Chapter 9
MADDIE
The posh Belle Monde restaurant sits at the top of the Las Palmas Hotel, slowly turning like a giant clock.
Every few minutes the floor shifts imperceptibly, revealing a different angle of the Las Vegas skyline.
Glass towers, desert haze, and a neon shimmer that fights against the midday sun. It feels unreal, like someone turned the entire city into a movie set.
The ma?tre d’ recognizes Antoine immediately and greets him with warm, hushed familiarity.
Within thirty seconds, we’re escorted to a prime window table where the city glitters below us and the linen is as crisp as a wedding dress.
“Would your pet like to sit at the table or have his place setting on the floor?” the ma?tre d’ asks.
I look at Antoine. He makes no comment, just raises an eyebrow.
“Well, he is a dog… so I suppose the floor.”
“As you wish, madame.”
As soon as the ma?tre d’ turns away, Snorty yips with indignation. He’s only pacified a moment later when a server brings him an ornate tray containing two silver bowls.
One holds delicious-looking food that smells enticing, even to a human like me.
And the other bowl contains water.
Another server sweeps in and unfolds my napkin like I’m royalty.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” I tell Antoine. “It’s gorgeous.”
Before Antoine can respond, a waiter approaches to take our order. Antoine switches to flawless French, his voice quiet and elegant. The waiter nods, scribbles nothing, and slips away.
I blink at him. “You speak French?”
“I do,” he says. “And I took the liberty of ordering for us to save time. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” I say, though I’m secretly miffed. As a diehard foodie, I wanted the opportunity to savor the menu, to let the descriptions tempt me. But Antoine’s right. We’re on a schedule.
“But how do you even know what I like?”
“I had a feeling.”
“Are you psychic?”
“No,” he says lightly. “But I work with large personalities. Understanding people is part of my job. I perform research before signing a client.”
“Online?”
“Online and in person.”
I tilt my head. “You’ve known me for a few hours. What exactly have you ‘gleaned’ about me?”
Antoine lifts his water glass, studying me with that calm, analytical gaze of his. “I know you teach autistic children,” he says.
“I know you’ve been written up in a few professional journals for your innovative approach to the subject. And, of course, I’ve seen 'the photos.'”
He says this last sentence in an insinuating tone, his eyebrow lifted.
My stomach drops. I’ve never had any compromising pictures taken. At least, none that I know of.
“Photos? What kind of photos?”
“Mostly the ones you posted on your social media. You and your roommate posing with buckets of popcorn in your living room, a big screen glowing in front of you. You two seem to love movies.”
“Oh. Those. Yes, we do.”
Before we can continue, a waiter arrives with a chilled bottle of white wine. He tilts the label toward me.
“Would madam enjoy wine?”
“No, thank you. I need to keep my wits about me.”
I stifle a laugh when a server comes to give Snorty what looks like a fresh, new course.
“A tasting menu for dogs?” I ask, meeting Antoine’s gaze before I turn to the server. “Thanks. This is so impressive.”
“It is our pleasure,” the server replies smoothly. “French restaurants have a long tradition of accommodating well-behaved pets.”
I smile at the compliment, though I can’t quite agree Snorty is ‘well-behaved’ as a rule. He has his moments. For the most part he’s obedient, but the other times…
Our appetizers arrive. Lobster and avocado timbales that look like artwork. Antoine begins what is clearly his version of an interview.
“So, tell me more about this little dog of yours. How did you find such an exquisite creature?”
“In the dog pound.”
I take a bite of the lobster and nearly sigh with pleasure. I have to give Antoine a point for ordering well.
“The pound?” Antoine pauses, his fork hovering. “Unusual. A purebred like Snorty can cost upwards of ten thousand dollars. Curious how he ended up there as a puppy.”
“I’ve wondered that myself,” I say. “I told you about his breathing issue earlier. The vet thinks the original owner found out the price tag for the surgery and dumped him at the pound rather than pay the cost.”
“You would think that if someone spent ten thousand on a French bulldog, they’d have the money to handle the medical cost,” Antoine says, shaking his head.
“Exactly. Didn’t he know the dog would probably be euthanized? I saw Snorty’s picture on a shelter page and ran right over to claim him.’
I pause to stroke Snorty’s head.
“When the vet told me about the surgery, I decided I would just raise the money somehow. As a last resort, I thought I could borrow it from Steven. But I hated to do that.”
“Then Steve told you about this fake girlfriend gig,” Antoine said
“Yes. Problem solved. Of course, the 'cherry on top' of this whole 'fake girlfriend weekend' is that I'm hoping it will give me access to the sponsor.”
I pause. “I heard he's donating a percentage of proceeds from the concert to autism research. I'm hoping to tell him about some of the programs I've developed at the autistic school where I teach."
I lift my puppy for a quick hug. He snorts in protest as he hates having meals interrupted.
"If it wasn't for Snorty's operation, and the funding for my school, I would never have come. Las Vegas is too over the top for me. And Rio isn't my cup of tea."
"A famous, sexy rockstar isn't your cup of tea? Now I'm curious, Miss Maddie," Antoine says. "What did Rio do to you that makes you regard him with such animosity?"
"Nothing."
Antoine lifts an eyebrow. "I heard something about you two having a history."
"History? No. He was just my big brother's arrogant alpha-hole of a friend, is all."
The way I bite off the word arrogant must give me away, because Antoine smiles. "History may not be the right word. Did you date? Briefly? Once?"
"No! Never! As if!" I leave out the part about having a crush on Rio since I was a kid. That stupid ballerina notebook, still tucked in my bag, remains a humiliating reminder of how na?ve I used to be.
But Antoine’s game face is impossible to read. The silence stretches until I cave.
"All right, if I tell you… do you promise to never tell anybody else? Especially Steven."
"You never told your own brother?"
"No. Steven can't know. Nobody can know."
"Sounds serious," says Antoine. "But yes, I promise to keep your secret."
"All right. If you sense some tension between us, you're right. Four years ago, I made a surprise visit to see Steven at his university.”
“Go on.”
“It was really late when I got there, like after midnight. The dorm RA let me in with his master key. I was so exhausted I just crawled into the spare bed without even changing. I must have fallen asleep right away.
Next thing I knew, I felt this weight on top of me and hands touching me all over. It took me a second to realize what was happening—I was half-asleep and confused.”
Antoine nods for me to continue, his expression serious now.
“When I finally registered what was happening, I screamed, jumped out of bed, and flicked on the lights. Then I saw Rio, looking at me with that characteristic smirk of his. That same expression he wears on all his albums. Like he thinks he's God's gift.”
I pause to collect myself, the memory still making my skin crawl. “Then Rio started laughing. Actually laughing, like this whole thing was just some hilarious joke. I was terrified, and he thought it was funny.”
"Rio laughed?!" Antoine sounds genuinely surprised.
I think about it for a moment.
“I should probably explain he was completely wasted. Once the light was fully on, I felt certain he realized it was me, Maddie, for the first time. That smirk disappeared, and he just stared at me like he'd seen a ghost."
"What do you mean?" Antoine leans forward. "He didn't know it was you when he was on top of you?"
"No. I guess not." I twist the napkin in my lap, realizing I'd never actually considered that part before.
"He had no idea I was coming to visit. Steve didn’t either. Nobody did."
"Did Rio try to explain what happened?" Antoine asks quietly.
"Yes. He said that ever since he made a name for himself as a singer, girls were always slipping into his bed. He said it happened all the time."
I can still see Rio's face as he explained it to me, his eyes bloodshot from drinking.
"He told me sometimes he took advantage of this kind of situation, and sometimes he didn't. Like it was just a normal thing for him."
"But you said the RA let you into Steven's dorm room, not Rio’s," says Antoine.
"I didn't realize Rio had moved in with Steven a few weeks earlier. Steven never mentioned it in our calls."
"Well, it sounds like it could have been an unfortunate mistake," says Antoine, his tone gentle but matter-of-fact. "Did Rio physically hurt you that night?"
For a moment, I play out that fateful night in my mind. The weight of his body. The smell of whiskey. The darkness.
"No. But once I recovered, I couldn't even listen to his ridiculous excuses. And at that point, I lost all respect for him. Even if a groupie was in my place, how dare he take advantage of a woman like that?"
I must have said something that sounded unbelievably na?ve, because Antoine doesn't exactly smile. But his expression lightens slightly.
"Rio is a red-blooded man," Antoine says carefully. "He is accustomed to having women approach him for sex. That was also four years ago, when he was younger and perhaps had less control."
"You approve of his behavior?" I look at Antoine, astonished.
"Not at all. A gentleman would have escorted the woman out of the room and called her a taxi. But from what you say, it was a complete misunderstanding. Why do you still hold it against him?"
Good question, I think to myself.
Why do I still hold that night against Rio?
Maybe this weekend will reveal the answer.