A/N: Love to mycrookedsmile & my other Perv Pack girls for approving this all for me. Just a note to readers: FFn has changed the format for review replies, so if you have PMs disabled, I won't be able to respond.

BPOV

Jessica ends up bringing my bags and all my stuff to me, only staying for a few minutes to make sure I'm okay. I thank and hug her tightly, assuring her I'll keep her up to date and that we'll meet later to eat or something.

So when there's a knock at the door, I expect it to be Edward, assuming he'd forgotten to take his keycard whenever he took off. I make my way there cautiously, nervous to face . . . whatever is about to happen. To my surprise, it's Rosalie, who quickly wraps me in a loving, comforting embrace that makes me completely fall apart.

"Are you all right?" she asks, studying my face.

"Did Jess call you?" I wonder aloud, assuming our other friend probably alerted her. We move toward the bed and sit side by side.

"No, why?"

"Oh, I called her earlier. I don't know where Edward is."

"I do," she says, a scowl creasing her pretty face. "He came to our room a little while ago. He's probably still there with Emmett, but I basically threatened his manhood if he didn't get his ass back here."

"Seriously?" I ask, feeling my eyes widen in shock.

She pouts. "Not quite, but I assume it was understood."

That makes me crack a smile, but I still feel a little sick to my stomach, and it's not from everything I drank the night before. At the very least, I have the confirmation that he's coming back eventually, but I have no clue what's going to happen when he returns. We'll obviously have a lot to talk about, and I seriously don't know where to start.

"What happens now?" she says, and I'm at a loss for a moment.

"I have no idea. I mean, I know I've done some impulsive stuff but never anything like this. Seriously, could it get more impulsive than a Vegas wedding?"

"Yeah . . . I guess you could just get divorced and write it off as a 'What Happens in Vegas' memory."

Rosalie is right; we could just get a divorce and pretend like it never happened. Plenty of people do that, right? And it's crazy to be married right now – wow, I'm married – when I'm in the middle of getting so many details of my life straightened out. Yet there's a part of me that shudders away from that idea.

"I'm . . . not sure," I admit to her. "I know this probably sounds stupid to you, but god, Rose, if you could have seen the way he was looking at me last night . . . It was like we instantly connected, and I don't think it was just from the drinking. It's not something I can really pinpoint – more of a feeling, you know? It was genuine, no matter how unbelievable it seems. It's a one in a million chance, or less, but maybe it's so crazy it could work. I just don't know."

I stop myself, feeling like I'm babbling.

"Say something, please," I quietly beg her.

"Well, I do think you're crazy, but baby girl, he would be the crazy one to let you go if you're willing to try." She reaches over and hugs me tightly, and I realize it's the reassurance I need. If I'm going to put myself out there, rejection would be the most difficult outcome to deal with. "And listen," she continues, "I get what you're saying. That maybe-it's-love-at-first-sight feeling, that's how it was for Emmett and me. Just . . . be careful. And know that Em and I love you and will be here for you no matter what, okay?"

"Thank you," I tell her, pulling her close for another hug, mostly for my benefit.

She kisses the top of my head and strokes my hair. "Let's get you cleaned up and find some food."

I agree and get up to take a shower, but the door suddenly opens and there's Edward. He looks disheveled and worn, and I find myself drawn to him. For a moment, I forget my anxiety and want to make sure he is okay. Rosalie quickly excuses herself, and I don't miss the warning look she gives him on her way out.

This is it. We're finally face to face again in the light of day, watching one another and clearly both waiting for the other to say something.

"Hi," I manage.

"Hi."

"Everything okay?"

He huffs an insincere laugh at that, his eyes dropping to the floor as he shakes his head. I marvel at the way he rakes his fingers through his hair, which brings me a flashback of clutching that hair tightly the night before when he had me pinned to the door. I shake off the memory and watch him carefully as his eyes hesitantly return to mine.

"Listen, Bella, I'm sorry for taking off. I . . . I kind of freaked out this morning. I hate saying this, but there's a lot I don't remember from last night."

He looks ashamed, and once more, I feel sick. "How much?" I say with a gulp.

Edward steps closer, and I instinctively scoot back on the bed, as if proximity could shield me from his words. His eyes pinch closed and he looks pained. I don't want him to say what I think he's about to. I hold my breath.

"I remember having so much fun with you. I remember thinking you were so sexy and wanting to get you back here in this room with me. Sorry, I know I'm a jerk for that, but when you dance . . . never mind, I'm getting distracted. But, Bella . . . I don't remember any of this," he says, holding his hand up to display the ring we bought for him, "and I have no idea what else happened between us. Here. You know."

Yes, I know what he means. Unlike my realization earlier, he has no clue if we slept together. Worst of all, he doesn't remember that crazy wedding. God, what a fucking cliché we are. The wave of emotions I experience is worse than anything I've ever felt, and I immediately dash for the bathroom. There's shame, disappointment, and so much else I can't explain. I don't want him to see me cry, though, and that's why I hide.

"Bella!" he calls after me. "I'm so, so sorry!"

I turn on the water to mask the sound of my sobbing, but my efforts are futile because I didn't lock the bathroom door, and he slowly opens it, interrupting my crying jag. I let him wrap me up in a hug that shouldn't feel this awkward, and I cry against his chest.

"Please don't cry."