Chapter 23 #2
“Oh my God,” I gasp, covering my mouth with both hands.
Elira grins, running a hand through her bright red hair. “Surprise.”
A completely undignified squeal bursts out of me, and I spin around to hug them all in a flurry of satin robes and messy hair. “You guys are insane. And I mean it.”
They chuckle, hugging me back.
We pile into the limo that is pure Vegas excess with velvet seats, neon accent lights, and even chilled bottles of water waiting in a crystal bucket.
For a moment, I just let the ridiculousness of it wash over me.
But as we roll off the tarmac and hit the highway, my attention shifts to the three black SUVs falling into formation behind us, keeping pace.
Okay… that’s not normal.
My blood chills. “Um… guys? This might sound paranoid, but I think we’re being followed.”
They glance out the back window, but none of them look remotely alarmed. Emily just waves a hand. “It’s fine. They’re Rafael’s people. He knows where we are and insisted on security detail.” She says it so matter-of-factly, like having armed guards tailing you is the most normal thing in the world.
I gulp and try to push the thought out of my mind—which becomes surprisingly easy when the Strip comes into view. I’ve read about it, seen it on screens, but witnessing it in person is something else entirely. Indescribable.
Towering hotels, flashing signs, and rows of palm trees zip past the tinted windows like a scene straight out of a movie.
Music suddenly pulses through the limo’s speakers—some classic Beyoncé song—and the girls scream with delight, singing along at the top of their lungs. I can’t help grinning, swept right up in their energy, the lights, the luxury, all of it.
We pull up to a five-star hotel that looks more like a palace than anything else—a glittering skyscraper with shining windows, fountains shooting water high into the air, and valets in perfectly pressed uniforms.
How is this my life?
I pinch myself just to be sure this isn’t some elaborate dream I’m having.
But the pain is real, and so is the blissfully cool air-conditioned lobby we walk into.
Heads turn as we pass, and I can’t even blame them.
Four women strutting in robes and slippers, followed by a bunch of scary-looking men in dark suits?
Yeah, that’ll get attention. I meet one guest’s curious gaze, and she promptly looks away, probably wondering if we’re celebrities or criminals. Well.
The concierge hurries over, practically bowing as he greets us, the whole thing feeling like royalty treatment to me.
“Welcome to the Bellagio,” he says, handing over our keycards with a perfectly polished smile.
“I hope you enjoy your stay here, ladies. And if you need anything—anything at all—don’t hesitate to call the front desk. ”
We nod our thanks and make our way to the elevators, rising all the way up to the highest floor of the huge building. Into the presidential suite.
Presidential suite! I pinch myself again, harder this time. Still real, holy shit.
The suite is absolutely breathtaking. Four separate bedrooms branch off from a massive living area filled with plush velvet couches, a dining table that could comfortably seat twelve people, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the entire Strip.
There’s a private balcony, a marble fireplace, and—of course—a fully stocked bar.
Insane.
We each pick a room, but mine was clearly chosen specifically for me because a giant bouquet of white roses sits on the bed, with another robe—identical to the champagne-colored one I’m still wearing—folded neatly at the foot.
I’m still taking it all in when there’s a short knock at my door. Emily pokes her head in with a mischievous grin. “Come on, Bride. Spa time. Change into the new robe.”
I rush into the ensuite bathroom, quickly washing my face and brushing my teeth before tying my hair up and slipping into the fresh robe. When I grab my phone, I see a text waiting from Romero, and my heart does a little flip.
ROMERO
I’m glad you’re having fun, bellezza. And no, you can’t marry them.
You’re stunning in that robe.
I frown, glancing down at myself. How does he know what I’m wearing?
Then I remember—Gianna snapped a picture of me on the plane earlier. She must have sent it to him, the sneaky little snitch. I shake my head, a little embarrassed but secretly touched. Tying my robe tighter, I step out to meet the girls, my stomach fluttering with anticipation.
We head down to the hotel spa, where smiling staff greet us with cucumber water and impossibly soft, fluffy slippers. Our massage therapists lead us into a private room that smells like eucalyptus and something heavenly I can’t quite identify.
For the next two hours, my body is pampered beyond belief.
The massage works out every knot from travel and stress that’s accumulated in my muscles my whole life. Afterwards, we move on to facials that make my skin unbelievably soft and leave it radiating with an almost ethereal glow.
By the time we return to our suite, I’m ready to collapse into bed, my body pliant and relaxed in ways I didn’t know were possible. But the girls have other plans.
I don’t know how—since we didn’t exactly pack any luggage—but cocktail dresses and heels are waiting for us in our rooms. Actually, who am I kidding? I do know how: the girls made this happen. They set this up down to the last detail. Nothing with them should surprise me.
And yet, I’m still shocked at how well my dress and heels fit. “How did you guys know my size?” I ask as I step out of my room.
They look incredible themselves, but when they start clapping for me like I’m the star of the show, my cheeks burn.
“Wow, you’re absolutely stunning, Leni,” Gia gushes, eyes sparkling with so much delight it makes me blush even harder.
“I asked Romero,” Emily admits with a wink.
Ah, right. Of course. After ordering an entire closet full of clothes for me, he’d know.
“Let's go, guys! The casinos are waiting.” Elira snaps her fingers with authority. She doesn't even look pregnant in her fitted black cocktail dress, the way it clings to her bodice before flaring out past her waist.
I rub my hands together, feeling like I could take over the world. “Let’s go.”