Chapter Seven
Rosie
Thursday
I wake up early, dragged out of a delicious sleep by the most unlikely sound—the quiet click of a door.
Bolting upright, I grin as last night comes back to me. I wore Daniel’s jacket all the way back to the suite. He only took it back when we stopped in front of my room. The last thing he did before telling me good night was to drag his gaze down my body, then back up again.
I crawled into bed and touched myself for a full hour, imagining it was his fingers between my legs instead of my own. His corded forearm, his heavily veined hand.
When I finally let myself come, his name was on my lips, a wordless plea.
I don’t know if he’ll act on whatever is humming like an electric current between us. He might not. Melanie and her fiancé are arriving later today. That could change everything.
But if he doesn’t make the first move before the wedding, I’ll. . .
I sag back against the pillows.
I’ll do nothing.
The thought of humiliating myself is a buzzkill. I can’t throw myself at him. What if he says no? I would die of embarrassment.
Wincing, I roll out of bed.
After pulling on a pair of shorts and a hoodie, I go into the living room and find him standing at the window, talking on the phone.
Room service breakfast is set out on the table.
He glances over his shoulder and points at it, indicating I should get started. I take a seat, but other than sipping at my orange juice, I wait for him to be done with his call. I can’t guess who he’s talking to from his short answers, but when he hangs up, he explains right away.
“That was Javier.” Mel’s fiancé. “They’ve been moved up to an earlier flight, and they’re heading to the airport. Most of his family is on the same flight, so a limo will pick them up.”
I should be thrilled they’ve managed to rescue most of their time in Vegas. Instead, my first thought is shamefully about how little time left I have with Daniel all to myself.
I force myself to look at my phone—the text updates from Mel and the Google Drive updates. “So they’ll be here by mid-afternoon, which means you don’t need to go to the dress shop anymore. Mel will be here in time for that.”
Another text pops up on the screen from the bride-to-be.
Javi’s sister wants to know how the stripper search is going.
I shoot a look at her father, now sitting across from me. He lifts the lid off one of the breakfast plates. “Toast?”
“Yes, please.” My throat is dry. I take a long sip of orange juice before texting back.
Is that what you really want?
Did my dad find out? I’ll call him. We have a few minutes before we board.
Before I can stop her, Daniel’s phone rings. His face softens, and he grins. “Hi, Peanut. What? Uh. . .” He gives me a surprised look. “Yes, it came up. Look, I don’t want to cramp your style, but—” He exhales roughly. “Yep. No, what the bride wants. I get it. If your husband-to-be doesn’t—”
He holds the phone away from his ear, and I start giggling.
“Rosie’s laughing at me because you’re reading me the riot act,” he growls at his daughter, but there’s no heat. There never has been. He’s the most doting father.
Which he knows and addresses as soon as he hangs up. “I’ve spoiled that one far too much.”
Mel is willful, but as an adult, it’s actually proven to mean that she has strong boundaries. “What did she say?”
“That she doesn’t need her husband’s permission and that Javi trusts her completely. Something about I should drag myself out of the nineteenth century, too.”
“I didn’t tell her to call you.” I hold up my phone. “I just asked if that was what she really wanted for her bachelorette party.”
“Are you uncomfortable planning it?” He looks uncomfortable asking me the question.
“We don’t need to talk about this.”
“But—”
“I should have done this weeks ago!” I burst out.
“I got decision paralysis back home and thought I’d have time once I got here to figure out something amazing.
But then you picked me up at the airport, and don’t get me wrong, I had an amazing time last night.
I’m glad I wasn’t all alone at a seedy motel, Googling last-minute stripper options in Vegas.
That sounds like a literal nightmare. But I’m in over my head, and I’m the wrong person to do this.
So are you, by the way.” I scan the table.
“No vodka for my orange juice? Jeez Louise.”
He chuckles as I sag back in my chair. “Good to get that off your chest?”
“A little.”
“I know staying here will cramp your plans for the weekend. Mel said—” He cuts himself off.
I frown. “What?”
“Nothing.”
My eyes go wide. “What did she say?”
“It’s understandable that you want to have some experiences you can’t have back home.” But he says it tightly. Like it’s not. Like he’s judging me for wanting to have a wild weekend in Vegas when I don’t. Not really.
“Uh. . .” I flush, hot and embarrassed. “She misunderstood. Or you did. I’m practically a virgin,” I blurt out. “And if I said anything to your daughter about anything, it was only a foolish fantasy. Not what I really have planned. Not at all. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
His mouth falls open.
Silence fills the space between us.
I drop my gaze to the table. To the toast he offered me and the now almost empty glass of orange juice.
“I was thinking about that tattoo you wanted to get,” he says quietly. “That’s all.”
“Oh.”
He doesn’t say anything for a while. I recognize it as a classic dad move, but it’s different coming from him. Less annoying, and more like he’s actually giving me some space to admit what’s really wrong.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I finally mutter. “I can’t even throw a bachelorette party. How am I ever going to have some wild and crazy solo adventure after the wedding?”
He sighs, then stands up and comes around to my side of the table.
I still won’t look at him.
He crouches down beside me, forcing me to make eye contact with him.
Why does he have to look at me like I’m some kid who needs help when all I can think about is how his stubble glints like silver in the morning light and how it would feel against my fingertips. My lips. My—
I twist my head away.
He smooths his hand over the back of my head, then slowly circles his fingers around to my chin.
He turns my face so I’m looking at him. “You are a good, sweet friend.” Oh God, no, I am not.
“And I’m sorry I played any part in making you feel embarrassed about not knowing your way around Vegas.
I know how you can plan this party—and it won’t have anything to do with me. ”
He hesitates a beat, then stands and kisses me on the forehead before making a quick phone call. The kiss scalds my skin. Does he have any idea how he affects me?
Twenty minutes later, after he’s gently but determinedly fed me breakfast, a woman from concierge services arrives in the suite.
Daniel excuses himself to go to the gym.
I immediately confess my lack of preparation to the woman, who is apparently fazed by nothing.
“People pull together last-minute bachelorette parties all the time,” she reassures me. “I understand the bride wants her party to be a little more on the risqué side?”
I nod.
“There’s a new mostly male burlesque show that’s still in previews, so there isn’t a ton of hype around it yet.
But I can tell you it’s going to be the hot ticket in a few months.
It’s upstairs from a dance club, so the party can move back and forth, and for a premium, the dancers upstairs can be hired for a private show. ”
I must look anxious because she gives me another reassuring look. “Your dad said everything would go on his room charge. If you want to arrange individual payment from the people attending, I can help with invoices.”
“Sure.” I exhale shakily, too nervous to correct her that Daniel isn’t my father. “Thank you.”
She hands over a business card. “This is a great store just off the Strip that sells matching tank tops for parties, helium balloons, that sort of thing. And I’ll let you in on a secret.
Most people are happy to be here, and the Strip is decoration enough.
But a few vino before vows streamers can’t hurt. ”
I take the card gratefully. “Awesome.”
“It’s normal to be nervous before a wedding, especially if it’s your big sister.”
I open my mouth to correct her, then stop.
Of course, she thinks I’m Mel’s sister.
It’s either I’m Daniel’s mistress or his daughter, because why else would he have a twenty-year-old girl in his suite?
I’ve had enough embarrassment for one day, and it’s not even nine in the morning. I snap my mouth shut and make a shopping plan.