Married.

They’d hit up a small chapel in the French Quarter and Chelsea had bought a loose sundress at one of the shops. It had spaghetti straps and a gauzy skirt and was a pale almost-white. She’d paired it with sandals and a bouquet of flowers they’d paid through the nose for at the chapel, and then they’d stood quietly for their small ceremony.

Well, okay, not so quietly. Chelsea had gotten the giggles, and he’d started chuckling, too.

Then it was over, and they’d prowled around the French Quarter, watching partygoers and drunks stagger the area. They’d had dinner at an expensive seafood restaurant and Chelsea had proclaimed that she wanted to take a tour of the city the next evening, if they had time.

Of course they had time. Sebastian didn’t have a day job like everyone else, and Chelsea, well, Chelsea made soap. Their schedules were wide open. Plus, it wasn’t like they were going to be doing anything in bed together, so there was no need to rush back to the hotel room. So they roamed the streets and ate beignets and coffee and laughed at the antics of the street drunks. Chelsea avoided all alcohol, even the complementary bottle of cheap champagne that the wedding chapel tried to give them. Since she was determined to stay sober, Sebastian did the same.

“Oh, look,” Chelsea called as a group of people zoomed past them on Segways. “It’s a Segway tour! That looks like so much fun. Can we do that?”

“Do you want a Segway? I can just buy you one.”

She elbowed him and pushed the pink veil on her hair aside as it caught in the wind. They’d found a Bride-and-Groom souvenir stand and now Chelsea wore a rhinestone crown with a pink veil that said BRIDE and he wore a top hat that said GROOM. They’d been getting cheers and back pats from passersby all afternoon, which made things kind of fun. “I don’t want a Segway. I want to go on a New Orleans tour on a Segway with everyone else!”

A raindrop splattered on his hand, and he glanced up at the gray, angry skies. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Look at the weather.”

She looked up, and the skies opened up and began to pour. With a shriek, she grabbed his arm and raced for an awning. Everywhere, people were hiding under overhanging balconies or building awnings, and the streets were emptying out fast.

“Shoot,” Chelsea said, looking sad. Thunder boomed overhead. “Should we head back to the hotel?”

“Might as well.”

Their hotel was right off of Canal Street, so instead of calling a taxi, they ducked their heads and ran down the street despite the pouring rain. By the time they got to the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton, they were soaked to the bone. Chelsea’s frothy dress was clinging to her body like a second skin, so Sebastian took off his wet shirt and draped it over her shoulders, glaring at any men who looked in her direction.

If he couldn’t look, they couldn’t look, either.

Soaked and disheveled, they headed for the elevator, and Chelsea giggled again. “You know, that was kind of fun.”

He grinned at her. Nothing seemed to get her down. He liked her sheer cheeriness. That was one of the things that was most admirable about her—that she took everything in stride. It was nice to be around such a low-key person, given all the other people in his life who liked to manufacture drama.

When they got into the room, Chelsea shivered. “Okay with you if I take a hot shower to warm up?”

“Of course. I’ll go into the other room to give you some privacy.” That was the nice thing about a suite—there was plenty of room to maneuver around. Since they were “newlyweds” it had only one bed, but Sebastian was planning on taking the couch. He wasn’t a dick to press her into sharing a bed with him. Pillow forts were a joke. One wrong move, and someone would end up with a hand down someone else’s pants.

Then boom, no more platonic relationship. And considering they were newlyweds? It was too soon to go off the rails.

His phone buzzed with an incoming text. As the shower started, he headed into the other room and groaned at the sight of his mother’s picture that popped up.

Mom: Nugget, what is this I hear about you getting married????!!!!??? Call me!!!

Oh, his mom. He sighed. She did love her punctuations. At least she didn’t know how to do emojis yet. Then he imagined she’d be filling his phone with cartoon turds and angry faces instead of question marks.

Sebastian: Is the call going to be on the show?

Mom: Nugget, you know how I feel about that stuff. I film everything. It’s reality TV. This is my reality!!!

Sebastian: Then I’m not calling. And quit calling me Nugget.

Mom: Sebastian call your mother right now!!!

Sebastian: I’m not calling, and how did you find out?

Mom: You’re on TMZ!!!! She looks like a hooker!!!!!!!! Is she a hooker????? Why are you doing this to me!!???!

Mom: Lisa will be devastated!!!!!!!

Mom: I cannot believe you did this!!!!! Is this because of the show????!! Answer me! CALL ME!!!

Sebastian rubbed a hand down his face. Shit. TMZ? That must have meant they were followed the moment they left the airport. Paparazzi truly were everywhere. He pulled up TMZ on his phone and there were several shots of him and Chelsea laughing and walking down Bourbon Street, their silly hats on. A CABRAL GETS MARRIED . . . AND NO ONE’S INVITED!!!! read the article headline.

Well, it had to come out at some point. He’d break it to Chelsea when she got out of the shower. She’d take things with stride, he imagined. In fact, he doubted there was much that could get her down.

Thunder crashed overhead, and the lights in the hotel flickered. Then lightning flashed, thunder boomed so loud it rattled the building, and the lights went out.

Fuck. That was annoying. He groaned and flipped his phone’s flashlight app on just as he heard the sound of screaming.

Coming from the bathroom.

Chelsea.

He forgot all about his phone, the storm, even TMZ. Racing to the bathroom across the suite, he went to the door and jiggled the handle. Locked.

She kept screaming, over and over again, like she was being murdered. Jesus.

“Chelsea,” he called, rattling the door. “Open up! It’s just a storm. It knocked the power out.”

Her screams continued, then turned into sobbing. His nerves on edge, he pushed at the door again. When it wouldn’t open, he fumbled in his pocket for his wallet, got out his credit card, and started shoving it through the seam in the door. It fell open with a snick a moment later, and he stumbled into the dark, steamy bathroom.

The shower was still going, and he fumbled forward, following the sound of her cries. “Chelsea? Are you okay?”

“Nooo,” she moaned, her screams turning into low sobs. “No. Please no. Let me out! I can’t breathe!”

“Chel?” He moved toward the shower and found her, huddled low into a ball as the spray poured down on her. “Jesus, are you all right?”

She slapped away his hands. “Don’t touch me! I can’t breathe! Please, no—” Her hands flung out, and her fist smacked him in his jaw.

Sebastian clenched his teeth, wincing at the blow. She didn’t know what she was doing. She was out of her mind with fear. “It’s okay,” he soothed, keeping his voice low and even. Her sobs of fear were breaking his heart. He reached over and turned off the water, and then pulled her against him, ignoring the fact that she flailed and tried to hit him again. “Chelsea, it’s me. It’s Sebastian.”

“I can’t breathe,” she rasped in his ear. “I can’t breathe! Help me!” Her cries turned into whimpers. “Too dark. Too dark.”

Was it an asthma attack? She seemed to be breathing fine, given that his ears were ringing from her shrill cries. A flash of memory from her apartment hit him. All the lights.

Was she afraid of the dark?

“The power’s off,” he soothed. “It’s just a storm. It’ll be back on soon.” He felt around in the dark and found a towel, then pulled it around her quaking body. The scent of her soap, cherries and vanilla, brushed over his nose. It smelled sweet and happy, a stark contrast to her terror.