When I met Professor David Carstairs on the ferry to my mother’s wedding, I knew instantly he was The One. Only, the next morning I found out my mom’s mystery groom was none other than David’s dad, turning our dreams of happily-ever-after into one long nightmare! Now, for the sake of their happiness, we've agreed to pretend our magical night together never happened. But how do you pretend you don’t know the taste of a man’s kiss or the way his voice sounds when he whispers your name? How do you pretend you’re not desperately, irrevocably in love with your new stepbrother?

After three years of trading barbs with Professor Hank Talbot, I should have been immune to his insults, but the handsome, arrogant playboy knew exactly how to push my buttons. But when he told our colleagues my idea of a good time was staying home to organize my sock drawer, I’d had enough. He wanted to see me let loose? Fine. Challenge accepted. From dive bars to dance clubs, that night we hit up the best that Sin City had to offer—including a stop at Elvis’s little white wedding chapel. That’s right, folks. Hank and I got drunk in Las Vegas and then we got hitched. Talk about a cliché. But what was even more surprising than accidentally marrying the man I hated most in the world was realizing it might not be a mistake after all.