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, the name of which she couldn't remember.

Maybe that was why her confusion only deepened slightly when she awoke with it (the lei, not the drinks) in her grasp, tightly woven around her left hand. What confused her more though, was how she could still be so tired upon just waking up...or why, for that matter, she was waking fully clothed in an empty bathtub, aside from her bare feet.

The raven-haired young woman was jarred from her thoughts by a shrill beeping noise that sent vibrations that could only be from Hell itself reverberating in and around her skull.

Her eyes snapped shut instinctively as she wildly pawed at the cool, porcelain 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 Blackberry. Daring to squint at it as she brought the phone to her face, trying to block out the disturbing echo in her brain, she tapped the screen twice or thrice 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 unsaved number. Said number, she blearily noted, also left her eleven voicemails, all marked urgent. Speaking of the devil, the number suddenly popped up on the screen again under 'Incoming Call'. She clumsily slid her thumb across the screen to the green phone-shaped icon and gingerly pressed the phone to her ear.

"You called?" she managed to croak groggily.

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

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

The.. don'ts words forced something to occur to Sam. "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 the word 'inquiry'. That was a little out of her reach, vocabulary-wise.

"YOU DON'T KNOW?" the Latina woman on the other end began shrieking in what Sam guessed was Spanish, though all Sam could make out were vague swear words as Paulina continued on and on. Sam attempted to tune out the muffled screeching on the other end of the phone, unsteadily getting herself up into a standing position, which she regretted immediately.

She shakily lifted her lei-wrapped hand to her forehead as gravity slammed down on her. A wave of nausea and intense 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, before blinking and deciding she'd need a lot more than just one moment.

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, so she was definitely in a just definitely wasn't her bathroom.

It was a fancy bathroom, much fancier than the bathroom at her apartment but not as fancy as her parents' bathroom so that narrowed things down a bit. The walls were decorated with dome-shaped light fixtures and crown moldings. The decor seemed to be a perfect balance of traditional and antique, from the faucets to the three paintings carefully hung on the walls, perfectly spaced apart.

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

The raven-haired young woman quickly found out that even simple thinking made her head throb unbearably. Turning her head toward the window to the left of her, she could see brilliant sunlight spilling through the open crack between the room's darkening curtain panes. How had she not noticed that? It was practically illuminating the large bathroom and it was not helping her headache in the slightest.

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

She'd heard about this kind of thing happening, but it'd never happened to her though. And why would it have? She was levelheaded, careful…and would definitely be throwing up soon.

Sam took another gulp before going back to observing her surroundings. Okay, the bathroom was actually pretty large, once again ruling out her average-sized bathroom, and the bathroom of…She had a fuzzy mental image of herself standing in a dimly lit bathroom, steadying herself against a sink as she heard pulsing music. ...Club Baja! That's where she was last night. And she was there because…

She felt incredibly stupid all of a sudden and trying to remember anything outside of that very moment was 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, shit. She had been dragged there for that stupid bachelorette party. There was no way that the dimly lit bathroom in that tropical-themed hellhole could have passed for this bathroom at all. Finally, she was remembering. Yet, there was still a problem.

The party was over now...since the person who'd dragged her there was on the phone, still shrieking to know her whereabouts. Oh, right. Paulina. Tired of hearing said shrieking, she finally focused and ended the phone call without even putting the phone to her ear and switched her phone to 'silent'.

"What in the hell happened last night?" she wondered, her voice thick and cracking.

It was difficult to ignore 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 straight, long black hair was strewn all over her head in tangled tufts that she could already tell were going to be impossible to get out. Twisting her tangled left hand around, she managed to use her right hand to brush her fingers through her hair, which helped none. Her face, not as put together as she'd remembered it being the night before, vaguely reminded her of the punk phase she'd gone through in middle school due to the streaks of eyeliner and mascara blearily rubbed around her eyes. Her once perfectly applied NARS matte lip stain in 'Damned' was no longer perfectly applied but was now smeared around her mouth in a way that made her cringe. She looked like a sad, confused, and super hungover clown.

Her clothes, which if she remembered correctly, had consisted of a black T-shirt and a pair of dark wash jeans, were nowhere to be found. She was now in a blue and black flannel shirt and black jeans that definitely weren't hers. She knew that they definitely weren't hers because they were way too big for her and were hanging off of her hips. She pulled them up, no longer exposing the top of her lacy red underwear, before hesitating. Was her shirt—or whoever's shirt—inside out?

Suddenly feeling too disoriented to care, Sam sighed internally, deciding that figuring out where the hell she was (and why she'd woken up in a tub with a flimsy-looking floral decoration on her hand) had to be priority number one and that she would fix her dragon breath and everything else wrong with her after. She'd seen enough hangover movies to know that she should not like what she was finding thus far.

"What day is it even?" Sam picked up her phone to glance at the date. Suddenly that pesky little alarm made sense.

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

'12 Hours Left!' until her wedding!

Crap, crap, shit, crap...she was going to be the only hungover and confused bride in the history of—pause, 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 Lila to stop stripping on tables at her own wedding. But still!

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

Lying under a tousled pile of sheets, in the king-sized bed right outside of the bathroom were a pair of feet resting haphazardly on a white pillowcase. The feet were white and looked to be male. She was staring at the feet of a white male. Sam took a deep and steadying breath as she tried to stop narrating in her head like she was in an episode of 'Law and Order'.

She was not going to panic. She was not going to send herself into what she mentally described as 'breathing mode'. Breathing mode happened more often than she'd like to admit. It was a coping mechanism of sorts that happened when all she could do was focus on her breathing. Nothing more, nothing less…just breathing. When her younger sister had crashed a golf cart into a buffet table at the engagement dinner that she hadn't wanted? Breathing mode. When Paulina had forced her to go to Club Baja for the bachelorette party that she hadn't wanted? Breathing mode.

When she walked out of the foreign bathroom and saw a pair of feet that she was pretty sure she'd never seen before in her life? …nope. She wasn't going to do it. It was what lay at the foot of the bed, however, that gave Sam no choice in the matter. Hanging out of the blankets was a masculine hand and adorned on said hand was a simple gold wedding ring. She could also barely make out a mop of dark black hair to match her own.

Well, she didn't know whose husband this was, but it certainly wasn't the one that was supposed to be hers. He was blond.

Sam blinked once…then twice…then breathing mode.

"Oh my God..." She gaped, barely aware of the fact that she dropped her cell phone.

Whizzing thoughts of life as a homewrecker swirled through her mind, which was still in the most painful and dazed condition of overdrive since she'd woken up.

Sam stared at the sleeping man for a moment, before getting the sense to pick up her phone…and throw it.

"Get up!" She yelled, her phone bouncing off of the sleeping figure wrapped in sheets. one said that it was good sense.

The man awoke at once, looking alert. She couldn't blame him, he'd just been assaulted by a Blackberry. 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. A creep in his early forties with forehead wrinkles, a couple of kids that could have popped straight out of a Sears catalog, and a wife that wore J. Crew and looked like Kate Hudson. That wasn't who was standing in front of her though.

While he still could have had a wife that looked like Kate Hudson, there was a tousle-haired, handsome blue-eyed, twenty-something-year-old man with no shirt on. And it was not that she was checking out this married man, but she couldn't help but notice how well-formed his stomach and abs were and how muscular his arms looked. 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 don't think so, seeing as I wasn't married before this morning..."

Sam paled. No. Definitely not. There was a high likelihood that this was a nightmare. Or maybe this was a prank. Yes! This was either a nightmare she would be waking up from any moment now or it was Paulina getting back at her for bailing on her stupid bachelorette party. Whatever this was, she knew that it was absolutely not that she had married a complete stranger in the middle of the night. Because that would have been insane. And she was not insane.

She was Samantha Elizabeth Manson. She was Sam. She was the smart, responsible, and incredibly levelheaded eldest child of Jeremy and Pamela Manson. She was a Yale graduate and an incredibly reluctant pre-teen debutante! She was many things, but she was not insane. Which she would have had to have been to marry a complete stranger in the middle of the night.

Levelheaded, twenty-three-year-old Yale graduates who just happened to be the eldest of two heirs to a multimillion-dollar conglomerate and who also still resented their mother for that one pageant they had to do that one time, were not insane and did not get drunk and marry complete strangers, no matter HOW pretty their eyes were.

She concentrated on taking one deep breath to avoid breathing mode (which she then regretted having momentarily forgotten about her horrible coma-inducing halitosis) and quickly let her amethyst eyes scan her hand. Whew. Not insane. No ring.

At some time during her mental breakdown, the stranger had gone from staring at her to looking around for what had smacked him awake and was now holding her phone. He held it out to her questioningly.

"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, lucky lady. 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 back from the man. "Exactly eleven hours and thirty-seven minutes until I get married myself, so congratulations again..." She trailed off and waited for him to fill in. When he didn't, she awkwardly gestured at him. "Name?" she questioned.

"Oh." He looked at her, focusing as if he'd been just as out of it as she was before. "Danny."

"Right, well I'm Sam. Uh… Congratulations, Danny. Mazel tov, uh, whatever. I need to get out of here. I have to…go…get married." She finished lamely.

"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?" The stranger who she now knew as Danny asked her.

Sam paused before shrugging. "I'm honestly debating over whether or not to leave that detail out. I've got enough going on today. And when you think about it, it's almost funny that I thought something had happened between us."

"Is it?"

Poor guy. She couldn't blame him; she had been through the same thing just minutes before. But that was five minutes ago, and she was ready to move past it, call Paulina back, and sign up for the rest of her miserable—she stopped herself and simply nodded at him.

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

"Oh," Danny remarked.

Sam nodded, feeling better about the situation already. "If you knew my mother, you'd get it."

Her phone made another beeping sound, indicating that she needed to get going. "So, it's weird how we must've gotten into this situation. Your wife must be worried sick. Are you going to tell her about this?"

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

Well, enough about that. She had places to be and a wedding to be forced through! Remembering what she looked like, she faltered and turned back toward the bathroom she'd woken up in. She didn't know where she was, but she did know that her mother would kill her if anyone saw her like this.

As Danny muttered to himself in confusion, she made her way into the bathroom and grabbed the plastic-wrapped toothbrush and generic brand toothpaste from the side of the sink. She unwrapped the toothbrush, reading the name "The Antheneum Hotel" on the side of it in gold script. Ah, so that's where she was.

As Sam brushed her teeth, she withheld a laugh. Of course, that would be how she would wake up on the morning of her wedding. The entire process had been absurd, so she should have expected nothing less. She'd gone to blow off steam and had some last hurrah before becoming Mrs. Samantha Cain and this was what happened. She'd gone a little crazy for once and this is what happened. This would be one of those stories she'd tell her grandchildren once they were much older. One of her favorite stories was of how Grandma Ida had woken up next to a goat and a grocer (ironically both named Felipe) in Tijuana years before she'd married her grandfather.

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

Danny laughed. "I woke up to a wild-haired woman throwing a Blackberry at me. Wanna compare?"

Sam couldn't help but laugh also. She grabbed a single brush from the complimentary basket lying on the top of the toilet and began a sorry attempt at getting the tangles out of her matted hair. Every single time she would get a tangle out, the stupid lei wrapped around her hand would get caught. She'd honestly forgotten about the stupid thing. The idea of waking up married to a stranger was kind of distracting.

"Ugh, this stupid thing." Sam worked to unwrap the lei from her hand and dropped the brush to the floor with an echoing 'clack'.

There, on her left hand, the hand that she should have looked at was a simple gold wedding band. Sam stood there, frozen 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 that blearily remembered tray of drinks at the bachelorette party that she also barely remembered.

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

She didn't feel guilty in the slightest for hanging up on her before, but now she felt vindicated. This was Paulina's goddamn fault. Ugh, no. It was her fault. She was being punished for drinking, which she was positive of.

Sam didn't like partying or drinking and what happened? She went for it and, 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 again, blue-eyed Danny frowned at her in concern.

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

"An annulment." She answered tartly, trying to move him out of the way with as limited contact as possible.

She wasn't even going to think about what this meant. She couldn't fathom the idea that she had somehow met, married, and woken up next to a man that she'd never met before. What in the hell could she have been thinking? She—no. Nope. She was not even going to think about what this meant.

"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. Her head was still spinning.

"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, only thinking about not thinking. "Not mad. Just stressed. Stressed...and confused...and more stressed and—I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I-I'm not being fair to you. It's just that…I'm getting married. No. No, I'm not. I CAN'T get married. I'm ALREADY married. Oh my God." She stopped, feeling herself becoming nauseous again.

She heard Danny tiptoe backward, probably not wanting to see her get sick again. He'd hurried into the bathroom when the brush dropped and had seen things that he would probably never unsee. Ordinarily, she would have felt embarrassed to have been in such a state in front of a stranger, but as the shiny band on her finger told her, the two of them were better acquainted than she remembered.

The horrible feeling of nausea momentarily subsided, but 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. She closed her eyes tightly, debating on whether she should try to convince herself again that this was a terrible dream.

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

"You...aren't looking for me to 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 just how much her brain hurt and by the fact that she hadn't thought of what her mother would do to her before that point.

Danny's voice broke through her thoughts from the other room. "Hey, it's your phone alarm. It says '11 Hours Left!'...Oh, and it looks like you have five missed calls."

Sam frowned as pain coursed through her head. She was...she

It was a word that Sam had kind of been avoiding, which made sense to those who knew who she was supposed to be getting married to. Out of all of the scenarios she could have possibly put herself into, it was an understatement to say that this was not one.

She would have to cancel the wedding, obviously. She would have to face her parents' friends and extended family and as hard as it was, she could do it. She would have to cancel with the venue, the caterers, and the band. Her father would lose his deposit, but she could do that too. She could also call the airport and cancel their reserved seats and tell the hotel in Boca that their honeymoon suite was up for grabs again, which was also doable. She could even tell the Cains that their arrangement was off and wish them the best of luck in marrying their son off to some other poor girl. It was all going to be very hard, but still doable.

But under no circumstances whatsoever could Samantha Manson ever look her terrifying 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 rather have lived with that breath forever and let it slowly suffocate her. It was better than what Pamela would do to her. She cast a longing glance at the toothbrush and a hateful one in the direction of the hairbrush and the lei. The stupid, stupid goddamn lei.

She was going to have to face this. She, Samantha Manson was now Mrs. Samantha...shit. She didn't even know his last name.

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