waking up...and from the woman on the other end knowing a word such as 'inquiry'. That was a little out of her reach, vocabulary wise.

"YOU DON'T KNOW?" the Latina on the other end began shrieking in Spanish, though all Sam could really make out were the swear words.

As Sam attempted to tune out the foreign screeching on the other end of the phone, she unsteadily got herself up into a standing position. Immediately after doing so, she regretted it.

She shakily lifted her lei wrapped hand to her forehead as gravity slammed down on her. A wave of nausea and immense head rush washed over her momentarily before the sickening feeling settled back into her throat as if it were waiting. She'd definitely be puking soon. She took a moment to steady herself as the room slowly began to stand stationary once more.

Trying to at least figure out where she was, (she'd get to why she was in a bathtub later) she took the time to let her eyes wander around the room. Okay, she was definitely in a bathroom...though it wasn't her bathroom.

It was a fancy bathroom, much fancier than the bathroom at her apartment. The walls were themed with dome shaped light fixtures and crown moldings. Everything had a perfect balance of modern and antique, from the faucets to the two or three paintings carefully hung on the walls.

She thought back to where she was the night before—wait, it was morning right?

The raven-haired young woman quickly found out that even simple thinking made her head throb. Turning her head towards the window to the left of her, she could see that through the open crack spilled brilliant sunlight. How had she not noticed that? It was practically illuminating the large bathroom and it was definitely not helping her headache in the slightest.

"Hm. Finally, a good observation." She murmured bitterly, disgustedly rubbing her tongue on the roof of her mouth. The taste just wouldn't go away.

Going back to her surroundings, the bathroom was actually pretty large, really ruling out her average-sized bathroom, and the bathroom of...Club Baja! That's where she was last night. …And she was there because…

She felt incredibly stupid and trying to remember was quite possibly more painful than trying to figure out where she was. Obviously, she had been to Club Baja last night for…for…oh! Her bachelorette party! Right. She'd been dragged there for her bachelorette party. There was no way that the tropical themed bathroom at the club could have passed for this museum-like bathroom at all. Yet, there was still a problem.

The party was obviously over now...since the person who'd dragged her there was on the phone, shrieking to know her whereabouts. Tired of hearing said shrieking, she ended the phone call without even putting the phone to her ear and switched her ringer to 'Silent'.

"What the hell happened last night?" she wondered, her voice thick and cracking. It was difficult to manage avoiding the disgusting taste in her mouth, but she did. Finally, her eyes came to the sink. She gazed blearily at the mirror hanging above it to see some sort of creature who resembled...oh God, it was her.

Her usually silky and straight black hair was strewn all over her head in tufts that she could already tell were going to be near impossible to get out. She used her right hand to try to brush her fingers through her hair to no avail. Her face now resembled that of a KISS member, due to the streaks of eyeliner and mascara that had streamed down her face sometime that night. Her lip color, typically the NARS matte in 'Damned', was smeared around her mouth in a way that reminded her of a clown…a sad, confused, and super hungover clown.

Her clothes, which if she remembered correctly, had consisted of a black fitted t-shirt and dark wash jeans, were nowhere to be found. She was now in a blue and black flannel shirt and foreign black jeans, which were currently hanging a little too low for her liking and were incredibly rumpled. She pulled up her pants, unexposing the top of her lacy red underwear and...was her shirt…or whoever's shirt inside out?

Feeling far too crappy to care, Sam just sighed internally, deciding that when she figured out where she was exactly (and why she'd woken up in a tub with a flimsy looking lei on her hand) that she would fix it, and everything else wrong with her. She'd seen 'The Hangover' and she was not liking what she was finding so far.

"What's today?" Sam picked up her phone to glance at the date. Suddenly that pesky little alarm made sense.

"Oh my God!" Sam leapt out of the bathtub in horror.

'12 Hours Left!' until her wedding! She was going to be the only hungover and confused bride ever in the history of...wait, no she wasn't. She'd forgotten that her mother's side of the family would be attending. God only knew how many times they had to get her cousin Lucy to stop stripping on tables at her wedding. But still!

"I have to get out of here...wherever I am." Her eyes darted towards the door only seconds before her body did. She hurriedly threw open the door to see...feet.

Lying in a queen sized bed under a mountain of sheets, right outside of the bathroom were a pair of feet resting on a white pillowcase. The feet were white and looked to be male. She was staring at the feet of a white male.

It was what lie at the foot of the bed that sent Sam's head reeling more so than before. Hanging out of the blankets was a masculine hand and adorned on said hand was a wedding ring.

"Oh my God...I'm a whore...I'm a husband stealing whore." She gaped, barely aware of the fact that she dropped her cellphone.

Whizzing thoughts of a life as a dirty homewrecker swirled through her mind, which was in the most painful and dazed condition of overdrive since she'd woken up. After staring at the sleeping man for a moment, Sam got the sense to pick up her phone...before getting the sense to do something else with it.

"Get up!" She threw her phone at the sleeping figure wrapped in sheets. Well...no one said that it was good sense.

The man awoke at once, looking incredibly alert. His eyes darted around for a mere second as if he were readying himself for a continuing attack. His eyes then fell upon her and his tensed muscles loosened, but not much.

"I know you..." He blinked in recognition. "At least...I think I do."

"Oh, I think you do!" Sam retorted, incredibly flustered.

She hadn't been expecting him to be so young since he was apparently married. She had been expecting that the married man who'd taken advantage of her inebriated state would be much older looking, like in his mid-thirties, early forties. Someone with kids perhaps that could have popped straight out of a Sears catalogue, and a wife that wore J. Crew and aprons and looked clean-cut like Jennifer Aniston.

No, instead she stood before a tousled haired, gorgeously blue-eyed twenty-something with no shirt on. He wasn't a bodybuilder or anything, but his stomach and abs were well formed and his arms were muscular. His eyes were a mix between cobalt and electric blue. They were strangely alluring and they were currently staring at her in confusion. Did he not remember how they'd gotten there either?

...Or maybe he was staring at her hair. She had a feeling he was staring at her hair.

"No," the blue-eyed spouse of another woman replied, eyeing his hand as she had been before. "I really don't, seeing as I wasn't married before this morning..."

Sam paled. Had she married a complete stranger? No. Definitely not. She was Samantha. She was Sam, the smart, responsible, and incredibly levelheaded eldest child of Jeremy and Pamela Manson. She'd graduated Yale not too long ago, for God's sake!

Levelheaded, twenty-three year old Yale graduates who just happened to be the eldest of two heirs to multi-million dollar companies did not get drunk and marry complete strangers, no matter HOW pretty their eyes were. She took a deep breath (which she then regretted having momentarily forgotten about her horrible coma inducing halitosis) and quickly let her amethyst eyes scan her hand.

Whew. No ring.

"Well," Sam replied, after her near heart attack. "It would seem that matrimony is the theme of the day. So, I'm going to let you get back to your new bride, wherever she may be, and I'm going to fix...everything wrong with me, which as you can see is a lot, because I have..."

Sam gingerly took her phone from the man. "Exactly eleven hours and thirty-seven minutes until I get married myself, so congratulations..." She trailed off and waited for him to fill in. When he didn't, she gestured at him slightly. "Name?" she questioned.

"Oh." He looked at her as if he'd been out of it. "Danny."

"Right, I'm Sam. Well, congratulations, Danny. I'm off to prepare to marry."

"Your fiancé's not going to care that you spent a drunken night in a hotel room with a person whose name you didn't know until three seconds ago?"

Sam paused before shrugging. "I'm honestly debating over whether or not to leave that detail out. When you think about it, it's almost funny that I thought something had happened between us."

"Is it?"

Sam nodded. "Not to offend you or anything, but I'm just not the 'get drunk and make mistakes' type. I don't really drink...at all."

"Oh." The man named Danny remarked. Sam nodded, feeling better about the situation already. "If you knew my mother, you'd get it."

Her phone made a beeping sound and she was really beginning to regret that there really was 'an app for that'. "So it's weird how we must've gotten into this situation. Your wife must be worried sick. You going to tell her about this?"

"Yeah, I guess." He then muttered to himself about how someone 'must've gone back'.

As Danny spoke to himself, she made her way into the bathroom, happily grabbing the plastic wrapped toothbrush and the Crest brand toothpaste.

As she brushed her teeth she couldn't help but laugh to herself. This would be one of those stories she'd tell her grandchildren. One of her favorite stories was of how Grandma Manson had woken up next to a goat and a grocer (ironically both named Felipe) in Tijuana.

"You know," Sam laughed after rinsing out her mouth. "I woke up in a tub."

Danny laughed. "Well, I woke up to a wild-haired girl throwing a phone at me. Wanna compare?"

Sam couldn't help but laugh also. She grabbed a single brush lying on the top of the toilet and began a sorry attempt at getting the tangles out. Every time she would get a tangle out, the stupid lei wrapped around her hand would get caught. "Ugh, stupid thing!" she ripped the lei off and the brush dropped to the floor with a 'clack'.

There, on her left hand, the hand that she should have looked at, was a simple silver and gold band. Sam screamed just as the nausea finally made its reappearance.

So, in case one might have wondered, the toilet was made of very expensive porcelain. Sam only knew this because she'd had the time to examine it, as it and she had become very well-acquainted thanks to her bachelorette party...that she barely remembered.

"I knew I shouldn't have let Paulina talk me into a stupid party." She muttered, her expression dark and her tone bitter. "I don't even like Paulina..."

Now she was glad she'd hung up on her. She was being punished for drinking, she was positive. Sam was never really one for partying and drinking and now that she had, wham! Punishment. She groaned throatily as she and her good pal Toilet were reunited once more. She had to have vomited up her sanity the night before because God only knew she was throwing everything else up now.

As she threw the lid down with a frustrated flush and shakily got up to wash the putrid taste out of her mouth, the blue-eyed man whose name she had come to learn as 'Danny' frowned at her in concern.

"You need anything?" he asked. Sam washed her mouth out with her right as she flashed him her left hand, which she'd finally gotten to stop trembling.

"An annulment." She answered tartly, moving him out of the way with as limited contact as was possible.

"Uhm...yeah. We're gonna get right on that." He promised, turning to look at her sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

"Good", is what she would have said had she and Toilet not had a reunion.

"I don't know how this would have happened. You have every right to be mad, I just—"

Sam cut him off and continued her pace across the bathroom. "Not mad. Just stressed. Stressed...and confused...and more stressed. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I-I'm not being fair. It's just that…I'm getting married. No. I CAN'T get married. I'm ALREADY married. Oh my God." She doubled over the sink, this time triggering it herself.

She heard Danny tiptoe backward, obviously not wanting to see her get sick in the sink again. He'd hurried into the bathroom when the brush dropped and had seen things that he would probably never unsee.

The horrible feeling of nausea momentarily subsided, Sam still found herself stuck with the other uncomfortable feelings. She slouched on the side of the sink, once again trying to ignore the horrible taste in her mouth. At least she knew where it came from this time and oh look, the sink was made of the same porcelain as Toilet.

"What am I going to do?" She groaned.

"You...aren't expecting me to really answer that are you?" Danny asked.

"No," Sam sighed. "Please, for the sake of my sanity, don't."

The uncomfortable silence that followed was broken by the sound of vibration. Sam cradled her head, surprised at how much it seemed to hurt and the fact that she hadn't thought of what her mother would do to her before that point.

"It's your phone alarm. It says '11 Hours Left!'...Oh, and you have five missed calls from a 'Paulina'."

Sam whimpered and frowned as pain coursed through her head. She was...she was...ma-mar...

She couldn't even force herself to think it. Out of all of the scenarios she could have possibly put herself into, it was an understatement to say that this was definitely not one.

She would have to cancel the wedding, obviously. She would have to face her friends and family, and even her fiancé, and as hard as it was, she could do it. She would have to cancel with the church, the caterers, and the band. Her father would lose a substantial deposit, but she could do that too. She could also call the airport and cancel the reserved seats, and tell the hotel in Boca that their honeymoon suite was up for grabs again, which was also doable.

But under no circumstances whatsoever could Samantha Manson ever look her mother in the eye and confess that she had abandoned the fiancé deemed perfect for her, for a cute, blue-eyed stranger.

At that point, she would have rather lived with that breath forever and let it slowly suffocate her. She cast a longing glance at her toothbrush and a hateful one in the direction of the hairbrush and the lei. The stupid, stupid lei.

She, Miss Samantha Manson was now Mrs. Samantha...she didn't even know his last name.

Oh. Oh, dear God. What was she going to do?