Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

Brandon

We check into the Venetian on the Las Vegas strip. I chose it because I thought that Rose might appreciate the over-the-top opulence, the gilt-edged décor everywhere you turn, and the Grand Canal complete with gondolas. If you’re coming to Vegas, you might as well do it properly.

And I wasn’t wrong.

She walks around the suite touching everything, gaping, open-mouthed, until finally, she flops backwards onto the bed. “Pinch me now.”

I can’t help smiling at her.

She was quiet during the flight, head tipped back, and eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, her fingers splayed on her lap as if the diamond was weighing her hand down. I left her to her thoughts. We both want to get through this as quickly and painlessly as possible, although I’m certain the million dollars I promised to transfer into her father’s account will help somewhat.

“Come on.” I offer her a hand off the bed, and she takes it, smoothing the covers when she stands.

“Where are we going?”

“Where do you think?”

The slot machines are loud. Tacky. All jangling tunes, coins being pumped into trays, and bright, flickering buttons encouraging people to try their luck at winning their fortune. You can tell the die-hard gamblers, the ones that have been there all day, by the trash in the can next to their seats, the pale skin, and the twitch in the corners of their eyes.

Rose soaks it all up, imprinting it in her mind.

“Ready to try your luck?”

She shakes her head. “Later. There’s too much to see.”

She stands in the middle of the grand lobby and turns three-sixty, staring at the elaborate ceiling, the columns, the gilt statues, the concierge and bellboys in their peacock outfits.

We wander outside to the Grand Canal where a gondola glides lazily by and underneath a golden bridge.

“Can we get a gondola?” she asks, like a child asking for ice cream.

She is oblivious to the photos that have been snapped of the two of us together over the past few days. She doesn’t notice people staring at her, judging her hair, her clothes, the ring on her finger. She is like a goldfish taken out of a bowl and tossed into the ocean, blissfully unaware of the sharks heading her way, and I have the overwhelming urge to protect her.

She wouldn’t stand a chance in a room full of people like my mother and Damon with their sharp tongues and their privileged outlooks. She was right to ask what’s next. Her life will never be the same after this, and I feel responsible for her in the same way a rescuer feels responsible for the life of the person they saved.

The gondola makes me feel queasy, but I try to focus on Rose’s ever-changing expressions. She would make a terrible liar, and I remind myself not to let her get sucked into a poker game in the casino later. She points out the landmarks decorating the skyline, the aerial roller coasters, the pyramids, and the glass towers, and I try to figure out how best to let Rose Carter down gently when this is all over and the backlash over the leaked images dies down.

“What would you like to do while we’re here?”

She raises her hand and examines the diamond on her finger. She doesn’t realize it, but she unwittingly chose a diamond from the cheaper end of the range, and I don’t know if that was instinct borne from a lifetime of being frugal, or if it was really her preference.

“Can we see a show?”

I slide out my phone and scroll through a list of resident artists.

“What is it?” she asks.

I shrug. “I don’t recognize half the names.”

“That’s because you live under a rock. Tell me some names you do recognize.”

“Adele.” She shakes her head. “Mariah Carey.”

“You listen to Mariah Carey?” She grins at me.

“I never said I listened to her. Lionel Richie?”

“Better. I love 70s music.”

I park the information for now—too much and I’ll start to form an attachment to the real Rose when I need to focus on the Rose wearing the ring. “How about this then? Rod Stewart.”

“Yes!” She sits forward so abruptly the gondola rocks, and I cling to the side. “Can we go see him? Please? My dad used to listen to his records all the time when I was a little girl.”

I wait for the boat to settle, swallowing bile.

“Do you always suffer from motion sickness, Brandon?” She furrows her brow.

“It’s the concussion. We’ll go and see Rod Stewart.”

She sits back in her seat carefully, her eyes on me. “What will your mom say when she finds out about us? This?” She flashes the diamond at me.

“She’ll understand.”

“What about after Vegas? How long will I… How long do you…” She leaves the sentence hanging.

“As long as it takes. I can’t give you a definitive answer.” It sounds way harsher than I intended, but this isn’t a conversation for a newly engaged couple on a romantic trip on a gondola.

“Don’t you always deal in definitive answers?”

She has a point, so I ignore her.

We’re both quiet for a while, the only sound is the water lapping the side of the boat. Finally, she says, “Brandon, has there ever been anyone else?”

Her cheeks grow rosy with embarrassment, but I’m spared having to fabricate an answer she might want to hear when we arrive at our destination.

Strange how quickly we become comfortable with each other. In the evening, Rose looks beautiful in a black dress and simple gold locket around her neck. I don’t know if it’s the excitement of Vegas, or the lowlights in the opulent restaurant, or the way she curled her hair using fat silk sausage-shaped curlers while she got ready, but she looks different tonight.

Gone is the Rose who called me a coward on Sombrero Beach. The woman sitting opposite me is sophisticated and elegant, still caring and compassionate, but mellowed somehow because she no longer feels out of her depth when we’re alone.

The many facets of Rose Carter.

Or perhaps she simply never had a chance to shine before.

When the dessert dishes have been cleared away, we sip our wine and fall into an easy silence. The conversation over dinner was mostly about Vegas, its history, the casinos, the flamboyant hotels. Elvis.

The restaurant is still busy. The casinos won’t even come close to reaching their capacity until much later, and there are no windows or clocks to remind us of day slipping slowly into night. But that moment when we’ll ride the elevator up to our suite and share a super king bed is hanging over us like a rapidly approaching deadline.

She opens her mouth to speak and closes it again.

“What is it?” I set my glass down, and lean closer, so close, that I could reach across the table and trace the outline of her breast with my fingertip.

She blinks, fighting an internal battle. “I know about you and Kelly,” she says finally.

I sit back. I was stupid for thinking that the evening would lead to something more, something we both want. “Damon?”

She nods and sucks on her bottom lip. I drain my wine, and the server comes over to refill my glass.

“It was on your dad’s birthday when you were… When you were inside the house and everyone else was at the picnic. He said he didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“Very considerate of him.”

“Brandon.” She shakes her head and studies the diamond catching the light on her finger. “Are you still in love with her?”

I swig another mouthful of wine and wait for the edges of this conversation to blur. Only it isn’t happening quickly enough, and perhaps I owe her the truth after what she has done for me.

“I…” I pick up my glass, swill the liquid around inside it. “I thought I was.”

Emotions dance across her features again, reminding me of Kelly.

“But now you’re not so sure?”

“No.” Deep breath. “I am sure that I’m not.” I didn’t appreciate just how certain I was until I said it out loud.

She lowers her lashes, the flickering candle catching the sparkles of her dark coppery eyeshadow. “What changed?”

I fell out of love?

My brother taints everything that he touches?

Rose Carter came along and painted the world a different color?

“When I chose the business over Kelly, I never looked back. There’s no point in regrets—we make the choices that are right for us at the time. Then, when she married Damon, I?—”

“You chose Weiss Petroleum over Kelly?” Her voice is barely audible, and I watch her lips to read what she’s saying.

“Yes. I was given an ultimatum by my father: Weiss Petroleum or love. Until I made the company my own, there was no room for both. I needed to be a hundred percent focused on one or the other. Damon could never have taken over the running of the company. Even then, we all knew that he didn’t have it in him.”

Rose shakes her head. “No room for work and love. Your father said that, and you believed him.” Even I can hear the bitterness in her voice.

“I had no reason not to.”

“Even though your father managed both and is still happily married. So, what? That meant nothing to you?”

“He had already made his first billion when they met.” I don’t understand why she is so angry; it’s almost as if she is taking this personally. “Damon must’ve told you this. I bet he couldn’t wait to see your reaction.”

“No. He didn’t. He told me that you and Kelly were together.” She dabs her lips with a pristine white napkin, folds it neatly, and leaves it by the side of her plate.

It hits me then what Damon was trying to do. If he could convince Rose that Kelly and I were in love, that Kelly ditched me for my brother and I’d never gotten over it, she would stay the hell away from me, whilst feeling something for him, even if it was only pity.

“Rose. Let me explain.”

“You’ve explained quite enough.” She stands abruptly, grabs her purse, and turns to walk away. “Don’t follow me, Brandon.”

I watch her leave.

I finish my glass of wine, pour another, and ask the server to bring me a brandy. The liquor isn’t helping despite the lingering headache from the concussion.

I’ve spent my whole life trying not to disappoint my parents, trying to live up to the standards set by my father, to be the shrewdest, the most intelligent, and most ambitious son. And I’ve succeeded. But right now, I feel like a massive disappointment to Rose.

What I don’t understand is why it matters so much to me.

I down my brandy and add the check to the room tally.

I find Rose in the bar, sitting on a stool, nursing a Long Island Iced Tea. I slide onto the stool beside her and order another brandy. It’s going to be a long night.

“Can we talk?” I ask.

She gives me a sideways glance, sips her drink, and grimaces. A whole bunch of retorts seem to land on her tongue and disappear again, and finally she says, “No.”

I can’t help smiling. “Okay, I’ll talk, and you listen.”

I sip my brandy—I’ve never needed Dutch courage before.

“My future was mapped out from the day I was born. Eldest son of Ruby and Harry Weiss. Heir to one of the largest inheritances in the country. They’re big shoes to fill. Then Damon came along, and even as a child, he sensed that he was simply along for the ride. He could do whatever he wanted because I was the son everyone was watching.”

Rose swallows another mouthful of her cocktail. She doesn’t look at me, but at least she’s a captive audience.

“Kelly and I met at Harvard. We were both driven, but she’d figured out how to have fun along the way. That’s what I liked most about her—she didn’t take herself, or life, too seriously. I took her home to meet my parents, and that’s when they delivered the ultimatum.”

“You had a choice.” She finishes her drink without coming up for air and orders another.

“You’re right. And I made my decision based on what I knew was expected of me.”

She looks at me then, and her eyes are large with tears. I want to reach out and catch one, taste it on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t. “Kelly is a human being with feelings. Cut her, and she bleeds. But you sacrificed her emotions and chose money instead.”

“I chose my family’s business.”

“You chose a lifestyle, the dream that had been sold to you.”

“I thought Kelly would understand.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “And did she?”

“By then, Damon had already gotten his claws into her.”

“Listen to yourself, Brandon.” Her words are beginning to slur. “You’d rather blame Damon than accept responsibility for your own actions.”

I down my brandy. Her words sting.

“One day, someone will hurt you, and then … then maybe you’ll understand.” She finishes her drink and tries to stand.

I’m on my feet and I catch her before she topples sideways. “Come on, time to leave.”

She shoves my chest with both hands. “I’m not leaving until I’ve seen Elvis.”

“Elvis is dead, Rose.”

“Not that Elvis. Elvis in the white suit.” She starts weaving her way towards the exit and stumbles into the back of a chair.

I apologize to the man she almost landed on top of and link my arm around hers.

Outside, the air hits her immediately. She spots the engagement ring on her finger and stops, swaying unsteadily, to stare at it. “Let’s find Elvis and … and get married.”

“You’re drunk, Rose. We should go back to the room and get you some water.”

“I don’t want water.” She stumbles away from me, backwards, the heel of her shoe connecting with the base of a golden statue. “I want to get married.” Tears trickle down her face and puddle on her collarbone.

“I know.”

She jabs a finger at my chest. “But you’re afraid of commitment.”

“Rose.”

“You’re a coward, Brandon Weiss.”

“Okay,” I say, taking control and gripping her wrists tightly. “That’s enough. Let’s get you sobered up before we both say something we’ll regret.”

“Coward.” Her lips brush mine as she hisses the word. “Coward. Coward. Coward .” Forgetting that I’m still holding her, she goes to walk away and jerks back against my chest.

“People are watching, Rose. Walk with me, and we’ll get you a bottle of water.”

“Let me go.” Her voice is cold, and I release her wrists, guilt flooding my chest when I see the raised pink marks on her flesh. “I’m going to find Elvis … with or without you.”

She stumbles a few steps, stops to remove her shoes, and tosses them aside. I pick them up and fall into step beside her.