Chapter 25
CHARLOTTE
On our first night in Vegas, I was drunk. Not fun-drunk or cute-drunk, but champagne-that-cost-more-than-an-entry-level-car drunk.
The suite Trent had put me in looked like someone had dared Prince to decorate a Las Vegas penthouse while blindfolded. Purple velvet everywhere. Gold trim on everything. Pillows shaped like doves. A bed big enough for an entire choir.
I felt ridiculous standing in the middle of the suite, wearing the little white dress that Stella had shoved at me when she’d unexpectedly met us at the airport.
It had been in a garment bag until we’d arrived, but I shouldn’t have trusted her when she’d said, “You’ll look bridal enough for the photos, babe. Now go.”
My head buzzed from the nearly emptied bottle of champagne I’d downed in the last hour. The room kept listing gently left and right, like it was trying to rock me to sleep, but I didn’t want to sleep because tomorrow was a big day.
Tomorrow, we were allegedly getting married. Tomorrow morning, which was less than twelve hours from now.
In less than half a day, Trent and I would be saying our I-dos in a chapel he’d chosen. Or reserved. Or bought. Honestly, I had no clue.
He hadn’t exactly lingered long enough to explain. He’d walked me into our deliciously gaudy suite, pressed a kiss to the side of my head like I was something fragile, set my suitcase down, and disappeared.
“I’ll see you soon,” was all he’d murmured before he’d practically run out the door, not to be seen or heard from since.
That had been hours ago.
I poured the last bit of champagne into a glass and swallowed it like it was medicine. The bubbles burned pleasantly on the way down. My phone kept vibrating, unread messages from my father, Gregory, one from Stella demanding pictures of the room, and one from Trent that was short and sweet.
Trent S: Please stay in the suite. I’ll be back tonight. Promise.
I ignored them all. Because being stuck here alone was like purgatory, an in-between place separating my old life from my new one.
In just a few hours, I was going to stand in front of a stranger, preferably in an Elvis outfit with a disposable camera, saying I do to the boy I’d spent half my life trying not to want.
My father was absolutely going to kill me once he figured out where I’d gone and panic was absolutely going to catch up with me if I just kept hanging around with my empty bottle.
After drinking about a gallon of water, I slipped into a different dress, slung my purse over my shoulder, checked that I still had my bank card, and opened my banking app.
My balance blinked back at me, nice and plump for now, but Dad was going to freeze the account the second he realized I had eloped. I might as well burn through every last cent I still had before he took it all away. A small, defiant spark lit in my chest.
“Vegas,” I muttered to myself, wobbling slightly in my high heels. “Get ready for me.”
The corridor outside the suite smelled like expensive perfume and the ghosts of cigarettes past. In a stroke of luck I was going to take as a good sign, the elevator was already on our floor.
I took it down to the lobby. When the doors opened, an explosion of noise hit me like confetti to the face, slots chiming, dealers calling out, and people cheering or groaning.
It was so bright, loud, and alive, and I felt weirdly invisible.
Weirdly free. I headed straight for the casino even though I hated gambling, the last of the champagne still buzzing in my veins.
If I was getting married tomorrow—fake married, real married, or whatever technicality Trent was clinging to—then tonight, I was going to do something reckless on my own terms.
My own little private bachelorette party. Not quite what I thought it would be, but hey. Something is better than nothing.
“Let’s do this,” I whispered to the carpet, and then I plunged into the glittering, chaotic heart of the casino to lose the rest of my money before someone could stop me.
I didn’t even make it ten steps into the casino before I saw him.
At first, I thought my champagne-soaked brain was hallucinating, because Trent didn’t lounge.
He didn’t slouch. He didn’t sit at a bar with his tie undone, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his hair a full disaster like he’d been running his hands through it for hours, but there he was.
With his elbows on the polished bar, he was staring broodingly into a mostly empty glass. Equally as drunk. Equally as wrecked. Equally avoiding me just as I’d wanted to do with him.
He turned his head as I slowed to a stop and his face lit up with the warmest, stupidest grin I’d ever seen on him. My heart went ballistic. Yep. That’s the champagne giving me tingles.
“Well, hey,” he drawled, leaning back on the bar stool like he was posing. “You come here often?”
I snorted loudly enough that a man walking by actually glanced at me, but right now, this was exactly what I hadn’t known I needed. Playing along without skipping a beat, I sidled up to him and batted my eyelashes.
“Actually, I just got into town,” I said, tossing my hair dramatically and hoping it hid the faint wobble in my stance. “Took a bus here. I’m running away from some guy who won’t take no for an answer. He’s forcing me to marry him.”
“That sounds terrible.” Trent nodded gravely, motioning to the bartender for another drink. “What kind of monster would do that?”
“Oh, the worst.” I waved a hand. “Now some cowboy is trying to get hitched with me.”
“Sounds like a sexy man,” he said with a nod. “You should marry him.”
“No, he’s this old, bitter cowpoke. Very dusty. Very grumpy. Zero fun.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s a real shame because you seem like someone who deserves a fun night out on the town. You know, before he gets his lasso around you.”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “You’d do that for me?”
“Well, ma’am.” He slid off the bar stool, almost misjudging the floor but catching himself with a hand on the counter. “I’d consider it an honor.”
I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the champagne, the absurdity of our situation, or maybe it was just him.
But suddenly everything felt lighter, like the entire world had loosened up around us.
He offered me his arm like a gentleman and I took it like a girl who was absolutely ready to cut loose just one last time before everything changed.
The next few hours were a complete blur.
Not a sloppy, falling-over-myself blur, but a warm, fuzzy haze where everything was funny, and music pulsed under my skin, and Trent looked more carefree than I’d seen him in years. We tried dancing at one of the bars, but calling it actual dancing might’ve been generous.
It was more like swaying while holding each other up, occasionally spinning when a song we vaguely recognized came on. I remembered my head tipped back as I laughed at something he said about how I was stepping on his boots on purpose.
After that, we drifted to a craps table, but neither of us knew the rules. Neither of us liked gambling. Trent bought chips anyway, the reckless idiot, then held out the dice to me. “Blow on these.”
I giggled. “Am I your lucky charm?”
Those blue eyes widened like I’d offended him. “You absolutely are.”
I rolled my eyes and blew on the dice. Maybe I liked the way his gaze centered on my lips. So what? There was no law against it. We cheered when he won twenty bucks and groaned dramatically when he lost ten. We high-fived the strangers around the table like we knew what was going on.
At some point, he leaned in close and murmured, “Hey, look at that. You’re having fun.”
I bumped my shoulder into his. “Hey, look at that. So are you.”
His responding grin was lazy and lopsided, and it was my turn to stare at his lips, looking more kissable than ever. “I told you I’d give you one last night fun night out,” he said.
We kept laughing, and leaning closer, and forgetting that tomorrow morning even existed. It felt dangerous, exactly like being seventeen again, hopelessly aware of him whenever he blew into town for a couple days to see Alex.
But I didn’t question it or go to bed like I probably should’ve. Just for tonight, we weren’t trapped, or arranged, or running. We were just two tipsy idiots in Vegas, pretending we didn’t have a wedding to be at in a few hours and it was the most fun I’d had in years.
At some point, the night dissolved into sparkles and noise. Trent’s laughter echoed in my ears. And then suddenly, I blinked hard because the sun was trying to murder me.
A violent, nuclear blast of daylight was scorching straight through my eyelids and drilling directly into my skull. My head throbbed so viciously I actually whimpered and buried my face in whatever soft thing was under me.
A pillow. Thank God. Except the pillowcase feels weird. Scratchy. Like mesh? I shifted and something crinkled.
That was my first red flag.
The second was that I was very much trapped inside something white and puffy that rustled every time I breathed. I tried to move my arm and got tangled in tulle.
Tulle. No. No, no, no, no, no.
I sat up too fast and the hangover rose like a tidal wave, threatening to roll me off the edge of the planet. Slowly, very slowly, I turned, blinking too many times as I figured out that we had, in fact, made it back to our hotel room. That was the first good news of the morning.
Trent was sprawled horizontally across the bed, his face buried in the mattress and one boot still on, but the other was missing. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway and his arm dangled off the side like he’d melted in place.
For some reason, I had a white suit on my legs, a ridiculous, campy, rhinestoned white suit with flared legs and gold accents. Like Elvis. Like Vegas Elvis, marrying people at two a.m., Elvis.
My mouth fell open. No. Absolutely not.
I lifted my gaze to the massive mirror mounted above the bed.
I didn’t even want to think why it was there, but unfortunately, it allowed me to see my reflection staring back at me.
My hair a disaster, my mascara smudged under my eyes, my cheeks flushed, and I was wearing what looked like a cut-rate showgirl bridal costume someone had definitely bought from a novelty shop.
When I processed it all, I screamed. A full-throated, hangover-enhanced, soul-leaving-my-body scream. Oh, my God. What the hell did we do last night?