Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

Rose

He had every right to be angry with me. Logging into someone else’s device is probably illegal, but to someone like Brandon Weiss, the information stored in his emails alone could be life-changing if used against him.

I shouldn’t have confessed. I wanted to help him, and now he’ll never trust me again.

I dress for the show in jeans with sequin strips down the sides, and a gold silk shirt that fastens above the waistband with a neat knot. I keep my makeup natural, and my hair long and wavy. The excitement that has been bubbling inside me all afternoon has evaporated and been replaced with a sickly sense of dread.

How will Brandon be tonight? Attentive? The doting newlywed husband? Or brusque, barely civil enough to satisfy the onlookers’ curiosity that this is real?

I’m about to leave the room when I remember the wedding ring. I go back for it and slide it onto my finger, taking a deep breath as I shut the door behind me and make my way to the elevator.

My stomach twists when I enter the bar. I can’t find Brandon. I surreptitiously check out the tables, avoiding the glances of the people sitting back and sipping champagne and cocktails, and head slowly to the bar, trying to appear nonchalant. I’m prepared to turn around and leave, praying that no one will notice, when my gaze drifts to the gleaming black piano being played on a round podium.

Brandon is sitting behind it next to a black guy with huge sad eyes and the widest smile I’ve ever seen. They’re playing a tune together, their eyes fixated on the keys.

I stop and listen. It’s a jazz tune, something I’ve never heard before, and would never recognize if I heard it again, but there’s something about the way Brandon is playing that melts me inside. I can no more turn around and walk away from him than I could tell my dad about the guilt that has suffocated me all my life.

I don’t move. I watch him, mesmerized by the look on his face, and I try to believe that everything is going to be okay. It will work out the way it’s supposed to, and although I don’t know what this means for us both exactly, I’m trusting the universe to see us both right.

When the song finishes, he shakes the other guy’s hand and walks back to the bar, smiling. He falters when he notices me. “How long have you been standing there?” He places a protective hand on the small of my back and guides me towards the bar.

“Long enough.” I slide onto a stool and order a soda and lime—playing it carefully. The combination of liquor and Elvis has already done enough damage. “Where did you learn to play like that?”

“As a child, I was forced to endure lessons at home. My mother believes that music is the food of life.”

“She’s probably right.”

My heart does this funny fluttery thing when I look at him, and it has nothing to do with wanting to rip his clothes off and bang him on the bar counter. I’m happy that he isn’t still angry with me, that he chose to come down here and play piano rather than prolong a discussion that would’ve ruined tonight for both of us. A glimmer of hope flickers inside me like a tiny flame trying to emerge through the rain.

We have seats in the VIP area of the Colosseum at Caesars Palace. It’s plush and regal and—like everything else in Brandon’s life—expensive, but I promise myself that I won’t think about that tonight. I’ll enjoy being Mrs. Weiss, even if it is only temporary.

I’m so excited for the show to begin that I sit on the edge of my seat, soaking up the sights of the stage, the lights, the curtains, the people. I don’t even hear Brandon ordering drinks until he hands me a glass of champagne.

“To Rod,” he says, his fingers brushing mine and leaving their mark behind. “May he forever rock the long, shaggy perm and leopard print pants.”

I can’t help laughing. “You’ve seen the videos?”

“Of course, hasn’t everyone?” He pauses. “Today. I watched the videos today.”

I suck my bottom lip, suppressing my smile. “You never heard him sing ‘Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?’ before today?”

Brandon grimaces and sips his champagne.

“I can’t believe you just admitted this at a Rod Stewart gig, but I’ll let you off because…” My voice trails away.

“Because?”

Because when Brandon shrugs off the Weiss boss persona and sees the real world, he’s a lot of fun? Or because I’m grateful that he chose not to continue the discussion from earlier?

“Because we’re here in Vegas tonight, and I’ll never forget this for as long as I live.”

We settle into a comfortable silence until the curtain is raised, and Rod appears on stage, disappointingly in a shiny silver suit.

I lean closer to Brandon. “He didn’t brave the pants.”

“Are you disappointed?” he whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

“A little.”

“I’ll try to make it up to you later.”

I keep my eyes focused on the stage and wait for the butterflies to stop dancing around inside my chest. I can’t quite believe that my body is sending all these messages to my brain, and it occurs to me then that I’ve never looked forward to getting naked with someone this much before.

Rod opens the show with a cover of ‘Addicted to Love’. By the time he gets around to ‘The First Cut is the Deepest’ Brandon and I are both singing along, and I know I’m going to wake up tomorrow with no voice. “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?’ is still the showstopper, and the entire audience is on its feet, singing along and performing their best imitation of the iconic dance from the original video.

It isn’t until the show is over, and the lights come back on, that I blink the arena back into focus and peer around at the sea of smiling faces. That’s when I realize that people are staring at us. I glance over my shoulder, but everyone else in the VIP area is making their way towards the exit; back again, and more people are casting furtive glances our way.

“What’s wrong?” Brandon asks.

I cast my eyes down, suddenly self-conscious. “People are watching us.”

Brandon shrugs. “We’re a very watchable couple.”

“Do you… Do you think they know who you are?”

“Possibly.” A grin spreads across his face. “We could always give them something to talk about.”

I can’t take my eyes off his lips. My pulse is racing of its own accord, and I lean closer to him, our noses almost touching. “Like this,” I whisper, as my lips meet his.

He cups my face in both hands. His tongue fills my mouth, and I find myself sliding scarily towards the point of no return.

“Come on.” He pulls away, offers me his hand and entwines his fingers with mine while we join the line to get out. “People have been staring at you since we saw Moulin Rouge .”

“Oh, don’t tell me that.”

“Why not? You look beautiful tonight, Rose.” He holds my gaze, and I feel the heat flooding into my cheeks.

“More beautiful than last night?”

“I only remember you with your clothes off last night.”

After the warm buzz of the Colosseum, we enter the vibrant headiness of the Vanderpump Cocktail Garden. My cheeks are still hot from Brandon’s reminder of what happened after our drunken wedding. I breathe in the scent of his cologne, his shampoo, the champagne we drank at the show, and I want to kiss him. My jeans rub when I walk, and I can still feel him inside me.

It’s like existing inside a bubble of sex that only the two of us know about. We walk and talk and drink champagne as if we belong with the rest of the world, when all I can think about when I’m with him is how it would feel to find a secluded corner and feel him inside me, oblivious to what’s going on around us.

We find a table and order cocktails. My drink, when it arrives, is dusky pink, with edible glitter and gems decorating the rim of the glass. It’s easier to hide behind a drink and pretend that I can’t feel Brandon’s thigh rubbing against mine. It also gives me the opportunity to check out the other guests.

Groups of people are chatting noisily, heads tipped back with laughter. There are couples sitting close together, shoulders rubbing. A young woman with long blonde hair leans into her boyfriend and sucks his earlobe, and I quickly look away.

Then I catch the eye of a man wearing a black crew-neck sweater and black pants. I scan past him, taking little notice. But then something draws me back to him, only he isn’t there. I pinpoint the exact place I saw him, studying the tables on either side of where he was sitting, frustrated at myself for not paying more attention.

I don’t even know why I’m so intent on finding him. I don’t know him. I’m not attracted to him. But there was something familiar about him, and it will eat away at me until I figure it out.

I wish Jess was here—she has the memory of an elephant when it comes to faces.

Brandon’s phone vibrates with an incoming call. He checks the caller ID, scrunches up his face, and murmurs, “I have to take this call, sorry. I’ll be as quick as I can.” He kisses my lips before he walks away, and it’s all I can feel, his mouth on mine.

I continue scanning the bar for the man in black. Although, with the lingering kiss imprinted on my lips, it’s more for something to do until Brandon returns than any sense of urgency or fulfillment. It will probably come to me in the middle of the night that I met him once in a café, or he was a kid from my homeroom at high school.

Someone slides into the booth beside me, and I turn around to find Damon grinning at me while he checks out my cocktail. “Didn’t have you down as someone who enjoys these tacky drinks.”

“Damon, what are you doing here?” My eyes flit around the room hoping to find Brandon heading back to the booth. But he’s nowhere to be seen.

“What kind of welcome is that, sister-in-law?” Damon wrinkles his nose as if the title sounds all wrong when spoken out loud.

“Sorry, I just didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Here in Vegas, or here in the same cocktail bar as my brother and his new wife?”

I think about the half-story he fed me on Ruby Island about Brandon and Kelly, and his complete lack of spatial awareness, especially after a few cocktails, and I instinctively slide away from him. Where is Brandon? I’ll be disappointed if I find out that he already knew Damon was here, or worse, that he invited him along.

“What do you want, Damon?” I keep my voice low.

“Nothing. Just thought I’d stop by and keep you company as my brother has left you all alone.”

“He hasn’t left me all alone, he’s taking a call.”

“That’s my brother. Can’t resist working even in Vegas.”

I can’t look at him. I don’t know Damon, but I do know that his conversation with me on my last day on Ruby Island was manipulative and sly, a well-aimed half-truth to steer me in the wrong direction. I also know that he is nothing like his brother.

“Are you here with Kelly?”

“Fuck no.” Damon picks up Brandon’s drink and downs it without asking. “Kelly wouldn’t be seen dead in Vegas.”

I don’t know if that’s a dig at me or at his wife, so I keep quiet.

“I’m here with Jennifer, although I seem to have lost her somewhere.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

He laughs then, and two Asian men in dark suits walking past our booth turn and stare at us. “Don’t judge me, Rose. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I-I’m not judging you; I just feel sorry for your wife. Does she know?”

“What do you think?”

“Do you really want to know?”

He grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns my face so that I’m looking directly at him. “Only if you’re not going to get all prim and proper on me. No one likes a prude, Rose.”

“You mean you don’t like a prude.”

His face breaks into a smile, but his eyes are constantly darting around the room, and I wonder if he’s more concerned about losing Jennifer than he’s prepared to admit. “No wonder my brother wanted to keep you all to himself.”

It takes a couple of beats for me to process his words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He didn’t tell you about our little wager, did he?”

“Wager?” I hate that my voice cracks—I don’t want Damon to know that his words can affect me.

“We had a bet when you arrived on Ruby Island, that I could crack you before he did.”

Suddenly, the noises inside the Cocktail Garden are buzzing around my head like bees around a bellflower. It’s too hot. Too crowded. Damon’s thigh brushes mine, and I flinch.

“Don’t look so shocked, Rose. You didn’t honestly think that my brother had feelings for you, did you?” He narrows his eyes, gauging my reaction. “Oh, you did, didn’t you? First mistake, sweetheart. My brother isn’t capable of feelings—he’s like a robot, programmed only to work.”

I ignore my racing heart. I have to know. “So, have you paid him out on this bet?”

“Not yet. I’m hitting the poker tables later—why do you think I’m here? That, plus I wanted to see the evidence for myself. Too many AI generated photos floating around the Internet these days.”

“How much was this bet?” My voice doesn’t even sound like my own.

“I suggested a thousand, but Brandon insisted on bumping it up to ten grand.” He winks at me then, and I want to run away, but I force myself to remain seated. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me flee. “I’m sure you’re worth it.”

Tears well in my eyes, and I turn away from Damon.

A wager. That’s all I am to him. I’m such an idiot for thinking that I could’ve ever been more to him than just sex. I’ve been blinded by the diamond on my finger, the hotel room, the Rod Stewart gig. Blinded into thinking that he might actually enjoy my company.

My thigh hits the table as I stand up, but I barely acknowledge the bruise that will already be forming under the surface of my skin. I need to get out of here before Brandon comes back and resumes this fa?ade that he has adapted to so easily.

I dodge tables and people and servers balancing trays of cocktails on one hand. My eyes are so blurry with tears that I don’t register the man in black somewhere near the entrance watching me leave. The instant I’m outside, I start running, and I don’t look back.