7. Sadie
7
SADIE
P erhaps I’ve seen too many movies. My vision of a Vegas elopement included bright lights, pink Cadillacs and a twenty-four-hour wedding chapel officiated by a campy Elvis impersonator.
But no, that’s not what Cale had in mind at all.
After depositing me in a top floor luxury suite with possibly more square footage than my house, he said he’d be gone for a while. He told me to make myself comfortable and even threw his credit card down on a table beside a champagne bucket with a command to go shopping.
“Buy a white dress,” he said. “And anything else you want.”
“I don’t really need a dress, do I?”
“Of course you need a dress,” he said. “We’ll be having pictures taken.”
Right. That makes sense. When one pulls off a phony wedding one should have some documentation of the event as evidence.
Then Cale was gone while I was left alone with my jumbled thoughts and a jaw dropping view of the Vegas strip from the floor to ceiling windows. The flight had been long and I slept through most of it. Whenever I did crack an eye open, there was Cale in the first class seat beside me, working steadily on his laptop. Each time I’d grudgingly admire his unfairly handsome, square-jawed, rugged, unshaven profile and then get hit with a lightning bolt of shock that I’d actually agreed to be his wife.
I did take Cale’s advice and go shopping. The dress I chose was a simple knee-length white sheath and I added a gauzy veil only because the saleswoman who helped me was on the verge of crying if I didn’t agree to wear one.
But it’s not until this very moment, as I slide the dress on half an hour before my wedding ceremony, that I realize I forgot to buy shoes. The only semi-formal shoes in my bag are the black pumps I wore on Christmas Eve and they don’t look great. I give my faded cowboy boots a try. They look worse.
I ask myself why it matters what shoes I wear.
I decide that it doesn’t matter at all.
The wedding photos don’t need to include our shoes. Anyway, my boots are comfortable and I don’t need to please anyone but myself. I’ll just think of this, my wedding day, as another day of work. If I were at home, working on the ranch, I’d be wearing my boots.
Cale is silently staring at the vast wall of windows when I venture out of the bedroom.
He was gone far longer than a few hours yesterday. He was gone for most of today as well. I’m not even sure where he slept last night but I know it wasn’t in the colossal bed with a dozen giant feather pillows because that’s where I slept and I would have noticed some company. The suite has four couches so I imagine he claimed one of those, although everything looks neat and in its place today.
Maybe Cale doesn’t need to sleep. He’d make a very convincing vampire.
“Should we go?” I ask when a minute passes and he remains at the windows, lost in thought.
Cale turns and I don’t exactly gasp but I come pretty close. He has transformed from dauntingly sexy to a freaking god in a black tux. He belongs on skyscraper-sized billboards and it seems like a sinful waste that he’s not.
He looks me over and I’m suddenly self-conscious about my weathered boots and the fact that the dress is a bit tight in the bust. Hopefully I don’t sneeze or a nipple might pop out.
“Will this work?” I ask because his expression is impossible to decipher. It’s probably an occupational skill, keeping his thoughts carefully masked. I wouldn’t mind learning how to do that.
Cale has shaved since yesterday and I’m about ninety percent sure he also got a haircut. He’s clearly taking this very seriously. I should have known he would. I should have bought real shoes.
But he nods with what appears to be genuine approval. “You look the part.” He pulls a red velvet box from his pocket and moves closer before flipping it open.
“Good grief. That thing could blind someone.” I gawk at the sparkling ring nestled in the velvet.
“I guessed at your ring size,” he says.
“Shoot, was I supposed to pick up your ring? I didn’t know that. We’ll stop at a store on the way.”
He closes the box and returns it to his pocket. “Don’t worry. I took care of it when I was making the rest of the arrangements.” He peers at me for a few seconds. “Let me ask you something.”
“You already asked me to marry you. What more do you want?”
“I want to know if all the Gosh Golly Gee Whiz bullshit is for real.”
“I have not uttered the words Gosh, Golly or Gee Whiz to you once.”
I’m pretty sure that’s accurate but I’m not positive. The last two days have been very eventful and I’m still feeling rather dazed. But those words don’t sound like things that might come out of my mouth.
“You don’t curse at all, do you?” he says.
Somehow he makes it sound like a character flaw. In any case, I suddenly feel defensive.
“Turns out I’ve learned so many words in the English language that I don’t feel the need. Since we’re on the topic, why are you such a huge fan of profanity?”
He raises an eyebrow, amused by my lack of sophistication. “It’s the least of my sins, Sadie.”
Gulp. Think I’ll avoid asking about the worst of his sins. I don’t want to have nightmares.
But I do think we should keep talking.
“This is good,” I say. “We should know at least a few things about each other besides basic statistics. Just in case any questions come up.”
He shrugs. “Go on.”
“All right. I’m left handed. My love for the music of Elton John is eternal. The only sport I’ve ever played was badminton. We were all required to sign up for two semesters of a sport in high school. Badminton looked like it wouldn’t require much effort and yet somehow I avoided ever winning a single game. My sentimental favorite book of all time is Charlotte’s Web . I have no special talents but I’ve always wished I could paint. And I’m a vegetarian. Not a vegan. I don’t have the willpower to give up dairy. I just don’t eat meat.”
He looks down at my boots. “So you’ll wear animals but you won’t eat them?”
“For your information, the boots are faux leather.”
“Noted. I’ll refrain from carving up any steaks in your presence.”
I wait for him to offer up the same bonanza of information or perhaps ask questions. He doesn’t do either.
“Well?” I prod him.
He checks his phone. “Time to go. They’re waiting downstairs.”
“Who is they?”
“The officiant. The photographer. And the witnesses.”
“Don’t we need to go get a license or something first?”
“I told you I’d take care of all the details. And I have.” He speaks in the kind of brusque tone one might use with an exasperating coworker. I suppose that’s what we are to each other.
When I don’t immediately run to the door, Cale sighs and whips out his phone. Ten seconds later my phone pings with a text.
My eyes bug out when I read it. “What’s this?”
“Your wedding gift. To show you that I keep my promises. That account was opened this morning. I’ll double the amount once everything is official.”
I’m barely listening because my brain is already dancing with visions of everything I can do for Bright Hearts with this kind of money. The barn! The Doghouse! Every single item on my idea board will come true. “Thank you so much, Cale. This truly means everything. I can’t wait to get started and of course I’ll include you in every step so you know your money is being well spent for a great cause.”
“It’s yours to spend however you want,” he says and opens the door, gesturing that it’s time for me to walk through it.
I take two steps and then stop cold. “Wait.”
He gives me a look that says, Now what’s your problem?
“Do we need to kiss at the end of the ceremony?”
Finally I’ve caught him by surprise. There’s a rare flicker in his eyes. Cale Connelly, who seems to think of everything, hasn’t thought of that yet.
“Shit,” he says and then nods. “Yes, we definitely do.”
Kissing Cale shouldn’t be a terrible thought. He’s gorgeous and he smells like a mix of sandalwood and lemon trees. It goes without saying that he must know how to kiss properly.
The fact that I’m out of practice is irrelevant.
The whole kissing concept just puts a dent in my self-delusion that this is all nothing more than a standard business deal. I’m actually marrying this guy.
What am I doing?
Then I think of the precious, pleading faces of all the animals sheltered at Bright Hearts. I think of the ones I can still yet save. All the doubts vanish.
“No big deal,” I say to Cale with a breezy shrug. “We can be actors for a little while. Actors kiss all the time when they’re not romantically involved. Kissing is just part of their job. For today that will be part of our job too, right?”
“Sure.” He stops short of rolling his eyes but gestures more impatiently that it’s time to walk through the door.
This time I cooperate.
We ride the elevator down to the third floor and Cale leads the way to a room that takes my breath away.
The setting is the essence of romance.
Cream colored walls are embellished with etched floral designs that swirl to the ceiling. Red flower petals are sprinkled between the lit pillar candles flanking an aisle that stretches between rows of bench seats. The seats are covered with fabric the same color as the walls. At the end of each bench seat stands a towering glass vase nearly as tall me. Every one of them contains an arrangement of ethereal white flowers.
At the front of the room waits a black-robed man who might be either a priest or a judge. The first row of seats on both sides are occupied by men wearing dark suits. They turn and peer at our arrival with curiosity.
“Here you are,” says a female voice at my elbow.
A woman wearing the hotel’s uniform and a nametag that says Maya smiles at me and hands over a tightly tied bouquet of red and white flowers.
“Congratulations,” she says as I accept the flowers.
Suddenly, a man who had been standing out of sight in the back of the room pops out with a camera. He’s rail thin and businesslike. “Let’s get a couple of shots before you walk in.”
He doesn’t wait for anyone to agree before he begins snapping away. I’ve never been able to smile convincingly for pictures but I’ll give it my best shot.
Cale slips his arm through mine. The feel of his muscled strength has caught me off guard and I glance up. He looks down at me. We lock eyes.
The photographer snaps a photo. “Perfect.”
The next ten minutes zoom by in a blur.
Cale leads me down the aisle. The priest/judge speaks a bunch of words in a throaty melodic voice. A hundred pictures are taken. The Hope Diamond of a ring is pushed onto my finger. Then I’m supplied with a thick titanium band to give to Cale.
That’s when I get a full appreciation of just how large his hands are. I’m used to laboring hard on the ranch and I do not have tiny hands but mine are dwarfed by Cale’s. Thick-fingered and rough, these are hands that are capable of carrying out powerful acts.
“I do,” says Cale and that shakes me out of my preoccupation with the size of his body parts.
“And do you, Mercedes Dawn Wingate, take Carmine Antonio Connelly as your lawfully wedded husband?”
Carmine?
I must have really zoned out. This is clearly Cale’s full legal name and somehow I missed hearing it.
“I do,” I reply, louder than necessary. Maybe I’m trying to convince myself more than the rest of the room.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
A basic peck on the lips ought to satisfy the requirement. Just enough for the photographer to grab a shot of the occasion.
I barely have time to understand the sudden gleam in the depths of Cale’s green eyes. He snakes one arm around my waist and slides his other hand up my back. His fingers crawl through my hair and massage the back of my neck just as his mouth dives down to lay claim to what he wants.
The feel of his lips is both shocking and thrilling. I’ve underestimated the instincts of my own body, deprived for so long and hungry to resolve this oversight. My mouth opens greedily and my tongue welcomes his. A faint noise vibrates in my throat and my arms circle his broad shoulders as he lifts me off my feet.
This is just acting, insists a dim, panicky part of my brain.
I don’t want him at all, it whispers more faintly as the rest of my senses dissolve into a puddle of lust.
Cale isn’t exactly immune to carnal instincts either. I can feel just how not-immune he is through the flimsy layers of fabric separating us. It’s a good thing this dress is so binding or I’d probably be wrapping my legs around his waist and giving the audience some borderline porn.
Before Grant, I dated here and there and I’ve been kissed plenty of times. Now they are all banished to faceless goo. What I’m doing with Cale isn’t just a kiss. This is mouth sex. This is fire .
By the time Cale withdraws and my feet meet the ground again, my heart is jackhammering, my skin hums and my brain is mush. I’d really like to sit down and recover for a minute or maybe an hour but I can’t. The photographer is snapping photos again and the priest/judge offers his congratulations before the stoic, suited men witnessing from the front seats approach to kiss my cheek and offer Cale a few hearty backslaps. I still don’t know who they are.
“Business associates,” Cale explains when he propels me out of the room with a firm hand on my back. “I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask a few guys who know me personally to be witnesses.”
I look over my shoulder at the suited men. They remind me of those grim looking fellows I’d see milling around at the Amato estate when I’d take a forbidden peek through the hedges.
“Where are we going now?” I ask when Cale stops at the elevator.
He throws me a look that packs more heat than I’m comfortable with. “We’re going to our room to enjoy our wedding night.”
“But it’s barely five p.m.”
This is a dumb thing to say. It sounds even dumber when Cale fails to respond. I’m glad that I wore my sturdy boots instead of heels because I’m still feeling rather buzzed and unsteady after the kiss to end all kisses.
Cale glances down the hall. I glance with him and see that our handful of wedding guests are standing twenty feet away and speaking quietly. The oldest and most jowly of the bunch looks our way and raises a chubby hand.
“Enjoy the honeymoon, kids,” he rasps out.
Cale pulls me close to his side for show. “You better believe we will. And thanks for the suite, Artie.”
Artie waves again and the elevator arrives. Cale enters first and holds the door until I’m safely inside. He sure knows how to show off with great manners when he wants to.
“Who is Artie?” I ask him after the doors close.
“Hotel owner. He’s known my uncle for decades.”
“So he’s like part of the…” I’ve never said the word to Cale and I wonder if it’s considered inappropriate.
He stares straight ahead. “Part of the what?”
“Mafia.” I say it in a stage whisper.
“There is no mafia, Sadie,” he says.
Of course there’s a mafia. And I know Cale is deeply entwined in its depths. Evidently no one is allowed to talk about it.
Fine by me.
The less I know on that topic the better or else I might feel some heavy duty qualms about my latest life choice.
The elevator dings and an elderly woman hobbles in with a cane. She’s wearing a purple velour pants suit and her cane is covered with rhinestones. “Tenth floor please.” She watches Cale press the button. Then she notes my flowers and veil and gives us a smile. “Newlyweds?”
“Yes.” I smile back at her and try to look like a radiant bride while Cale stoically watches the floor numbers rise.
“Mazel tov,” says the woman.
“Thank you.”
“I was married for forty-seven years.”
“How nice.”
“The hell it was. Oscar was a lousy motherfucker who screwed both my sisters and my best friend. His skull was crushed by a falling traffic light. Now I get to spend his pension. Here’s my floor.” She wags a gnarly finger at Cale. “Don’t be like Oscar.”
The doors open again and she shuffles her way out.
Cale and I maintain an awkward silence until we return to the penthouse suite. Three tables await, all of them revealing covered silver platters of fragrant food. Cale crosses the room and tosses his jacket on the nearest sofa.
“I ordered all the vegetarian options from room service,” he says and casually unbuttons his cuffs. He rolls the shirt up to his elbows, exposing the dark ropes of ink decorating his muscled forearms. The sight would have an effect on me even if I wasn’t still halfway hungover from that wedding kiss.
Instead of gawking at my (technical) husband, I work on uncovering all the food platters. There are six different kinds of pasta, four salads, a wide selection of desserts and assorted appetizers.
I’m still marveling over the collection and trying to figure out what to try first when Cale wanders over and grabs one of the three bottles of wine. He gets it uncorked in seconds and wordlessly holds out the open bottle.
I shake my head. “Thanks but I’ll stick with water.”
Not only do I have barely a lukewarm affection for wine, but it’s definitely in my best interest to keep all my brain cells intact tonight. The aftershocks of that kiss are still wreaking a lot of internal mayhem.
Cale takes a long swallow from the wine bottle and opens the doors to the balcony. Even in Las Vegas, late December can pack a chill. Cool air ripples through the room. Cale shuts the glass doors behind him.
The move seems to be a signal that he’d rather be alone right now. I’m not complaining. I’m starving. The turmoil of recent events temporarily stole my appetite but now that it’s returned I’m going to take advantage of the room service cornucopia.
First thing’s first. I want to change out of my wedding dress. Wearing it makes me think too much about why I’m wearing it. If I want any reminders of my current status then I’ll go stare at the fake husband getting drunk on the balcony. Besides, it’s uncomfortable and if I’m going to pig out then I’d rather wear something more stretchy.
Slipping into a wonderfully unsexy hoodie and yoga pants feels far better. My ring is left on the nightstand.
Cale is still brooding out on the balcony when I return. He stands at the high railing, framed against the garish carpet of Vegas lights. From the way he tips the wine bottle way back and heartily drinks, it appears he’s intent on finishing the thing.
If Cale wants to spend the evening drinking himself into a stupor that’s his business. My plan is to eat my way into a food coma.
I like my plan better.
The vast room feels somber and too quiet as I settle down at the dining table with a large helping of penne pasta and a caprese salad. The silence isn’t really working for me right now so I switch on the television mounted to the wall and select a show about Yellowstone National Park for some background noise.
Out of the corner of my eye, I keep watch on the balcony door. It remains shut. I wonder if Cale plans to stay out there all night.
The wedding part of this whole pact is over but the news isn’t public yet. I haven’t even told Gus, which weighs on my conscience. How can I explain this to my best friend? Especially because a big part of the deal I made with Cale involves keeping my mouth shut. I’m not sure I can tell her anything.
And then there’s my family. They’re not my favorite people but I’m stuck with them and very soon they’ll be hearing that I’ve married Cale Connelly.
My father enjoys surprises about as much as he enjoys cute cat videos. Not at all. And he considers himself the architect of his children’s fates so he takes any deviation as a personal insult. Even Baylor meekly asked for our father’s blessing before proposing to Talia.
Baylor will side with our father and worry about the effect on his political campaign. He and Cale haven’t been friendly in years but he’s also likely to view this as a personal betrayal. That bugs me, even if he is a gutless jerk.
Speaking of jerks, I’d pay for some footage of my sister’s reaction. Maybe she used to have a thing for Cale. Judging by her snarky comment on Christmas morning, she’s sure to be infuriated. So it seems there is one silver lining.
As I continue to thoughtfully shovel food into my mouth, it’s mating season for the wolves of Yellowstone Park on the screen. The narrator explains how wolves howl for each other during their courtship rituals.
“Once their bond intensifies to its feverish peak, the male and the female wolves will mate multiple times a day for a period of five to seven days.”
I think about this while nibbling on a large cannoli. Life among the wolves sounds quite orderly. Find someone you like, howl at them a little, then run off to the brush for some good times.
As I lick cannoli cheese from my fingers, I can’t help but flash back to the last place my tongue has been. I’m a sucker for great kissing and in my experience, great kissing is a rare talent. Cale is certainly talented. If he was someone other than my fake husband with a mob pedigree, I’d be fantasizing about his other likely talents.
“How’s the food?” Cale asks.
He must move like a panther. I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I didn’t notice he’d crept back inside.
Half the buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing a tantalizing slice of his chest. His hair is now tousled, as if he ran fingers through it repeatedly while brooding out on the balcony. His eyes have lost their calculating glint. Now he looks sort of drunk. And hungry. Possibly for more than food.
“It’s delicious,” I say. “There’s plenty left. They brought enough to feed the entire hotel.”
He ambles over slowly, tossing the newly empty wine bottle in a trashcan along the way.
Cale surveys the food. Then he surveys me.
How does he manage to pull this off in a way that leaves me feeling completely naked?
In the background, the wolves of Yellowstone copulate on the screen.
“You can sit down,” I tell him, just in case he’s awaiting an invitation.
He doesn’t sit. “Where’s your ring?”
“I left it on the nightstand.”
He stares at me for a hard minute. “You should go in the other room.”
I’m a little stung by the command. “No, I’m happy here.”
He’s so rude. If he doesn’t like my company then he can be the one to go somewhere else. Although I suppose his options are limited. We’re supposed to be having honeymoon bliss in here and if his buddies spot him roaming around the casino there will be questions.
Cale sighs. He runs a hand through his black hair and makes it even more messy. Then he says something I never expected to hear from him. “Please do it.”
Maybe I’ve underestimated Cale’s emotional depth. This day must have been difficult for him too. We’re both stuck in this place with each other for tonight. If he needs some privacy then he can have it.
“Fine.” I stand and begin cleaning up.
“The staff can do that,” Cale says, a little too harshly. Apparently he can’t even wait ten seconds to get rid of me.
“Look,” I say as I stack my dirty dishes, “I totally get that this has been a stressful day and there’s more stress coming down the pipeline. But we’ve made it this far. If we’re going to see this through then the least we can do is be polite to each other.”
Cale doesn’t answer. He’s not even looking at me. He glowers out the window.
I set the dishes down and stalk over there to plant myself right in front of him. I snap my fingers two inches from his face.
His eyes veer back to focus on me and for a second I wonder if I’ve just made a grave mistake. The healthiest choice would probably be to escape to the bedroom and leave Cale to wrestle his inner demons alone.
But Cale abruptly captures my chin in his big palm and forces eye contact.
Part of me is afraid. A bigger part revels in the touch of his hand.
“Scraps,” he says, “you’d best scamper behind that bedroom door and lock it.”
“But I just-”
“Do it right fucking now .” He slowly slides his thumb over my lower lip and watches as I tremble. “Before I decide to stop you.”
His meaning is clear.
If I stay, he’ll kiss me.
Things won’t end there. I wouldn’t want them to.
This would cease being a mutual business arrangement and become something else. Something hot and dangerous and far messier.
That’s why I take Cale’s advice on our wedding night.
I break free and run to the bedroom as if I’m being chased. Maybe I am.
Without pausing to breathe, I flip the lock on the door.