She wiggled her toes, encountering rigid confines. Sheets didn't usually confine her feet, either. Inhaling a breath, she realized she was still wearing that torturous strapless bra she'd borrowed from Izzy. The one with the underwire that made her lungs feel like an asthma attack in the offing.

Hmm. So she was still completely dressed. And, she realized, lying on top of a bed instead of in one.

Meaning last night she must have—last night!

Her heart jolted as last night—and what she'd done during its dark hours—flooded her brain. Eyes flying open, she jerked upright on the bed.

The blackout curtains covering the hotel windows gave the room a murky gloom. Sunshine peeked around the edges, confirming it had been hours and not mere minutes since she'd sat down on the bed after—

The bathroom door swung open. Emily's heart jumped again as a dark figure loomed in the doorway, backlit by golden light and the curling steam from the shower, like the headline singer in the Vegas show they'd seen last night before she'd… before they'd…

Oh, God.

"Will?" she whispered, her voice a croak. One hand pressed the bodice of her dress to her chest, while the other yanked at the hem of the spangly garment, another item from Izzy's wardrobe. "Is that…is that…?"

"It's your best friend." The husky voice of Isabella Caveletti—Izzy—sealed the identification as she stepped over the threshold.

Emily felt only slight relief. "It was all a dream, then?" she asked, voicing her foolish, foolish hope.

"Nope," Izzy sai