17. Veronica
17
Veronica
“ Y ou can’t be serious, Vee,” Miles says, sitting back in his seat with his head falling against the headrest.
“Of course I’m serious,” I assure him, unbuckling my seatbelt to turn toward him. “We need to have fun and celebrate tonight.”
“And I have to dress up to do that?” he asks, clearly skeptical.
“Come on. I packed a bunch of nice dresses for my honeymoon and I haven’t gotten to wear any of them.” I pout, pushing out my bottom lip for good measure.
“Yeah, because you’re not going out with your fiancé, and for good reason.”
“And we should celebrate that. Please,” I add, linking my fingers together and holding my hands under my chin, pouting out my bottom lip even more. “I mean, you already drove all the way here. We should at least see what they have, right?” I ask, nodding toward the thrift shop I found on google just outside of Vegas.
With no need for fancy clothes, he packed accordingly, only filling his bag with the basics: worn jeans, comfortable shorts, and plain T-shirts. While I’ve enjoyed wearing my sundresses and shorts, I’m eager to switch things up tonight. Getting him to dress up with me has been priority number one throughout our drive today.
“Fine. But I’m not buying anything ridiculous, so don’t even try to get me into some Elvis costume or anything stupid like that,” he warns, pointing a finger in my direction before hopping out of the car. Pushing my door open, I scurry to catch up.
With his long legs, he’s already walking through the door, and as I reach him—almost as if by fate, a few shiny Elvis costumes are right there at the very front.
“Don’t even say it,” he threatens as I press my lips together to suppress the giggle that desperately wants to break free. However, with how hard it was to get him just to agree to come with me today, I figure it best not to press it—at least not too much.
“You know,” I finally say, unable to keep it in, “I happen to think you’d make a freaking sexy Elvis, but if you don’t want to be the man, the myth, and the legend tonight, then I suppose I won’t force you.”
“Good, because I wouldn't do it anyway. You may have gotten me to do a lot of weird shit on this vacation that I wouldn’t normally do, but this is where I draw the line. So pick wisely,” he warns as he folds his arms. “So, how fancy are we talking, anyway?”
“Well, since it’s a billion degrees here, I won’t make you wear a suit or anything crazy like that, but I would like to go a little nicer than a pair of jeans,” I suggest, immediately heading toward a rack of men’s shirts. The colorful patterns and textures draw my attention as I pan through the small circle, taking a moment to really take in what I’m looking at.
“Well, I’ll tell you right now: don’t even think about picking something sparkly or flashy.”
I roll my eyes, letting my fingers fall away from the shiny, metallic silver shirt I’d paused on. Sure, it would be a fun choice for Vegas, but even I can admit it’s not exactly Miles’ style. If I had to define his look, it would definitely fall under “motorcycle chic.” Most of his shirts are simple, but they fit him like a glove, perfectly accentuating his sculpted chest and the muscles he’s no doubt earned from long hours at his shop.
The funny thing is, his jeans are always incredibly stylish, with holes and distressing in all the right places. But I highly doubt he bought any of his clothes in that condition; it’s all from daily wear and tear.
I’m the complete opposite. I have a very particular girlish style and closet that I’ve spent years working on and cultivating. I’m obsessed with anything feminine and girly, and I love the use of fun patterns and colors. While looking around this place for myself would be a dream come true, it’s him I’m here for today.
“What about this?” I ask, pulling out a short-sleeved black button-up shirt that has silver lines running down it.
He shrugs, a noncommittal gesture that speaks volumes. “I guess it’s not horrible.”
“Not horrible? I’m not sure that’s the vibe I’m going for here,” I mutter as I move toward the next rack of shirts and begin to shuffle through them.
“Sorry, this just isn’t my thing. I’m pretty sure the majority of my clothes come from Bob’s Clothes Barn or the Target in Willow Creek. I’m not exactly well-versed in picking out anything fancy.”
“While I think that shirt would have looked amazing on you, I want something that will wow us, or at least have you saying more than just ‘it’s not horrible,’” I tell him as I pull out a couple of different tops for him to try before heading over to the racks with pants.
I’m a woman on a mission, and I’m not leaving until I’ve made Miles the best-looking man in Vegas tonight. Then again, I’m starting to think that won’t be too hard as I steal a glance at him. His blond hair may be a mess from the wind and him constantly running his fingers through it, but I can’t help but think that this guy could easily grace the cover of GQ as one wayward strand falls perfectly in front of his eyes. The man is effortlessly handsome, and I’m not sure he even knows it.
Maybe I shouldn’t be trying so hard, especially when I’m already having a hard time keeping my eyes off him, but I can’t stop now, especially since I was the one who made this a big deal in the first place. Maybe Miles is onto something, and I shouldn’t always be coming up with these outlandish and crazy plans.
Standing in front of the mirror, I snap a quick selfie and begin typing a message to send to Blair.
Ronnie: What do you think?
Hitting send, I turn back toward the mirror, taking it all in. I’ve gone all out tonight, and rightfully so. For my honeymoon, I picked out the perfect whimsical and romantic white dress—it’s a plunging neckline, both front and back, with a hem that falls right about mid-thigh. The entire thing is outlined with a matching white, polka-dotted tulle overlay, accented with ruffled detailing on the shoulders. A satin waistband cinches in at the middle, perfectly highlighting my figure. I’ve paired it with white heels, each adorned with a matching bow on the back, and I topped it off with a matching bow in my hair, tying back some of my waved and curled locks.
I haven’t felt this pretty since my wedding day, and it’s very much needed. My heart had hammered all morning as I got ready with my bridal party, each carefully chosen detail of my appearance feeling wasted as it became even more glaringly obvious that I couldn’t go through with it. But tonight, I can finally enjoy it and be proud of my look.
Maybe it’s overkill since we’re just going to a fancy restaurant and walking the Las Vegas Strip to take in all the sights and sounds that Vegas has to offer, but I’ve never needed something more. Sure, going to the beach had been fun, and Disneyland was incredible and as magical as always, but this feels like a different way of letting loose—and one I very much need.
Gazing into the mirror, I can’t help but smile at the woman looking back at me, her eyes sparkling with a newfound sense of pride. For far too long, I let Pete dictate my every move, from the clothes I wore, to the way I styled and cut my hair, to the amount of makeup I dared to apply. Ditching my usual, more natural look, tonight I’ve applied a dark smokey eye—a perfect contrast to the sweet and girly outfit I’ve curated. I’m finally seeing a much-needed reflection of the person I truly am, and not the one Pete had envisioned or tried to create. I finally feel like myself again.
Blair: Damn girl! You look hot! Too bad it’s all being wasted on my brother.
Reading the message, I let out a nervous laugh and sink my teeth into my bottom lip. Maybe it’s a waste, since I have absolutely no reason to believe he’ll give even the slightest fuck about how I look or care about what I’m wearing. I know he doesn’t see me that way, but there’s still that delusional part of me that wants him to not only notice me tonight, but to also like what he sees when he does.
Luckily, I don’t have to think about it for long as a knock sounds at my door. Glancing back at my phone, I check the time, and unsurprisingly, he’s right on time. How he and Blair are related, I’ll never know, since she’s always perpetually late, but thankfully, those genes don’t seem to run in the family.
I can’t say I hate it, especially since I somehow managed to secure us a reservation at the Paris Hotel. While I may not be in actual Paris for my honeymoon, I can still somewhat enjoy what should’ve been. The best part is, the company is much better than the company I would’ve had if I’d been going with my fiancé.
With a shaky breath, I smooth the hem of my dress, desperately trying to calm my ridiculous nerves. As I open the door, I can’t help but stare at the impossibly handsome man standing in front of me.
“Holy shit!” I exclaim, my mouth dropping open. “You look perfect.”
Not only is he wearing the plain white long-sleeved button-down dress shirt, but the first two buttons are undone, giving the perfect glimpse of his chest. Sure, the black dress pants and shoes we picked out fit him just right, but it’s the top that I can’t take my eyes off. He’s also wearing the black sunglasses—the ones he reluctantly bought after I insisted—giving him an extra sexy and mysterious look.
“You don’t look too shabby yourself,” he says, slipping off the sunglasses and hanging them on the edge of his shirt.
“Thanks.” I smile shyly, glancing down at my dress and doing my best to hide the light flush of my cheeks.
“Actually, it’s a little more than not too shabby. You look amazing, Vee. Truly.”
I keep my gaze downward as I nervously kick out one of my heel-clad feet. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
“I didn’t say that,” he replies, a sly smirk working its way onto his lips. “But we’re in Vegas. I’m sure you’ll fit in just fine.”
“Oh, yes. That’s the dream,” I say, feigning a dramatic pout as his eyebrow lifts questioningly. “To blend seamlessly into the background and just fit in . Truly, every woman’s ultimate fantasy.”
“Hey,” he begins, holding his hands up. “I’m all about fitting in and not standing out. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s been my motto for the majority of my life.”
For him, I suppose that does make sense. Given that he was one of the children of Evergreen’s notorious town drunk, I can understand why he hadn’t wanted to be noticed. His sister and I, on the other hand, had always been the opposite—or at least I had. I loved being the center of attention and had always found a way to bring the spotlight onto myself.
“Well, too bad for you,” I say, heading back into the room to grab my matching white clutch. “Because you look hot as hell, and there’s no way you’re going under the radar tonight.”
“Whatever you say, princess.” he half-grumbles, seemingly not believing what I’m saying, but I have absolutely no doubts.
“I know you don’t tend to be a relationship type of guy, so maybe you haven’t quite learned this lesson yet,” I begin, closing off the distance between us. His eyebrows knit together in confusion, but that doesn’t stop me as I reach out and unbutton two more buttons on his shirt, leaving even more of his sun-kissed skin visible. “But us women are always right.”
His eyes follow the movement of my fingers, his lips slightly parted as his gaze meets mine, a questioning look in his eyes.
“It’s hot out.” I shrug, but deep down, I know the sweltering Las Vegas heat has nothing to do with it. I’m not sure why it even matters—it’s not like he’s really my date tonight. But still, something inside me insists on helping him. Okay, so maybe a man as fine as him doesn’t need my help to look undeniably attractive, but something about those undone buttons has me coming undone and I need more of it. “Now, let’s go. Can’t miss our reservation,” I say, giving his chest one final pat before slipping past him and out the door. Not only do we have a reservation to make, but I need to get out of here before I’m tempted to undo even more of those buttons.