Chapter Twelve
Deranged Bride in Town with New Groom: Will He Survive the Night?
Exclusive to The Curtain.
Alice Radstone, the notorious bride accused of murdering her first husband on their wedding night, was seen checking into the Amber Palace Hotel slot machines pinged, buzzed, and clanged; roulette wheels spun.
The atmosphere reeked of the energy that pulsed in any space where humans gathered to gamble.
There was a reason they called it a fever, Alice thought.
“Attracting attention is pretty much the point of this exercise, remember?” Owen said.
“I know, but it feels weird.”
“If it helps, you look amazing in that dress.”
She felt the heat rise in her face. For a moment she wondered if she was going to faint or break out in a cold sweat.
It finally dawned on her that she was flushing because of the compliment.
Ridiculous. Get a grip, woman. This was what happened when you hadn’t been out on a date in ten months and couldn’t remember the last one anyway, because you’d been drugged and/or hypnotized. You lost your relationship skills.
Not that she’d ever had a lot of them. Flirting had not been covered in the curriculum at the Ballantine Academy. The lessons there had focused on social skills for people stuck with talents that made others uneasy or, worse, frightened them. Core Principle Number Eight: Do not attract attention.
She glanced down at the front of the sleek midnight-blue gown.
The lustrous fabric was cut on the bias so that it flowed over the curves of her body all the way to her ankles.
Tiny cap sleeves left her arms bare. She did not have a lot of cleavage, but what there was of it was on display, thanks to an uncomfortably snug undergarment that the saleswoman had insisted she buy.
So much for Core Principle Number Eight.
True, the dress—and the body wearing it—were both decidedly modest by Illusion Town standards, but the gown was the most glamorous thing she had ever worn. It took some getting used to.
She had purchased a few other things during the shopping expedition—underwear, black pants, a couple of pullover tops, and pajamas. She’d insisted on paying for the clothes, even though Owen had offered to cover them as a “business expense.”
The shopping expedition had put a large dent in the stash of cash she kept in the go bag, but she refused to consider Owen’s offer. Allowing him to buy her a new wardrobe and underwear would have made her even more uncomfortable about their Marriage of Convenience than she was already.
During the time she had lived in Illusion Town, she had walked into a few of the casinos during the daytime and looked around, curious about the business that fueled the city, but she had never entered one at night on the arm of a man.
And Owen was not just any man. Owen March was her husband, at least for a while.
“Thank you,” she said. “You look very nice, too.”
“What?” Owen startled her with a quick, wicked grin. “This old thing?”
She laughed, surprising herself. The reality was that he did look good. The tux was a rental, but he wore it well. The classic power suit emphasized his broad shoulders and the masculine grace with which he moved.
She savored the little rush she got from his energy field.
Everything about him stirred her senses in unfamiliar but thrilling ways.
It was as if there was an intimate bond between them.
The result of the danger they were facing together, no doubt.
Still. It was exciting. She had never experienced such a sensation during the weeks she and Randolph Draper had been seeing each other, and she had no memory of being aware of anything close to this with Travis Poole.
What she was experiencing with Owen was probably simple physical attraction, she decided. Okay, maybe not simple, but perfectly normal. Except that her intuition insisted it was so much more. Or was that impulse talking?
“Over here, Ms. Radstone.”
She flinched at the sound of her real name. How long was it going to take to remember that she was no longer Alice Smith?
Owen tightened his grip on her arm, silently reassuring her. She turned and saw the woman who had called her name rushing toward her, camera firing off a string of photos.
“Jenny Burke from the Curtain, Ms. Radstone. Congratulations on your marriage to Mr. March. Looks like you’re both having a lovely time this evening. How long will you be staying here at the Amber Palace?”
Alice rezzed up what she hoped was a bright smile. “We haven’t decided, have we, Owen?”
“Nope,” he said. He winked. “Why would we want to leave? Everything we need is right here under one roof.”
“The Amber Palace is an expensive place to live,” the reporter pointed out.
“Fortunately, money is not a problem,” Owen said.
Jenny Burke’s eyes sparked with curiosity. “Would you care to elaborate on that point?”
“No,” Owen said.
Alice summoned another smile. “You must excuse us. We’re heading for the Amber Lounge for a nightcap.”
“Can I get one last shot of the dust bunny?” the reporter begged. “My editor will love it.”
“Sure,” Alice said, relieved at the distraction. “He loves to be photographed.”
She turned back to Owen. Sebastian was no longer riding on his shoulder.
“Uh-oh.” She glanced around uneasily. “Where is he?”
“Sebastian?” Owen nodded in the direction of the slot machines. “Something caught his eye. Last I saw, he was headed in that direction. Ready to go get that nightcap?”
He whisked her away from the reporter before she could respond, drawing her through the crowd toward the Amber Lounge at the far end of the gaming floor.
“We need to find Sebastian,” she said.
“He’s a dust bunny. He won’t get lost. He’ll find us when he’s finished exploring.”
“You don’t understand. This is a dust bunny amusement park—lots of bright lights, bells, and energy. He could get into all sorts of trouble.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t even want to contemplate the possibilities.”
“Relax, people think he’s adorable.”
“He is adorable. That’s not the point.”
They were passing the seemingly endless ranks of noisy slots when a siren wailed, bells clanged, and the colorful lights around the giant silver-and-amber Lost Alien Treasure slot erupted in artificial fireworks.
Alice got an uneasy ping of intuition. She stopped, forcing Owen to halt. They both turned to look at the machine. Everyone else in the vicinity paused, too. A crowd formed in the blink of an eye. If there had been an excitement meter nearby, it would have jumped several degrees.
“Someone just hit the big jackpot on the Lost Alien Treasure slot,” a man said in reverent tones.
“Talk about lucky,” a woman muttered. “I played that slot earlier this evening and got nothing.”
The lights and sirens around the machine were fading, but a man’s voice rose above the throng.
“Stand back, everyone, and let my lucky dust bunny pull the handle again.”
“How much do you want for the dust bunny?” a woman yelled.
“I’ll rent him from you,” a man called out. “Name your hourly rate.”
“No.” Alice yanked up her skirts and prepared to forge a path through the crowd to the big slot. “Sebastian, come here. Please, this is serious.” She tried to slip between two people at the edge of the crowd. “Excuse me. I need to get to the dust bunny.”
“Get in line,” someone growled. “I was here before you.”
“You don’t understand,” she said.
The tight throng of onlookers ignored her. Nobody moved out of her way. Most didn’t even notice her.
Sebastian chortled, sounding buzzed on dust bunny adrenaline, but she couldn’t see him over the heads of the excited throng. The commotion was drawing the attention of the casino security staff. Two uniformed guards armed with flamers were making their way toward the crowd.
“They’re going to arrest Sebastian,” Alice yelped, horrified anew.
“No,” Owen said, “they are not going to arrest him. Wait here—I’ll get him.”
Reluctantly, she stopped trying to break through the crowd. Owen went past her and kept going. People unconsciously moved out of his path, magically clearing the way to the triumphant gambler standing in front of the Lost Alien Treasure slot.
She could finally see Sebastian. He was in midair, clinging to the large metal arm of the machine, trying to pull it again.
“Hang on, little buddy,” the gambler said. “It won’t work unless I put in some more tokens.”
“The dust bunny can’t play the slot,” one of the guards said sternly. “House rules.”
“What house rules?” the gambler whined. “I don’t see any rules about dust bunnies.”
“New rule,” the guard said. “You’ll get your payout but you’re not playing any more slots here tonight. Take the dust bunny and leave.”
“Don’t let him take Sebastian,” Alice shouted.
No one listened. Owen reached the big machine and plucked Sebastian off the arm.
“Time to go,” Owen said. “Your work here is done.”
Sebastian vaulted up onto his shoulder and chortled, ready for a new game.
“Wait, that’s my lucky dust bunny,” the gambler said. “I’m going to take him to one of the other casinos.”
“No, you’re not,” Owen said. “The dust bunny is with us. Ask anyone.”
“He’s right,” someone said. “I saw the dust bunny a few minutes ago. I recognize the sunglasses. He was with this guy and the Deranged Bride.”
Alice groaned. If only the casino floor would open a trap door and allow her to sink gracefully out of sight into the Underworld.
Owen, Sebastian on his shoulder, forged a path back to where she was waiting.
She grabbed Sebastian and tucked him firmly under her arm.
“Thank you for rescuing him,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” Owen said, “although I’m sure he could have rescued himself once he got tired of pulling slot machine handles.”
“Who knows how long that would have taken? He didn’t care if he won. He was in it for the lights and bells and whistles.”
The reporter from the Curtain hustled forward, camera at the ready. “I need a pic of the lucky dust bunny.”
Owen took Alice’s hand. “Let’s get that nightcap.”