What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Or does it?

Okay, let me explain. I broke into my crush’s dressing room to sniff his tights (not in a pervy way, I swear!) and got busted while, um... you get the idea. He then kind of, sort of blackmailed me into agreeing to a fake green card marriage with him. But hey, I’m not complaining.

Next thing I know, we’re on a flight to Vegas to make our friends and family think we had a crazy drunken night and, in the spur of the moment, tied the knot. Except… that’s exactly what happens. (Thanks a lot, vodka.)

Considering that he’s the most desirable ballet dancer in New York City and I’m a garage-dwelling secret blogger with a major sweet tooth, there’s no way this marriage could ever become real. Not to mention my totally crazy family and my aversion to every smell under the sun—except his.

All I can hope for is to not fall in love with my husband. That shouldn’t be too hard, right?