Taming Vegas
Authors: Nadene Seiters
Taming
Vegas
By
Nadene
Seiters
Text copyright © 2013
Nadene N Seiters
Front Cover
Photography Copyright © 2013 by Iaremenko Sergii, Mikhail Kolesnikov
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either
the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.
For a friend
Alexander
Dripping wet, ripping clothes, the scent of lavender, and the
feel of sheathing myself into something hot and wet.
That’s what I remember from the previous night.
What do I know about this morning? Someone left the curtain
open in the high rise hotel room I’m staying in, which never occurs. The light
is shining on my face, intensifying the skull splitting headache that is
threatening to overtake my sanity right now.
And I can smell the scent of lavender beside me.
Daring to open one eye, I’m unable to see anything but a
blob of light behind a halo of darkness. Then everything starts to come into
focus when I open up the other eye. A grin curls my lips up at the corners as I
stare at the long, black hair in front of me. My hand reaches up to touch the
silky strands, and the woman stirs.
I can’t remember a damn thing about her.
She’s not awake yet, so I slip out from under the silky, red
sheet and pad across the cream colored carpet to the suite’s bathroom, nude.
Leaning over the white, marble countertop with double sinks, I stare at myself
in the mirror. My dark, gray eyes are bloodshot, and I look like I did much
more than just drinking last night. The skin on my lips is cracked a little
from not staying hydrated enough, and I have a cut just above my right eyebrow
that probably needs stitches.
Running a large, scarred hand through my obsidian hair, I heave
out a rough sigh and clear my throat. Most women hate it when they wake up in
your bed in the morning, and you don’t remember their name. Therefore, I’m
going to give her a chance to grab her clothes and scat before we can both embarrass
each other. So I close the bathroom door and lock it. Then I step into the
large, tiled shower stall and turn on the hot water.
It runs down over my pale skin and flashes of what happened
in here last night return to me. Turns out, a hot shower is not going to do it.
Although, the blood rushing from my head to fill another member makes my
headache dissipate a little, and I turn the water to freezing cold. A familiar
song fills my head as I get out of the shower and towel off.
To give her a little more time to come to her senses and leave,
I sit down on the toilet with the lid down and the towel around my waist. After
fifteen minutes, I’ve determined that she’s left. With a quick brush of my
teeth and running my hands through my hair to straighten it, I’m ready to find
some clothes. After hanging up the towel on the rack, I hum to myself the song
that I must have heard somewhere last night and start into the suite room.
She’s tugging on her pants and stares at me like a deer in
headlights with her mouth gently parted and her silky, black hair in disarray.
The first thing I notice is her eyes and then the pink flush moving across her
cream colored face. She has innocent, pretty eyes the color of sapphires. I’m
talking about those dark blue sapphires that people think of blueberries when
they see them.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were gone already.” I’m not terribly
ashamed of the fact that I’m naked because she obviously saw and felt all of it
last night. Yet now that it’s morning, she seems a lot shyer than she was prior
night. I find the trait endearing, if not a little unwarranted.
“Just on my way out. Listen, last night was uh,” She’s
biting her bottom lip as she shimmies her pants the rest of the way up to land
snuggly against her shapely hips. Her finger deftly pulls up the zipper and
buttons her jeans, black jeans. She already has the sheer, dark blue top she wore
last night pulled over her head. I remember flashes of that top being pulled
off her body.
“I’m sorry about your clothes,” She says quietly, and I
glance down at the ripped t-shirt. The woman had prowess last night, so why the
shy act this morning?
“It’s not a big deal. I’ve got more.” I can’t lie. I’m
enjoying the way she’s fidgeting with her hair and desperately trying to find
her belongings scattered around the room. I see a flash of something on one of
her fingers, and I almost chuckle when I realize it’s a wedding ring. The
girl’s married! No wonder she’s more nervous than a rabbit eying a wolf.
“Thanks, I mean, everything was great, but I have to go!”
Without so much as a peck on the cheek, she’s practically running out the suite
bedroom door. I cross my arms over my chest as I wait about three seconds before
she’s back through the door. When her shoes are actually on her feet, she runs
this time with a shimmer of something in her eyes like tears. Then I do feel a
little bad.
“Taxi!” I try not to let the tears gathering in my eyes fall
as I hail a cab. My heart is pounding in my chest as I slip into the back and
try to look normal while the male taxi driver asks where I’d like to go. “Uh,
the Hilton.” I tell him, and he just stares at me.
“Which one?” My mouth goes dry as I try to remember which
one my sister’s wedding was held.
“Right, the one on the Vegas strip?” I see the condescending
smirk come over his face as he starts to drive away from the hotel. He goes
around the block, and pulls up where we left off. Confused, I glance around and
see that I was, in fact, at the Hilton on the strip in the first place. Great, the
one night stand I had is staying at the same hotel, now what am I going to do?
“That’ll be ten dollars.” Growing more and more anxious and
pissed by the moment, I toss the ten at the smart ass and struggle with the
door handle for a second. This time, there are tears trailing down my face as I
sit on the curb with my purse dangling between my legs. My head is hanging, and
my hair is hiding my face from passersby, but if I don’t get up soon, someone
from the wedding is going to see me.
Feeling nauseous and overwhelmed, I stand up and stumble
back through the door. Without a word to the doorman, I pull my key from my
purse and study the number on it. My stomach drops out from under me, my bottom
lip trembles, and I let out a tiny noise that sounds like a mouse just as it
realizes it’s caught.
The hot, sexy one night stand guy is my neighbor in this
hotel, and there is a flashy, diamond ring on my finger that I have never seen
in my life. The last thought that runs through my mind before I collapse onto
the floor is:
What the hell happened last night?
Two Years Later
What happens in Vegas, doesn’t always
stay
in
Vegas. ~ Melanie
“Melanie Ingle, will you marry me?”
My heart stops and stutters in my chest as I stare at the
kind, brown eyes of the man before me. His lips are curled into a knowing smile
with a tiny dimple on his right cheek, and I can’t help the automatic pilot
smile that comes over my face. Flashes of questions pop into my mind that looks
a lot like this-
Am I in love with him? Or do I just love him in a friends
kind of way?
Could this work?
And my favorite one:
Where else am I going to find a guy
that will ignore the fact that I have three cats?
“Yes! Oh, God yes!” I try for the proper inflection in my
tone, although what I’m actually feeling is terror. Apparently the quiver in my
voice is mistaken for excitement by Oliver and his family. They all get teary
eyed and clap each other on the back as they hug and congratulate Oliver and
me. Most of them are of British origin, other than a few women or men who have
married into the family.
Oliver’s third youngest brother pulls me into a tight bear
hug and squeezes the air from my lungs, effectively rendering me speechless. Not
that I don’t mind being rendered speechless because the next thing that might
come from my mouth is ‘Never mind, just kidding!’ No one would want to hear
that.
He pats down my disheveled curls, and I try for another
smile, but it’s wobbling. In fact, my entire demeanor is starting to wobble. I
excuse myself quickly and leave Oliver to fend for himself with his relatives.
It doesn’t truly matter. They’re all more interested in him than they are me,
really. It’s more about the fact that
he’s
getting married. To them it doesn’t
matter to whom.
I push through the catering people into the bathroom and
close the door as softly as I can so as not to warrant any attention. The
classic blush of humiliation on my cheeks has risen already, and I wish I could
wipe it right off my face along with all this makeup. Heaving in deep breaths
like a drowning person, I stare down at the ring Oliver managed to slip on my
finger before I escaped.
It’s beautiful, and it’s also nothing like what I would have
wanted for an engagement ring.
“Calm the fuck down, Melanie Ingle!” I tell myself out loud
in the mirror as I stare into my own eyes. Feeling as if I might fall through
the looking glass, I finally let my head drop and stare at the white, porcelain
sink beneath me.
“Oliver is a decent man. He has a bright future ahead of him
with an excellent career, and he’s already rich. What kind of girl would turn
down an offer from a man like that?” I moan like I’m going to be sick as I
stomp one of my heeled feet. “You would, you dumbass! You would because you are
too chicken shit to get married,
again
.” I lie to myself in an attempt
to make this drowning sensation dissipate. It’s not working.
Someone knocks on the door abruptly, and I panic as I fumble
around in my tiny clutch purse for a stick of eyeliner. I need to dry the tears
and replace the makeup before anyone notices that they’re not tears of joy.
“I’m coming!” I shout as I hurriedly smear on the charcoal colored, sticky
substance.
“Just checking to make sure that you’re alright.” It’s
Oliver’s kind voice, and part of me wonders if I’m making a mistake, again. Oh,
I care about him deeply, but I keep asking myself if I love him. Hell, we haven’t
slept together, and we’ve been dating for fourteen months. A girl needs to get
some, and he’s not putting out because he claims he’s saving himself.
“I’m fine, thanks!” I take in another deep breath, stuff
down all the awful thoughts creeping up over and over again, and then I open up
the bathroom door. I’d make an excellent political wife because I can put on a
straight face when the situation calls for it. It’s the blush that always seems
to do me in, though.
Oliver’s eyes are narrowed suspiciously as he takes my hands
in his and doesn’t let me leave the bathroom. Before I know it, he pushes me
back into the small room and closes the door behind us. I watch his large
fingers trigger the lock, and then he turns back to me and moves his hands up
to my shoulders. I see a lecture coming on, and mentally prepare myself for
harsh words.
“Why did you leave like that?” While Oliver can be kind, he
can also swing to the other end of the spectrum sometimes. It’s rare, but it
seems pompous ass runs in the bloodline. This is one of those moments because
his voice is not kind. It’s harsh.
“I’m sorry. It was all just so overwhelming.” He runs a hand
through his hair as I answer him, and I see the way his fingers grip at the
roots for a second. I’ve always wondered if he contemplates getting physical
with me, and not in a good way. But Oliver would never do that, he’s too
impassionate for those types of emotions.
“You’re going to have to get used to it, Melanie. I’m
entering into one of the most famous law firms in New York City, which means my
name will be everywhere. You’re going to be in sticky situations where you’ll
need to maintain a calm façade. If you can’t handle that…” I quirk an eyebrow
and wait for him to revoke his proposal, but he doesn’t let me off the hook
that easy. Maybe I should just tell him I changed my mind. I just didn’t want
to embarrass him in front of his friends and family.
“I’ll try harder.” I tell him like an obedient little girl.
Ugh, sometimes I honestly disgust myself.
“Good, now why don’t you come out and enjoy a mimosa with my
mom? She’s downright dying to talk to you about wedding plans.” I know my face
pales because I feel the warmth leave my cheeks, and it suddenly grows unusually
cold around my lips. I realize that I’m clamping them together to hold in a
screech of horror, and smile at Oliver as I smooth my black, cocktail dress
down.
Before he unlocks the bathroom door, he puts a hand to my
cheek, and I grow uncomfortable as he attempts to lock eyes with me. When I get
home, I’m going to stand in a hot shower until the water runs cold and do some
serious thinking. However, right now I’m going to go into that room with
Oliver’s family and pretend that I’m happy in this moment. I don’t want to
embarrass him in front of them, and I seriously don’t want to embarrass myself.
The door opens, and I’m swept into a room full of his family
enjoying expensive cocktails and discussing their spouse’s business deals.
These people are ambitious, and this is the crowd that I should be involved in
if I want to be successful. Steadying my nerves with one deep breath, I smile
at Oliver’s short mother and take her hand in my own. She pulls me into a hug
and stands on her tiptoes in her heels to get her chin over my shoulder.
The scent of lemons wafts off her, and I take comfort from
it. Oliver smiles at me as he raises a glass, and proceeds to do the rounds
with his family all over again. I’m passed from one woman to the next as they
wish me well in my future marriage and ask me about wedding details. I honestly
do not know how to respond, and tell them that I’ll need to discuss all of that
with the groom’s mother. She looks absolutely glowing at the fact that I
mention I want her input. Who else am I going to ask about Oliver and what he
wants in a wedding?
I have no idea what that would be.
As the evening winds down and the guests finally begin to
leave, Mr. And Mrs. Stanton, Oliver’s parents, pull me aside. I’ve managed to
fumble my way through all the appropriate thank you’s and smile at the right
times. Oliver is chatting with his best friend, Dante, by the front door of the
banquet room.
“I know you’re not on the best of terms with your parents,
Melanie, but we’d love it if we could meet them before the wedding.” My heart
freezes in my chest, and the false smile is plastered on my face as I try to
comprehend what they just said. They want to meet my parents? This might be the
moment where the gig is up, and the engagement is over. Oliver chooses that
moment to stop in for me as if I’m a robot that has shut down.
“Melanie’s parents live extremely far away, Mom. It might
take a while before they’re able to come to New York to visit.” I know that my
eyebrows have shot up even though that fake smile is still gracing my lips, and
Oliver gives me a warning glance as his father furrows his own brows. Realizing
that I still have the potential to embarrass someone I care about, or so I
think, I let the eyebrows fall and exhale finally.
“That’s true, it might take a little while. I’ll call them
and see if they’re willing to take a break from California weather to visit New
York.” Mrs. Stanton smiles at me as I gather myself back up and give her a
brisk hug. Mr. Stanton shakes my hand, as always, and I wonder if he will ever
warm up to me as a person. I truly think he views me as just a pawn, for his
son to use, when he needs me.
In a rare display of acting human, Mr. Stanton runs a hand
through his blonde hair. He dyes it because I know for a fact that when he gets
a five o’clock shadow the entire thing is gray. Oliver pulls me away at that
moment, and he tucks my hand in the crook of his elbow as he leads me from the
banquet hall. Neither one of us speak as he helps me into the limo and closes
the door for me. I watch him straighten his suit jacket and button up the top
button as he walks around the vehicle.
Edward, our driver, gives me a small grin when he sees the
flash of the grandiose diamonds on the ring surrounding a heart shaped ruby. I don’t
know what I’m going to wear this thing with because I never wear red, and I’m
just not fond of rubies. If Oliver is an understanding man I might ask him if we
could exchange the ring, but he seems to think he knows best for everyone. Just
as he’s sliding into his own seat beside me, I feel a strange hitch in my
breath and turn my face towards the window.
In that split second, I see the moroseness written all over
my face, and my eyes widen in shock. Isn’t a girl supposed to be happy the day
she’s engaged to a soon to be millionaire with parents who are already grazing
the billionaire title? I seriously need to call my mother, my father, or maybe
even my elusive sister. Maybe she felt like her life was finally over when her
husband proposed.
Before Oliver can see the devastated look, I twist my lips
up into a wry smile and focus on all the cake I’ll get to eat in the next few
months while I’m attempting to find the perfect flavor. It doesn’t help much,
but it soothes me enough to be able to pull off giving Oliver a good night kiss
when he drops me off at my sky rise apartment complex.
As soon as I’m through the front door and I’ve said good
evening to Turner, the doorman, I pull off my high heels and let my feet sink
into the carpet while I wait for the elevator. I know it’s unconventional, and
maybe a little gross, but I’d rather suffer from some sort of rash than suffer
another couple of minutes in these damn shoes! The little bell dings to let me
know that an elevator has arrived, and I step aside for the young couple with
clubbing clothes.
Ignoring their glances at the huge rocks on my finger, I
step into the elevator and hit the button for my floor. With my shoes in hand
and my purse tucked under my arm, I lean against the side and hang my head.
Sometimes I just wish my brain would be quiet for a little while, but it never
seems to shut up. Not even when I’m kissing Oliver.
There’s another reason I shouldn’t marry him.
I add
it to my mental list and attempt to throw the cons up against the pros to see
if this is such a brilliant idea. I’m too exhausted to think about it for long,
and yet my mind tries to force me into it. So when I get into my apartment, I
immerse myself in the task of feeding the three felines currently twining
around my legs.
“Relax, I’m home. I didn’t die, so there’s still someone to
feed you.” I think that’s the only reason my cats show me affection, but hey,
they’ve gotta have someone to feed them.
Shortbread, a cream colored Siamese, gives me usual
cross-eyed gaze as he screams at me while I open up a can of kitty food. I
think it stinks, but they love it. Just as I’m finished feeding the trio, my
phone rings and my heart plummets. The only person calling me at eleven at
night would be my mother in California because currently it’s eight in the
evening there. That’s about when they finish up in the vineyards these days.
I swipe the wireless phone from the receiver and plop down
onto one of the white, leather chairs in the living area of my apartment.
Taking a deep breath, I hit the green, blinking button and put the phone to my
ear. I don’t have time to make a squeak as my mother starts in with her usual
‘where were you’ bit.
“I have been calling you since six this evening, Melanie
Ingles! Where have you been? It’s-” I know she’s checking a little chart they
try to keep by the phone, so they know what time it is in New York. “Three past
eleven at night!” I’m twenty three years old, and my mother still calls me
almost every night to check on me. I might not mind if it weren’t for the
simple fact she interferes with my private life a little too much.
“I know. I was out with Oliver tonight, Mom. His parents had
a function at a hotel, and I was invited. Don’t worry, I didn’t drink and
drive, and no I didn’t smoke.” I tick off the two most crucial things on her
mind and hear her inhale deeply on the other line as she tries to think of what
she always asks me next.
“And you made sure he wore a condom?”
Wow, how many
mothers ask that every time they’re on the phone with their daughter and she
says she had a date? Probably only one mother,
mine
.
I keep the
pithy thought to myself, though.
“We haven’t had sex yet, Mom.” I know she can hear the
impatient tone in my voice, and she starts in on the usual rant.
“I can’t believe you two have been dating for so long and
neither one of you have seen the other naked. I mean, how can a relationship
work out if you don’t get to know someone physically? It just seems a little
off, Melon Ball.” I cringe at the nickname she uses for me, and I pray that she
doesn’t use it in front of Mr. And Mrs. Stanton when they get here.