Chapter 12 – Braelyn
brAELYN
“Is that really called a come bet?” I ask, and Roman throws me a side-eye. “Like you’re betting to come?”
“You’re shouting.”
“I am not.”
He chuckles. “You are. But yes, it’s called a come bet, and you are technically betting to come. Or at least hit a number in that field.”
“And why do you have so many chips behind your first bet?”
“I’m backing up my bet. Putting all my faith in you.”
“Yeesh.” I wiggle my hips back and forth. “Tall order.”
“Lady, are you gonna roll the dice or what?” the cowboy next to me gripes. Roman throws him a look that could flay the skin off, well, that guy.
“She will when she’s ready,” he answers for me. “She’s learning.”
“Great. Learn on someone else’s time. Let’s go!”
Roman is about to kill the man, but I hold up my hand and shake the dice in my other.
“Come on, magic dice. Roll me a six. It’s my husband’s birthday, and he deserves to be a big winner.
” I laugh at that. For some reason, I find the fact that Roman is my husband hilarious. I think I’ve officially lost it.
I blow on the dice and shoot them down the table, only to have one hit the wall and fly up and out. It knocks into the guy on the end, who is too busy flirting with the woman beside him to dodge it in time.
“Oh my god!” I cry, covering my mouth with my hand. “I’m so sorry!”
The dealers put their hands over the table, and the pit boss comes and retrieves the dice, examines them, and puts them back on the table with the others for me to choose two new dice from.
Without the same fanfare, I shoot the dice down the table and hit an eight. Everyone cheers because there’s a lot of money sitting on eight, including my twenty-five-dollar chip.
“Woohoo!” I high-five the cowboy next to me, who suddenly wants to be my best friend. “See. Trust the process,” I tell him.
“I will after you roll a six.”
“Fine. I’ll try. “I roll three more times and finally land on the six to thunderous applause. “I won!” I jump up and down, screaming like a mad woman. I jump on Roman, who catches me. “You won too!”
He beams at me, holding me securely in his arms. “Nice job, kid.”
I plant a big kiss right on his lips. I don’t know where it comes from. Or why I do it. It wasn’t consciously thought out, and it wasn’t anything like our sloppy wedding kiss that didn’t even count as a kiss. It just happens in the excitement of the moment, but it surprises us both.
For a moment, we simply stare at each other, blinking.
I can taste his breath against my lips, sweet from the wine at dinner, the scent of his spicy cologne coloring my vision and making everything hazy.
Then his eyes dip and hold on my lips. Almost like he’s not sure what to make of what I just did, though there is something darker there too.
A strange, warm flutter fills my belly and pulses across my skin. I climb out of his arms, blow out a silent breath, and get my shit together because it’s still my turn to roll the damn dice.
But fuck. I just kissed Roman.
Like full-on-the-mouth kissed him.
And I didn’t… hate it. It wasn’t as weird or awkward as I thought it would be, and certainly not gross. Quite the opposite of gross actually. And this time, he didn’t look as horrified as he did the first time I tried to kiss him, and I didn’t miss his mouth and get him on the chin.
Still… that’s not something that can happen again. He obviously knows that. It’s not as though he tried to kiss me again or anything.
I twist my wedding band around my finger.
Ugh. I’m a mess. That’s all that was. Aftermath of Adam, being in Vegas, and let’s not forget the fact that I married Roman on a drunken whim.
It could also be the bottle of wine we split at dinner, and the vodka soda I’ve been nursing since.
I don’t drink a lot, and this is the second night in a row.
I’m gonna owe my liver an apology when I’m done with this city.
I roll the dice and of course, crap out.
“Do you want to play more or are you all done?” he asks, his lips close to my ear as he speaks.
I shiver, and what the motherfuck is my body doing?! “I think I’m done for tonight.”
We have one more day here, and then we head on to Mexico. But maybe that’s a bad idea. Maybe I should just go home. A week at a resort with Roman suddenly feels a little… shaky. Almost like a honeymoon even though it’s not. Except what home would I return to? I’m living with Roman.
“Are you tired or should we walk for a bit?”
“Let’s walk for a bit.” I think that’ll help clear my head.
He guides us through the casino toward an atrium that’s designed to be a fairy garden. It’s pretty and magical, and I’m instantly enchanted, going from set to set and taking it all in.
“Do you remember when you came to visit me in Paris, and I bought you that small tea set?”
I cough out a laugh at the memory. “Yes. And I see what you’re saying because that tea set those fairies are using looks just like it.”
“This time I don’t think you should try to smuggle a wheel of cheese into Mexico.”
“God, remember that?” I nudge his arm with my elbow. “The customs agent in Paris definitely knew. He just didn’t want to deal with the paperwork. Besides, bureaucracy shouldn’t stand between Americans and good dairy. He understood the assignment.”
He chuckles and shakes his head as we move on to the next little house and set of fairies. “More like he was enthralled by your charms. You gave him a pretty smile and batted your lashes, and he was done for.”
“Not their waiters, though. Do you remember that guy who got all upset and was going to throw me out because I kept asking what different things on the menu meant?”
“You were afraid they were horse meat or frogs.”
I turn, affronted. “Yeah. That’s gross. Who wants to eat a horse or a frog?”
“I’ve had both.”
I scoff derisively. “Of course you have. Is there anything you haven’t tried?”
“Probably not. No, I take that back. I haven’t eaten scorpions or cockroaches.”
I pretend to vomit, though my stomach protests the notion of eating bugs. “Again, gross.”
He hitches up a shoulder. “Gross to you is a delicacy to others.”
“Yeah, no thanks on that.” I look at the magical little cottage, lit up from within. It’s peaceful and sweet. “What was the name of the place in Rome? The little hole-in-the-wall where the owner kept trying to marry you off to his daughter?”
“Oh Jesus. I forgot about that.” Roman rubs a hand over his head and the back of his neck. “Trattoria Del Sol.”
“Right.” I snap my fingers and point at him. “That was it. It was a tiny place, not as cute as these tiny places.” I gesture to the cottage. “But it had the best cacio e pepe I’ve ever had. With the exception of yours,” I amend.
“Thanks for that little nod.” He rubs his forearm against mine.
“Anytime.”
“The man wanted someone to take over his family business and felt a chef son-in-law was just the thing. That’s what I get for you opening your mouth and telling everyone we met that I’m a chef.”
“I was proud of you. It only backfired on us that night because his daughter was seventeen.”
He shudders. “It’s why I never went back there despite how good the food was.”
We finish with the fairy garden and venture out onto the Strip, taking in the bright lights and women walking around with feathers on their backs, in thongs, with pasties over their nipples. Vegas really is an entirely different world, but the spectacle is fun.
“Want a picture with them?” I offer. “I swear not to sell it to tabloids or post it on the internet.”
“You mean along with our wedding picture?”
I gasp. “We have a wedding picture?!”
He angles his head down, his lips curved up into an amused grin, and with the lights all around us and the sensory overload, my hazy brain keeps thinking about the kiss. About Roman and what this last week has been. About the fact that I’m married to him.
“We do. It’s on your phone.”
Oh shit. I pull out my phone and dig through, and sure enough, I’m in my blue dress and Roman is in his suit and we’re smiling—even he’s smiling—and we look… wow, we look so happy. “It’s actually a great shot of us.”
“It’s a keeper. Like my wife,” he teases, putting his arm around my shoulders and guiding me around some broken glass.
But that’s Roman. He’s always been there when I needed him, and he’s always taken care of me. I saw what happened the day Nash died rip him apart. The memories of it. The fact that his brother was gone. How it happened.
It wasn’t his fault. He’ll tell you the opposite. But he’s the guy you go to. The one you secretly dream about. The one who will protect you and keep you safe no matter the cost. But that’s nothing new.
So why am I feeling… different with him now?
It can’t be because we’re married, because it doesn’t really count.
I don’t know. It makes no sense, and I can’t explain what this feeling is other than different. It’s making me jittery, almost.
“Do you want to travel again?” he questions, snapping me out of my thoughts as we cross over the street via a walkway.
“We are,” I quip. “Isn’t that what we’re doing right now? We’re here, and then we’re going to Mexico.”
“Yes. But back to Europe. You seemed to like it there.”
“I did like it there. I’ve always wanted to go to Greece,” I admit. “See all the history and those blue domes in person.”
“We’ll do it then. A second honeymoon.” He winks at me as we head up toward the Venetian and walk inside, simply meandering through. “Gelato?”
“Definitely.”
We get in line behind a cute couple who can’t stop kissing, and if that’s not bad enough, there’s a bachelorette party off to the side taking pictures.
“I had no bachelorette party planned,” I murmur, watching the bride pose and smile like her life is as happy as it could possibly be. I hope it is. I hope she gets the fairy tale and the happily ever after.
“I hadn’t thought of it until now, but yeah, you’re right. How come?”