Page 69 of Fake Dark Vows
He’s watching me, and his gaze is too intense. Does he remember what happened when we came back to the hotel room? ‘Course he does. I just don’t understand why he’s sitting there so calmly, or maybe it’s all down to my jellified brain cells.
“Can we… Can we get the marriage annulled once this is all over? I mean, we’re probably not the first couple to have gotten drunk in Vegas and tied the knot.”
He looks away and peers over the balcony at the plethora of glitzy original hotels along the strip. When he faces me again, his expression has changed. “If that’s what you want.”
“What I want?” My voice rises a notch. “Isn’t it what you want, too?”
He rotates his shoulders and cricks his neck from side to side. “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind, Rose. I’ll get it sorted once this is all over as you so eloquently put it.”
Confusion collides with the queasiness wracking my body, and I stand up, gripping the edge of the table to keep me upright. “Excuse me. I don’t feel great…”
I clamp a hand over my mouth and stumble to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before the contents of my stomach empty into the bowl.
I’m on my knees on the cold tiled floor, my cheek resting on the side of the ceramic bowl, when cool hands smooth the hair away from my face. My eyelids flutter open to find Brandon kneeling beside me.
“Stay there. I’ll get a cold cloth.”
He disappears for several moments, and I hear water splashing into the basin from the cold faucet. Then he comes back and cleans my face in a gesture that’s so tender, so paternal almost, that tears spill from my eyes as sobs erupt from somewhere deep within.
“It’s okay, Rose. I’m here. It’s just the alcohol leaving your body.”
My shoulders heave with the effort of trying to contain my sobs. Why is he being so nice to me? I forced him to marry me in front of Elvis, and here he is, wiping bile from my chin when he could be eating breakfast on the balcony with the sun on his face and a cheap wedding ring on the table.
At the thought of the ring, fresh tears trickle off the end of my nose. “You can go. I’ll be fine.”
“Can you stand?” His warm hand closes around my icy fingers.
I haul myself onto my feet, lose my balance, and lean against him for support.
“That’s what I thought.” He places an arm around my shoulders and leads me back to the balcony, settles me in my seat, and pours me a fresh cup of coffee. Then he spreads butter on a slice of toast and hands it to me. “It’ll soak up whatever’s left inside you.”
I chew and swallow, chew and swallow, my mouth so dry, the food sticks in my gullet going down. But he’s right—it does help.
“Rose, I have to make a trip to Idaho today,” Brandon says when he has finished his breakfast.
“Idaho? Aren’t we supposed to be on our honeymoon?” It comes out before I even realize what I’m saying. “Sorry.”
“I can’t get out of it.” He inhales deeply, and I can see that he’s already back in work mode. “I’ll be back in time for Rod Stewart tonight.”
I call Jess from the balcony after Brandon has left.
“How’s Vegas?” she asks.
“Tacky. Glitzy. Crazy. And Elvis is alive and kicking.” I chew my bottom lip, psyching myself up to deliver the good news. “I got married, Jess.”
Silence.
“Oh my god, you crazy bitch. Was the Tiffany diamond ring not enough for you? What the fuck, Rose. I mean… What the actual fuck?”
“I know. I was drunk.”
“Isn’t that how all good Vegas stories start?”
“I wanted to see Elvis.”
“You didn’t have to get fucking married to meet Elvis. There’s one on every corner in Vegas.” Jess’s voice rises as she processes the information.
“I don’t even remember that part.”