Chapter 3
chapter
three
Evelyn
I’m still riding the high of sitting in first class for the first time.
Then Finley sent a town car to pick me up, fully equipped with a man in a black suit with a professional sign emblazoned with my name on it.
There were gourmet chocolates waiting for me in the back of the car, along with my choice of a variety of beverages.
I’m very much looking forward to finding out my character too.
Finley said the package includes all the extras.
She really is the bestest friend. Not because of the financial extravagance, just because she knows me.
She sees me. And she knew—better than I did—that I needed a small break from my life.
Now I’m waiting in line at the registration desk of the swankiest Las Vegas hotel.
I’ve got to admit I’m pretty damn excited about the weekend.
Meeting new people can be stressful, but a decade of being an elementary school teacher has desensitized me to strangers.
And loud noises. And bright colors. So far, Las Vegas is like an indoor Field Day at my school with only taller Kindergartners.
That makes me chuckle to myself.
“Name?” the woman behind the desk asks, smiling brightly.
“Evelyn Barlow.”
Her expression changes instantly.
“Oh!” she says, eyes lighting up. “We’ve been expecting you.”
I grin to myself.
Game on.
She types quickly, nodding as if confirming something important. “Welcome, Ms. Barlow. We’re so pleased you’ve arrived safely. Everything in the suite is waiting for you. Your fiancé will be joining you soon. I believe his flight was slightly delayed.”
Fiancé? I’m guessing this means my character is either a bride or a newlywed.
Before I can ask what everything entails, another staff member appears at her side. Then another. Suddenly, my small carry-on is whisked away, and I’m being offered water—sparkling or still—and asked if I prefer rose petals or orchids.
“Uh… orchids?” I say, because why not?
“Excellent choice,” the concierge replies solemnly.
I’m escorted past the regular elevators to a private one, and when the doors slide open, the words bridal suite are casually dropped like this is a totally normal thing to hear on a Thursday afternoon.
“Your suite is fully stocked,” the concierge says. “Mr. Sinclaire has thought of everything, but if you find you need anything at all, do not hesitate to contact me directly.”
My stomach flips.
The whole bridal theme makes sense because we’re in Vegas. It makes me wonder if everyone participating will be paired up. Maybe the murder will involve someone offing their spouse. I’ve got to ask Finley how she found this adventure.
The suite is… unreal.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the famous Las Vegas Strip below. More gourmet chocolates sit in decorative dishes on nearly every surface. Next to them are orchids—actual orchids—arranged artfully in beautiful vases. Wow, that was fast.
There’s a bar area with an impressive display of liquor.
But also a wide variety of fresh fruit. I move further into the suite and step into the bedroom.
The room itself is enormous with a sunken bed that looks bigger than a King.
I don’t even know if they make beds bigger than standard King-sized.
The linens are so white and crisp they practically glow.
Then I notice the rack of dresses, all in varying shades of white. Sleek satins. Lace. Minimalist. Dramatic. Short. Long. Everything from modern chic to classic romance.
A note hangs from the center hanger.
Pick one you want and put it on.
A laugh bubbles out of me.
“Well,” I say to the empty room, “that’s bananas!” I giggle. “But so damn fun.”
I pick a simple ivory dress—elegant without being over-the-top—and slip into it, half expecting someone to burst in and accuse me of stealing or being in the wrong place.
No one does.
I’m adjusting the straps when the knock comes.
I barely have time to turn before the door opens.
And then—
Oh.
Oh wow.
He’s tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a perfectly tailored tux that looks like it was made specifically to ruin my ability to think clearly. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Intense eyes that sweep over me slowly, thoroughly.
For a second, neither of us speaks.
Then his mouth curves slightly.
“Evelyn?” he asks.
“Yes?” I say.
He cocks a brow. “Sure about that?”
I laugh and it sounds a little breathless. “Yes, I’m Evelyn.” I think maybe my brain has temporarily short-circuited. Because this man is distractingly handsome.
“Good,” he says, voice low. “You look… ready. And lovely.” He pauses, his dark eyes sweeping over every inch of my body. “You look lovely.”
I release a heavy sigh. “I hope so. I assume you’re…?”
“Mike,” he says, stepping closer. He encloses my outstretched hand into both of his. His palms are warm, cocooning my own small hand. “We don’t have much time.”
Of course we don’t. There’s always a ticking clock in these experiences.
“Oh, but I can’t forget about this,” he says, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring.
It’s nothing short of stunning. Simple. Elegant. A silver or platinum band with a single, though large, solitaire. It’s the most beautiful, clear, and sparkling diamond I’ve ever seen.
My eyes widen. “Wow,” is all I can manage.
He slips the ring onto my finger. I stare at the ring, utterly dazzled. I’m sure the stone is a replica, but holy wow, does it look good on my hand. Somehow, like the dress, it fits perfectly. For a moment, it feels like I’m in my very own romantic comedy movie.
He pauses. “You ready to do this, princess?”
I nod. “I think this is just what I need.”
“I meant for us to spend more time together before the ceremony, but my last-minute trip to Japan messed with my schedule,” he explains.
I smile at him. “I suppose we have time for that later.”
“Absolutely,” he says.
“Even if it is just for pretend, you’re the hottest man I’ve ever gone out with. Gah, that’s probably really uncool to admit.”
He gives me a devastating smile. “I am always uncool,” he says. “And you, princess, are breathtaking.”
I want to argue with him about him being uncool, but I’m so struck by his last comment that I’m tongue-tied.
Minutes later, we’re stepping into a limousine, heart racing, adrenaline humming, the city lights blurring past as we pull away from the hotel.
I glance at him, this stranger who looks like a billionaire movie star and smells like temptation.
Me? Breathtaking?
All part of his character, I remind myself. I need to be sure I don’t do something completely foolish and fall in love with my fake husband this weekend.