The first thing she did was find out his last name, which was Fenton. Okay, so she was currently Mrs. Samantha Fenton.

The second thing she did was go into 'breathing mode'. Freaking out did nothing and she resolved that she needed to be doing something. Ergo, she would not be freaking out anymore.

The third thing she did was weigh their options.

She couldn't help but cringe a little at the fact that she was now a 'them' and not a 'her'; a 'they' and not a 'she'. She was currently bound in a m...m...—she was one half of a unit in holy matrimony. Switching her thoughts around, she turned to Danny.

They were both currently in the bedroom of the hotel, which they had (or rather he had, she was too busy with her head stuck in Toilet) figured out to be the Atheneum Suite Hotel. He had intelligently thought to look at the labeling embroidered on the fluffy white towels. Further investigation told them that they were in the deluxe suite and that they had definitely made usage of the in-room mini bar.

Just the thought of any type of 'bar', be it of soap or of the alcoholic variety, was one of one thousand things that currently made Sam want to vomit.

She was currently sitting up on one of the plush couches in the room while Danny took to lying on his back on the unmade bed about three and a half feet away from her. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of Lysol and lavender scented cleaning product wafted in from the nearby bathroom.

Danny had come across a maid service cart on his short venture out of the room and had returned with three cans of Lysol and a huge bottle of the purple cleaning liquid. Sam hadn't questioned why he'd left, she was just grateful for the opportunity to brush her teeth with privacy. While Danny rid the bathroom of the awful stench of regurgitated…cosmopolitan! That's what it was!...and who knew what else, Sam sat and let her thoughts take her away.

She glanced at Danny as he stared at the ceiling, his hands flat behind his head on the pillow.

Danny seemed to be incredibly calm throughout the situation so far, and Sam was unsure of whether or not to be unnerved by this. Had she married one of those annoyingly calm people? Ugh, she hoped not. Another glance at him though, told Sam otherwise. His blue eyes seemed to cloud over as he stared upward. His body seemed stiff and the edges of his mouth were slowly but surely turning into a deep frown.

Finally, as Sam's phone vibrated next to her with what was more than likely another one of those annoying alarms that Paulina had set into her phone, she decided to speak.

"Are you okay?" she wondered aloud.

She wasn't sure if he had heard her or not until he glanced at her and nodded. "I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about."

Sam gave him a quizzical look. That couldn't have been what was upsetting him, right? She hardly even knew the guy and he was worried about her? There had to be something else.

"You're worried about me?" she questioned him slowly.

Danny nodded as if it were obvious and looked at her as if it were in fact she who was acting oddly.

"You know, I might be the one who woke up this morning with a different last name, but you still got this equally slammed on you." She told him, sitting up straighter against the couch cushion.

"Well yeah, but aren't you supposed to be getting married today? I'm guessing you've got a couple hundred people to disappoint and one angry groom. The only part of me I'm worried about is my face after he attempts to kill me." Danny gave her a shrug and a small smile that Sam decided was a nice smile.

She laughed. "Trust me, he wouldn't hit you. And he probably couldn't if he wanted to. He'll be a little…mad, but I don't think he'll want to kill you."

Danny didn't seem all that convinced, but she left it alone. There wasn't a need to get into her situation right then and really, he was still a stranger and she doubted he'd want all of the details.

After a few more minutes of silence and another missed call on her phone, Sam decided that it would be best for her to go and start to face the music with however much time she had left. She didn't know for sure since out of pride, she refused to check the alarm.

She left Danny her cellphone number, promised that she would be out of his life soon enough, and with an apologetic smile she headed downstairs to the lobby. What was she having conniptions over? This would all be over as soon as it had started, what was she so worried about? She would fix this, she would be bound to Adam for life and then this would just be another shortcoming for her mother to remind her of as she scowled at her behind her martini.

She went to the checkout desk only to find out that her newfound friend (she seriously wasn't ready to come to terms with the other word yet) had foot the bill for the hotel with a credit card. She relaxed a little. Since the Atheneum Hotel was apparently a museum in disguise, she could safely assume that this whole…thing wasn't planned.

This just disproved the paranoid argument that her mother would start, insinuating that he was probably after her family's money, right? Unless he knew that she would check and he was just trying to keep up appearances. Great, so he was either rich and had taken her someplace fancy in hopes for getting something or it was stolen and he was a con artist who preyed on heiresses. Sam shook her head, banishing her mother and her obviously genetic paranoia from her mind.

She couldn't imagine the blue-eyed stranger upstairs as some kind of criminal mastermind, though he didn't exactly seem as though he would run in her family's trust fund circle either. She had to admit that she was curious about what his deal was, though that was probably as much of her business and her arranged marriage was his. Straightening up, she headed for the doors, her left ring finger feeling heavier than before.

Sam finally forced herself to check her phone. She would have been ten hours, forty-two minutes, and eight...no nine, maybe even ten seconds away from being Mrs. Adam Cain. Hip-hip-freaking-hurray.


Sam walked into the familiar space that was her apartment with a heavy heart, feet that burned, a throbbing head, feet that ached, a quivering stomach...and feet that were about to fall off, did she mention that? The walk home had been painstakingly long and horribly painful. Yes, she said walk.

She would have driven, but of course her black BMW was nowhere to be found when she had gone searching for it. She'd given up after forty minutes and she dejectedly went to hail a cab, only to realize that her wallet was in her car, and that her car was MIA…somewhere downtown, when she lived just outside of the nearest suburb.

Ever the optimist though, she'd started to call an Uber on her phone only to discover that it was now dead. She probably should have been charging her phone instead of throwing it at strangers, but you know... So, not only had she gotten dead drunk the night before, she'd jumped into the car of a stranger. Obviously, many, many mistakes had been made in the last twenty-four hours.

Sam could not deny that there was a brief moment where she'd wanted to cry. Oh help her, she was rhyming now.

And let's not forget that she'd gotten married! Yes, she was now trying to make an attempt to say it. As difficult as it might have been to think of...what she had done, sometime during the cruel and punishing five mile walk home she had come to terms with her...decision. Alright, so she wasn't completely to terms with it, so sue her!

God, she just wanted to fall into her large, feathery bed and sleep forever. She kicked off the shoes of her affliction that had seemed a lot cuter when she wasn't what had seemed like four and a half hours away from home. (It was really barely two, but her pain and despair led her to exaggerate.)

She walked by the mirror in the hall to see that she was just as haggard looking as she felt. The pro of looking like a she-beast was that she had not been hit on once during her long trek home. After washing her face and making her hair look somewhat human again, Sam made her way toward her bedroom only to be stopped by the horrible sound of ringing in the kitchen. She groaned and trudged to it, not bothering to check the caller ID. As she answered however, she wished that she had.

"Hello?" Sam yawned, walking out toward the living room.

"Oh my God, are you TIRED? You'd better not have bags under your eyes, Sam Manson! And why aren't you answering your cellphone? It's bad enough that you're the only person alive, besides my great uncle, who still uses a Blackberry, but now I actually had to call your landline." Paulina snipped.

Sam woke up at once, paling at the use of her last name. "Paulina, we need to talk."

"No, we don't have time for talking! Even this, this talking right here, there is no time for it! Now, we've got like ten hours, which isn't enough hours. You get married at eight o'clock sharp to-ni-ght. It is going to be beautiful with stars and fairy lights and romance, etcetera, etcetera." Paulina rattled on.

Sam could imagine Paulina looking over her checklist now and checking off 'stars', 'fairy lights', 'romance' and 'etcetera'.

"No, Paulina, this is a conversation that really can't wait."

"Girl, whoa. I get it, okay? You're nervous about this. That's totally understandable..."

"Paulina, no. I—"

"...it's going to be the wedding of the century, and you've got jitters, babes. It's okay. Now in thirty minutes..."

Why wasn't she listening? If breaking this to Paulina was this difficult, she dreaded everything else even more so now; Paulina was supposed to be the easiest!

'Stupid Sam,' she thought bitterly. 'Nothing with Paulina Sanchez is "easy".' She then smirked to herself, thinking of something mean to contradict that thought, but she shook her head in an attempt to focus.

"Pau-lin-a. Pay attention! We need to talk now because—"

"...we'll go get our nails done so that they look gorgeous during the toast and—"

Sam held her head in her hands as she made her way to the living room. Lying on the couch, she internally pitied her head, not for Paulina's loudness, which there was actually a pleasant lack of, but for her stupidity, which seemed to be coming in waves that day. Maybe she should have just thought that thought about her from before. She would so think it next time...that is if she made it through this time.

It was a good thing that Sam didn't really care all that much for Paulina, or else she might have felt guilty for what she was about to do.

"—there isn't going to be a wedding, Paulina, so just shut the hell up!"

"..." Silence. Pure silence filtered in through the other end of the line. She heard a loud clack on the other end of the phone and she surmised that it was either the clipboard or Paulina's haven't-had-a-carb-since-the-eighth-grade body hitting the floor.

"Paulina?" Sam questioned cautiously.

"What was that?" Paulina's voice was dangerously low and Sam could already hear the impending screeches.

"'There isn't going to be a wedding'?" Sam repeated. It wasn't that she was afraid of Paulina, it was that she was afraid of what Paulina and her loud mouth could do to her waning hangover headache.

"No, after that! You told me to shut the hell up!"

Sam rolled her eyes. Of course.

"Paulina, I need you to focus. I am not getting married today."

She could hear Paulina picking something up, most likely her plastic clipboard, as she asked, "Why? Do you have a pimple? Because I can definitely schedule a dermatologist visit after the nails. It's going to take fifteen minutes away from the aquatic massage, though."

"When did you book an aquatic mass—no. It isn't anything stupid like that."

"That isn't stupid!" Paulina argued, huffily. "Fine, then what is it?"

Sam took a deep breath. This would be her first time saying this aloud to someone beside herself. She could do this...she could definitely do this. "I'm already married."

There was a bigger sounding clack this time, sounding as if Paulina had not dropped the clipboard, but this time thrown it into something breakable.

"YOU ELOPED? AFTER THE MONTHS OF PLANNING I DID, YOU AND THAT BLONDE PRETTYBOY ELOPED?"

Sam shut her eyes. The impending loudness had arrived. This was really going to be more difficult than she'd expected.

"What? No, Paulina. That is the problem. It isn't Adam that I'm married to."

"Then who the hell did you marry? Was it DiCaprio? I saw that picture of the two of you on Lynne's Facebook. Was that Photoshopped? I heard Efron is back on the market, actually." Sam turned to the door as the bell buzzed. "Let me up, Anil isn't here."

Anil was Sam's doorman, a foreign young man about her age. He was from a smaller country that Sam could never remember off-hand and he was very sweet, although a bit naïve. Sam found it very funny how he always seemed to disappear once Paulina appeared. He claimed it was because she reminded him of an urban legend in his country about a Chupacabra woman who killed men by draining their blood. Sam had only laughed and said that Paulina drained wallets, not blood.

She buzzed Paulina up and moments later the elevator opened and out stepped Paulina, dressed to the nines in an ice-blue mini dress and matching Balenciaga heels. Her perfectly manicured pink nails flashed at Sam as the woman before her clutched a broken clipboard (she knew it) in one hand and whipped off her Prada sunglasses with the other.

Paulina's aquamarine colored eyes darkened as she replied, "I know I said that you sounded like shit before, but you actually look like it too. Caca. Pure caca."

Her eyes then trailed over to Sam's tattered black Louboutins that had been left by the door. Sam ignored her dark gaze and walked back to the couch where she then proceeded to close her eyes, lay her head down and ball up into a fetal position. Paulina made people want to do that, you know. Paulina walked—no, correction, Paulina never walked. She traipsed past Sam and into the kitchen and opened what sounded like the fridge.

"So now, what's going on?" Paulina annoyingly flopped down onto the couch near Sam's curled up feet.

"I'm married." She flashed her the solid wedding band and turned her head away to the side.

Paulina grabbed her hand for a closer inspection and scoffed. "Well, it's not Leo or Zac because they definitely would have put out for a bigger rock...or a rock in general. This is just a pinsy little band."

Sam pulled her hand back, unsurprised by Paulina's shallowness. "He's not a celebrity...at least not that I know of."

"What do you mean 'that you know of'? Ooh, is he mysterious?"

"If by 'mysterious' you mean I don't know anything about him, then sure." Her voice was muffled into the side of the couch, and her nose was pressed in an odd way against one of the cushions.

"Wait. What? What do you mean you don't know anything about him? How do you marry someone without knowing anything about them?" After she didn't answer, Paulina took the cold water bottle she'd just gotten out of the fridge and brushed it against Sam's leg, causing her to sit up quickly.

"I wasn't sleeping! I was thinking of a way to explain!" Sam snapped, cursing Paulina for her returned head rush.

"Then hurry up and explain. If I'm throwing away seventeen months of wedding planning, you'd better have a damn good explanation."

Sam rolled her eyes again, something she found herself doing often around her. Paulina, thank God, wasn't her friend, though they had known each other for quite some time. Paulina Sanchez was hired by her mother as her wedding planner, thinking that it would be a good time for the two 'high school buddies' to catch up. In fact, Sam hated Paulina in high school, and she hadn't exactly warmed up to her since then.

"It's your fault, by the way." Sam told her before continuing. "Last thing I remember is Club Baja, and you, Star and Trisha disappearing on the dance floor and leaving me at the table."

"With a tray of cosmos, which by the way were gone when we got back, as were you." Paulina huffed.

"Yeah," Sam remarked dryly. "Don't worry, I found all of us this morning."

Paulina wrinkled her nose and waved her on.

"Next thing I know, I'm waking up to your phone call in a bathtub in the Atheneum,"

"That was interrupted by you hanging up on—... okay, sorry." Paulina turned to drink from the bottle after noticing Sam's glare.

"And then there's a half-naked man in the room with me, and yes, he was cute. Some conversation happens, next thing I know, I'm Mrs. Samantha Fenton."

"'Fenton'? That name sounds familiar." Paulina replied.

"It's also a town in Michigan, Paulina. And yes, I'm going to be getting very familiar with the name until I call my lawyer." Sam sighed, nestling her face between the pillow and the couch again.

"You mean your parents' lawyer. Which means that you are going to have to tell them. And you've got... exactly nine hours and fifty-seven minutes to do so. I'd advise you to do it before the wedding and not during, but either way, I still get paid, so..."

Sam held up a hand to silence her and was hoping she'd be letting herself out when she heard her footsteps going opposite her side of the room. She heard a faint noise, most likely Paulina, and decided to drown it out with her own stressed out thoughts. After about three minutes or so, she snapped.

"Would you either shut up or go home?"

She lifted her head to see Paulina busy with her iPhone. "That was definitely not me."

Sam sat up as Paulina went to the window, watching as the Latina glanced out of the window, then back to her, then out of the window again with a small smirk.

"Hm…Samantha, what did you say your new hubby looked like?" Paulina inquired.

"Don't call me that. And I didn't." Sam yawned. "Why?"

"But you said he was cute?"

Sam nodded. "He is. Why?"

"Blue eyes, dark hair about the same color as yours?"

Sam began to rise as suspicion built up inside of her. "Yes...Paulina, what is outside that window?"

"Mm...some cars, some trees, your new lover with your car and your wallet in hand." Sam could practically hear the annoying enjoyment in her voice.

She leapt up, head rush be damned, and rushed to the window to see. Of course, just as Paulina had said, there were her car, her wallet, and her new husband in possession of them.

"H-hey Sam! I tried to call you but it kept going to voicemail! You left your keys with the valet at the hotel, so I put the address from your ID in your wallet in the GPS! I brought your stuff!" He called up to her.

Sam didn't respond though, seeing as right behind Danny and her car, pulled up a pearl white stretch limousine. Sam's heart caught in her throat. She knew that license plate…she knew that limousine.

Sam bolted for the elevator as fast as she could, ignoring Paulina's whiny inquiries of where she was going. She thankfully made it down in record time, nearly barreling over poor Anil. She sprinted through the lobby of her apartment building only to find that just as she was about to run out of the lobby doors, a redheaded woman stepped out of the limousine.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no…" Sam prayed under her breath, almost inches from the pair of them.

"You are not the valet I hired. Who in God's name are you and what do you think you're doing with Samantha's car?" The redheaded woman questioned sharply.

Sam, who was not in the best shape of her life, was too out of breath to stop him from answering.

"I'm kind of her husband, who are you?"

The woman dramatically took two reeling steps back and both the driver and the driver's assistant had to catch her as she slumped to the ground.

Sam, who finally caught her breath, breathily replied, "She's kind of my mother."