Chapter 36
RILEY
The anger arrives on the third day.
I don’t know if it’s the sense of security I got from the call with my mother, or if it’s the hormones, or maybe just the fact that I can’t stand being in this hotel room and pitying myself for one more second.
The rage washes over me like a storm—sudden, brutal, and all-consuming. I wake up in the morning and I am furious. Furious at Vaughn for leaving me sitting here. Furious at myself for trusting him. Furious at biology, which apparently decided that now was the perfect time for fertilization.
I shower and get dressed. Then I take my phone and ride the elevator down.
Valentino is sitting in the Mercedes in the parking lot. Engine off, seat reclined, sunglasses on his nose. He looks like he’s been sleeping, but I’ve learned by now that Valentino never truly sleeps.
I knock on the glass.
He opens his eyes, sits up, and rolls down the window.
“Morning,” he says.
“Can I sit in?”
He gestures toward the passenger seat. I walk around the car and get in. The leather is cool and comfortable.
We sit in silence for a while. Valentino asks no questions; he’s one of the most patient people I’ve ever encountered.
“The test is positive,” I say.
“I know,” Valentino says.
“How?”
“Valentino sees everything.” A hint of a smile. “And I saw the packaging in the trash can when I brought you dinner yesterday.”
“Could you please use the informal du with me?”
“Sure. I saw it when I brought you the food.”
“Great. My private life is about as private as a shop window.”
“If it’s any consolation: I only saw the box, not the result. But your face this morning tells me the rest.”
I lean my head against the headrest and stare through the windshield. The parking lot is half empty. A few tourists are lugging suitcases across the asphalt.
“What should I do, Valentino?”
He is silent for a moment. Then he turns to me and takes off his sunglasses. His dark eyes are serious but warm.
“I’ve known Vaughn for a very long time,” he says.
“I’ve seen him do things most people wouldn’t even think of.
I’ve seen him work through nights, rescue people he doesn’t know, take risks others would consider madness.
” He pauses. “And I’ve seen how he looks at you.
That’s new. I haven't seen that once in all this time.”
“He ran away, Valentino.”
“Yes. But not from you. He ran from himself. From the boy who came home at sixteen and lost his parents, and who has believed ever since that everything he loves will shatter.”
The words hit me in a place that hurts. Not because they’re new—I know Vaughn’s story. But because Valentino speaks them with a tenderness that shows how much he loves this man. In that silent, Italian, never-spoken-aloud kind of way.
“What should I do?” I ask again.
Valentino reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He hands it to me.
“Call Cayden,” he says.
I unfold the paper. A cell phone number, and a name beneath it: Cayden Miller.
“Who is Cayden Miller?”
“Chester Street Society. One of the Quattro—the inner circle. Cayden was Vaughn’s closest confidant in college, alongside Griffin.
” Valentino leans back. “Cayden has a son of his own. A little boy he knew nothing about for years. The mother kept it from him. When he found out, he lost it. Withdrew completely, just like Vaughn is doing now. Wanted nothing to do with it.”
“And what happened?”
“He pulled himself together. He went back and took responsibility. Today, he’s the best father I know.
He’s marrying the mother of his son soon.
” Valentino taps the paper in my hand. “Cayden understands what Vaughn is going through. Better than I do, better than Griffin. Because he lived it himself.”
I stare at the number. Ten digits that might change everything. Or might not.
“And if Cayden can’t reach him either?”
Valentino puts his sunglasses back on and reclines the seat.
“Call him,” is all he says.
I sit in the car for a while longer as the sun moves across the sky. I turn the piece of paper over in my hands and think.
In the past three days, I’ve decided that I’m having this child. With or without Vaughn.
Because I am Riley Thompson. Not Blackstone. Not the daughter who obeys. Not the girl in the server room waiting for permission. But a woman who has survived more in the last few weeks than most people do in a lifetime, and who refuses to give up now just because a man is scared.
I will call Cayden. I will try to bring Vaughn back. But not because I need him. Not because I can’t do it without him. Not because a pregnant woman needs a man by her side to function.
But because I want him. Because he’s worth it. And because the child in my belly deserves a father who is there—not one wandering the streets of Las Vegas running from his own feelings.
And if he doesn’t come back? If Cayden doesn’t reach him? If Vaughn Mercer decides that thirty years of loneliness are easier than a future with me and a baby?
Then I’ll give him a piece of my mind.
Because now, I’m the one with something to say. And he’s going to listen.
So, I will find Vaughn Mercer. And I’m going to give him hell. So loudly and clearly that his ears will ring.
And after that—only after that—will I decide what comes next. Maybe Oregon. Maybe something else entirely. But it will be my choice.
I get out of the car, go back into the hotel, and sit on the bed. I pick up the phone and dial the number on the paper.
It rings three times. Then someone picks up.
“Yeah?” a deep voice answers.
“Cayden Miller?”
“Who’s this?”
“Riley. Vaughn Mercer’s wife.” The words feel foreign and right at the same time. “Valentino gave me your number. It’s about Vaughn.”
Silence on the other end.
“Can we use the informal du?” I ask. “I’ve spent three days in a hotel room vomiting and crying and taking a pregnancy test, and frankly, I have no energy left for formalities.”
A brief, warm laugh on the other end of the line. “Did you say Vaughn Mercer’s wife?”
“Exactly.”
“Hallelujah, finally I get to hear that. Valentino warned me you might call, but until just now, I thought it was a bad joke.”
“It’s no joke.”
“Clearly. Valentino said Vaughn messed up.”
“Vaughn kidnapped me, married me, knocked me up, and then bolted. So yeah, I’d say ‘messed up’ covers it pretty well.”
“Wait—knocked you up?”
“Two stripes. Official as of yesterday.”
“Holy shit.” Cayden exhales. Long and deep. “Okay. Okay, Riley. I know this movie. I played the lead role in it myself a few years ago. And I’m going to tell you now what I wish I’d heard back then. But first, you have to tell me everything. From the beginning.”
So I tell him everything.
From table seven at the Onyx Grand to the two stripes on the plastic stick.
From Gerald the cactus to Loraine’s pancakes.
From the feather boa in the Elvis chapel to Richard Blackstone’s tears in his office.
I talk and talk and talk, and Cayden listens without interrupting, and at some point, I realize I’m not just telling the story—I’m hearing the whole thing from start to finish for the first time.
My own story, spoken aloud in a hotel room in Las Vegas to a man I’ve never met who understands anyway.
When I’m finished, it’s dawning outside. The lights of the Strip seep through the curtains.
“Riley,” Cayden says. His voice is serious. “I’m going to call Vaughn. Tonight.”
“And if he doesn’t pick up?”
“Then I’ll keep calling until he does. Trust me—I’m very persistent. Ask my fiancée.”
Despite everything, I laugh. It’s an exhausted, brittle laugh, but it’s there.
“Cayden?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Not yet. Thank me when he’s standing at your door.”
He hangs up. I place the phone on the nightstand and stare at the ceiling.
Outside, Las Vegas glows. The city where it all began. The city where a man with silver-streaked hair made me laugh while he was planning my downfall.
I place my hand on my stomach.
“Hey,” I whisper. “It’s me. Your mom. Everything’s a bit crazy right now, but we’ll figure it out.”