Light twinkles all over the ceiling as the sun catches the facets of the biggest diamond ring I've ever seen in real life. And it's on my hand. My left hand. The third finger of my left hand, to be precise. Still, I don't understand.

"What's that?" My voice is scratchy and weak. My hand starts trembling. Is that what I think it is? It can't be, right?

"Lola, that's your wedding ring. Don't you remember? We got married last night."

Love On The Rocks

"Lola-mami, lemme help."

Papi fastens a long, flowing veil to my perfectly coiffed hair with a comb. I feel like a princess waiting to get a glimpse of her prince at the altar. Papi steps back for a better look, gasps and slaps his hands over his mouth. I'm so excited that I almost cry with him but I don't want to mess up my make-up.

"Mira," he says, turning me toward a full-length mirror so I can see for myself the splendor that is me in a wedding gown. I can't hold back any longer, make-up be damned.

I'm beautiful, radiant, absolutely glowing. I'm also seven years old and dressed in a wedding gown that was meant for one of those creepy life-size girl dolls. Doesn't matter; it's perfect.

Since then, I've always had a very specific vision for what my wedding would look like. A church full of loving family and friends all dressed to the nines, classical music played on a harp, me poured into a stunning gown...

A drunken, quickie Vegas wedding officiated by a third-rate Elvis? Not so much.

The moment Drax told me we'd been married, everything came flooding back. Drinking far too much at the club, him teasing me about never getting my answer to the proposal he scribbled on his headshot, and me laughingly saying 'Hell yeah'. Next thing I remember, we were all standing -- swaying, really -- in front of a really bad Elvis impersonator with some kind of eastern European accent.

I recall laughing really, really hard during the whole thing. Elvis would break out into song at the weirdest moments during the ceremony and throw himself into classic Elvis poses. At the time, it was hilarious. This morning? Yeah, no.

I'm outside the bus, bent over at the waist, trying not to faint from the heat or puke from my hangover, when the door opens. Drax's boots stomp into my eyeline.

"What the hell was that all about?" he grouses.

Really? He's gonna go there? Indignance trumps nausea, apparently, because I'm up and in his face before I even realize it.

"Are you kidding me right now? You have absolutely no idea what I could be upset about? Really?" Sarcasm is not a flattering color on me but I wear it like a champ anyway.

Drax doesn't back down, though. He pushes right back into my face.

"Honestly, I have no clue. We're on our fuckin' honeymoon here, and you're acting like I pissed in your Wheaties! Aren't brides supposed to be, oh I dunno, happy or something?"

"Most brides are aware that they actually got married!"

Drax shrugs and takes a step back. Does he have the grace to look sheepish? Heck no. He looks more smug than ever, which doesn't seem possible.

"Hey, you seemed pretty lucid when you suggested it."

Heat infuses my cheeks at his blatant lie. "Bullshit! I remember what happened now, so don't play games. You were bugging me to answer to your 'proposal'--" insert an eyeroll and air quotes "--and I jokingly said yes. Then you led me out of the club and, the next thing I know, I'm standing in a chapel singing 'Love Me Tender' with the worst Elvis I've ever seen."

"That's true, but you're forgetting the middle part. The part where you dragged me into that chapel in the first place."

My blood turns cold. Did I really? Nooooooo...it can't be. I think so hard my brain hurts -- even worse than it already does -- and it comes back to me. Nausea sweeps over me again and I nearly lose it.

"You were so cute in your tight little corset, I couldn't say no. 'Please, Drax. It'll be so fun, Drax.' What was I supposed to do?"

"What...? You could have refused! You could have said, 'No, we're too drunk to make such a major, life-changing decision.' I mean, you couldn't have really believed I'd marry you if I was in my right mind, could you? We aren't exactly compatible, first of all. Second of all, we've only known each other a couple days!"

His face grows dark, like a cloud is passing overhead. Only, this is Vegas. They don't know the meaning of the word 'cloud' here.

"So what are you saying, Lauren?" His lips press into a thin, hard line and a muscle twitches in his jaw.

I take a deep shuddering breath, tug the ginormous ring off my finger and hand it back to him. "It's obvious, isn't it? I want an annulment."

The ride home to San Francisco isn't nearly as enjoyable as the ride to Vegas was, what with all the lovin'. The tension in the tour bus is thicker than Pepper's famous clam chowder. Drax is sitting up with the driver, looking pissed as hell, and I'm trying to keep a low profile in the back bedroom.

It didn't help when Marco came to collect his money and hit on me yet again. Naturally, it made my skin crawl, but it just irritated Drax even more.

"Lauren?" Savory taps on the accordion door. "Can I come in?"

He's really the nicest guy, and I have to wonder how he got swept up in the rocker life. It doesn't seem to suit his laid-back, not to mention sober, personality.

"Sure. What's up?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he says, sitting down next to me on the bed. "Doesn't seem like your wedding day is going so well."

Good grief. I roll my eyes at him. "Save, it doesn't really count if you can't remember it."

I can't tell if his grimace means he agrees with me or not. I choose to believe it does.

"Drax doesn't seem to think so."

"Please," I chuff. "He's just pouting because his precious fee-fees are hurt. He's not used to being the rejectee. It's not like he really wants to be married to me or anything. We made a drunken mistake."

He's about to say something when Jake pokes his head in the room. "You guys gotta see this!"

We make our way to the table where Frank is on the laptop. Drax is still playing the martyr up front. I don't even care. Seriously.

"Check it out," Frank says, pointing to the screen.

It's one of the snarkiest gossip sites on the web and right there at the top, in full color and high resolution, is an image of Drax and me stumbling out of the wedding chapel at oh-dark-thirty this morning.

I've never looked less like myself than in that photo -- and I don't mean that in a good way. My hair is a ratted mess and the black eyeliner that Drax applied before the show has smudged halfway down my cheeks. I'm braying like a donkey, clearly smashed, and to top it all off, my boobs are on the verge of slopping out of my corset...again. Drax, on the other hand, looks as delicious as ever grinning down at me.

The headline reads, "What the Hell Happens in Vegas?!" I'm afraid to look at the photo caption but I can't help myself. I'm like a moth to a flame -- or in this case, the fiery inferno of hell.