by Holly Rayner
“Did you find anything in your drawer?” I ask.
“Just a room-service menu.” He holds it up. “Nothing useful.”
“All right,” I say. “I guess we should start looking.”
I move to stand up, but I’m tugged backward before I can get to my feet—Luciano has made the same movement in the opposite direction, and our opposing force has landed us both right back in bed.
“Great,” he says with a sigh, and I realize we’re in for a very interesting morning.
Chapter 12
Luciano
Dani is so clearly in a state of near-panic that it motivates me to maintain a facade of calm. I haven’t been drunk enough to black out in twenty years, and unlike her, I don’t think I have the excuse of having been mistakenly given the wrong pill by a friend or anything like that. I simply had too much to drink. And that’s humiliating. I’m forty years old, for God’s sake. I should know better than to behave like that.
What on earth got into my head last night? I remember moving from place to place and drinking everywhere. I remember ordering drink after drink while watching obnoxious amateurs get up and perform terrible karaoke. How is karaoke a pastime anyone enjoys? It’s a miracle the poor suckers forced to watch don’t get out-of-control hammered every night. Then again, maybe they do. What would I know about it?
I wish I could wrap my arm around Dani’s waist and guide her, but because of the way we’re cuffed, all I can do is awkwardly turn my arm and hold her wrist. She allows it, and I pull her over to the kitchenette, where a coffee pot is plugged in beside a full-size refrigerator.
I find coffee grounds and start a pot brewing. I’ll think a lot more clearly once I’ve gotten some caffeine in my system, and it will also help me shake off this hangover. I’d forgotten what it felt like to wake up after a night of such hard drinking. I haven’t missed it.
“Do you think we could keep looking for the handcuff key?” Dani asks. “I have a flight to catch.”
“What time is your flight?” I rustle through the items on the kitchen counter—a piece of paper welcoming me to the presidential suite of one of Las Vegas’s nicest hotels, a binder with instructions on how to use the television and internet, another room service menu, and a list of complimentary items the front desk can procure for guests. I have a moment of excitement when I see a small brass key hanging on a hook on the wall, but it’s far too big for the cuffs, and I see a tag hanging from it which reads “minibar.” Some help that is.
“Five o’clock,” Dani says. “Where’s your suit jacket? Maybe you put the key in a pocket.”
“If the flight isn’t until five, you have plenty of time,” I say. “Let me make us some coffee. This will be easier once we’re more awake.”
“I like to get to the airport early,” she says, and moves as if she’s trying to cross her arms, forgetting that we’re still cuffed together. She huffs in frustration. “Fine. Make your coffee, and then let’s do this.”
The coffee brews quickly. I pour us each a cup and cover them with the disposable lids sitting beside the machine so we can get back to our search and not worry about burning our tongues. Dani, meanwhile, has spotted my suit jacket on the chair where I must have tossed it last night. She moves in that direction, pulling me in her wake, and starts going through the pockets of the jacket.
“Hang on,” I say. “Let me do that.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know. I might have personal things in there.” I can’t think what things those might be, exactly, only that I suddenly feel uncomfortable at the prospect of this woman I hardly know going through my pockets.
She tosses the jacket at me. “This is stupid. It’s not in there, anyway. What if we don’t have the key?”
“You don’t remember anything about last night?”
“I told you, no. My memories stop during the karaoke, and I definitely wasn’t in handcuffs, then.” She runs her free hand through her hair. “Maybe we should retrace our steps. Try and figure out what happened.”
“How can we do that, if we don’t remember anything?” I ask.
“Well, we came into this hotel. Presumably, we rented this room. I bet the front desk could probably tell us something.”
This is so obvious and yet so brilliant that I’m stunned into silence for a moment. “Of course,” I say blithely. “We should go down to the lobby and ask.”
“Here.” She holds out the jacket. “Put this on. Do I look okay? How’s my hair?”
“Sticking up a little in the back.” I reach out and comb it flat for her. “There you go; that looks good.”
“I bet my breath is horrible,” she cringes.
“Don’t worry about it. Just keep the coffee close. We can grab some toothbrushes while we’re down there, if you want.” I stick an arm in my jacket and immediately realize the flaw in that plan. “Okay, no jacket.”
To my surprise, Dani laughs. “We look ridiculous.”
“It is Vegas,” I point out. “I bet they see things like this all the time.”
“Do you think?”
“Oh, God, yeah. This is the place where people come to drink themselves stupid and make regrettable life choices they can forget about as soon as they jump on the plane back home. That’s why so many bachelor and bachelorette parties come here. It’s the quintessential ‘one last chance to do something idiotic before I’m expected to settle down and be an adult’ event.
“Hey, trust me,” I add, taking her un-cuffed hand in mine, “by the time you get back home, this will be a funny story you’ll be telling your friends.”
She sighs. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this, Luciano. You were just trying to have a night out, and you got pulled into the mess of Sandy having given me the wrong pills. It really should not have been your problem.”
“No,” I say. “I’m glad it happened like this. If it wasn’t me with you, you might have ended up here with someone else. Or somewhere worse with someone else. What I mean is, you could have found yourself in a dangerous situation. This might be embarrassing and strange, but at least you’re safe. That’s what’s really important.”
“That’s true,” she says. “You’re…”
“I’m what? Not the sexist pig you thought I was?” I give her a wry smile.
“You’re really nice,” she says simply. “I’m sorry things were so unpleasant between us before. You seem like a really decent person. And you’re right—I’m lucky I ended up with you last night instead of someone who might have taken advantage of the situation.”
“Besides,” I add, “I was following you around. You weren’t wrong about that. If I didn’t want to get mixed up in your affairs, I could have just stayed away.”
She giggles. “I guess that’s true. In a way, it’s all your fault.”
We make our way to the elevator, walking close together so as not to flaunt our handcuffs, but we don’t meet anyone in the hall. The lobby downstairs is a different story. It’s full of excitement. The casino floor is visible from here, and even now, on Sunday morning, people are parked at the slot machines with cocktails in hand. Farther back on the gaming floor, I can see the craps table surrounded by people in evening wear. I wonder if they woke up this morning and dressed like that, or if they simply haven’t gone home yet from last night’s festivities. From here, it’s impossible to tell.
Dani twists toward me as though worried about attracting stares in the lobby, but as we approach the front desk, I can see she has nothing to worry about. Half the people here are too hungover to notice anything going on around them, and the other half are preoccupied staring at the gaudy architecture or the bells and whistles of the casino floor.
We approach the front desk. The woman standing there looks more pulled-together than anyone else in the room. She’s dressed in a crisply pressed navy blue uniform with her hair in a neat bun and just a touch of tasteful makeup. She’s young, maybe even younger than Dani, but she looks like the only adult in the pla
ce.
“How may I help you?” she asks, smiling.
Dani practically buries her face in my shoulder, suddenly embarrassed.
“Good morning,” I say. “We’re staying in the presidential suite.”
“That’s right, I remember you. Was everything all right?” she asks.
“Everything was just fine, thank you. I’m sorry, you remember us?”
She nods. “I suppose you weren’t noticing much of what was going on around you. Well, who could blame you! What an exciting night for you!”
“What do you mean?” Dani asks.
“I mean your wedding, silly! I was the one who put you in the honeymoon suite at a discounted rate!”
I don’t understand what she’s saying. The words are literally not connecting for me. “What?”
“Well, it was just sitting there empty,” she says, as if the suite is the part that needs explaining. “And you looked so happy when you came in here last night that I wanted to do whatever I could to enhance your special day.” She smiles. “I hope the room was to your satisfaction.”
“The room was fine,” I say. “I’m sorry, did you say our wedding?”
The smile fades from her face. “You don’t remember?”
I shake my head slowly, feeling like I’m ascending the first hill on a rollercoaster, anticipating that moment when my stomach drops.
Wedding. Wedding. Wedding. My mind is grasping for another meaning to the word besides the one I know. Because Dani and I couldn’t have…there’s no way we would have…would we?
The girl behind the desk sighs. “I’m sorry. Should I not have put you in the honeymoon suite? You two seemed so happy together, I just thought it was real. I mean, I could see that you were drunk, but you didn’t seem like the other drunk couples that come here from the wedding chapels. I assumed you must have gone out drinking afterward or something. I’m so sorry, I almost always guess this right…”
“It’s not your fault,” I say numbly, retreating to a sofa in the middle of the lobby. I need to sit down. I’m only vaguely aware that Dani is still handcuffed to my arm and that I’m pulling her along with me. I haven’t even looked her way to see how she’s reacting to this news. It’s sinking in, now, what the receptionist said—we came in here last night and told her we’d gotten married.
Married. But that can’t be true, can it? I’d remember if I’d gotten married. Wouldn’t I?
I lean over, bracing my elbows on my knees and my forehead in my hands, and take a few deep breaths to center myself. As I do, I become aware of something that definitely shouldn’t be there, something that spooks me so much I almost don’t want to look. But I know I have to, so I lower my hand slowly to my lap.
There’s a ring on my finger.
I look over at Dani, and sure enough, she’s wearing a ring too. Just as I see it, I see her noticing mine.
“You didn’t have that yesterday, did you?” she asks weakly.
“No,” I say. “Did you?”
“I’ve never seen it before.”
I curse under my breath.
“God,” Dani whispers. “How could we get married and not remember it? Where did we get the rings?! These don’t exactly look cheap, do they?”
They don’t look that expensive—the ring on Dani’s finger definitely isn’t what I would have chosen to propose to someone, and it pales in comparison to the ring I gave to Ilsa—but it’s not exactly a toy, either.
“Maybe they were selling them in the…you know.” I lower my voice. This is embarrassing. “The wedding chapel.”
“You think?”
“It makes sense as a business plan. People who come into those places wanting to get married aren’t known for having thought ahead.” I snort. “Obviously.”
“Is it even a legal marriage?” Dani asks. “Don’t you need—I don’t know—witnesses, and a clerk, or something? I’ve never been married. Damn it, I wish Liz was still here. She would know this.”
“You definitely have to sign a document,” I say. “But I can’t remember whether or not we signed one. Do you?”
“Nope.”
“I wonder how we find out something like that.”
“I just want to know how we get out of these handcuffs,” Dani says sourly. “Where the hell is that key?”
“Maybe we can pick the lock,” I suggest. “Do you have a hairpin?”
“Maybe.” She picks up her purse and rifles through it with her free hand. Then, she stops. “Luciano.” Her voice is spiked with fear.
“What?” I ask, doing the best I can in our current cuffed state to turn and face her. She’s biting her lip, clearly anxious about something. “What is it?” I prompt.
She hesitates, then pulls her hand out of her bag. She’s clutching a folded piece of paper.
“I found it,” she says quietly.
I accept the paper and open it up with a sense of foreboding.
A marriage certificate. And, there at the bottom, both of our signatures.
We got married last night. Legally married. This is real.
Dani’s voice is barely a whisper when she speaks again.
“I guess I’m not going to make that plane.”
Chapter 13
Dani
“I don’t have a hairpin,” I say dully. It’s such an inadequate thing to say, given the circumstances, but what could I possibly say that would do justice to all this? I’m married? Legally married, and to a man whose last name I can’t even remember, who doesn’t even live in the same state as I do?
I know the events of last night happened because of the mix-up with Sandy’s back pills, but I can’t help berating myself. How could I have done this? What could possibly have transpired that led to me agreeing to marry him? God, what if he wasn’t the one who asked? What if this horrible situation was all my idea?
Luciano is watching me, and I realize under his penetrating gaze that I’m still rummaging through my purse, as if a hairpin is going to materialize there. I force myself to stop and set it down. I need to calm down and focus. We need to figure out what we’re going to do next.
“Dani,” he says softly, “it’s going to be okay.”
I stare at him. “Is that really all you have to say? You understand that we’re married, right? This is a big deal. This is a legal document.” I hold up the license, which is starting to crumple in my fist, and shake it at him. “What are we going to do, Luciano? I have a job. I was supposed to be on my way back to Riverside this afternoon, and now, I’m not going to be able to open the garage tomorrow because I won’t have made it back by tomorrow, because I’m married—”
“You’re hyperventilating,” he says. “Breathe. You can take a later flight.”
“I didn’t fly. I drove!”
“You said you had to get to the airport.”
“I lied. I was trying to make you move faster. I want these handcuffs off of me now, Luciano.”
“I know,” he says, and to my surprise, there’s something almost soothing in his voice. “I do, too. It’s all right. Listen, we’ll figure out a way to get these off, and then we’ll go and get the marriage annulled, all right? I’m sure there are plenty of people who do that in Las Vegas. This must be a very common problem. I bet we can still have you on the road before it gets too late.”
It’s hard to stay upset with him talking so calmly. Besides, what he’s saying makes sense.
“An annulment?”
“Don’t you think that’s the right move?”
“I do. Absolutely.” A laugh bubbles up from somewhere within me.
He stares. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” I say, leaning forward and supporting myself on my hands. “This has been such a ridiculous morning. I have no idea how I feel anymore.”
“Come on,” he says, and helps me to my feet. “Maybe we can find someone who can help.”
“Who could help with something like this?”
“I have no idea, but someone m
ust have a solution. If nothing else, we’ll go down to the police station. I’m sure they’ll have a skeleton key, or something like that.”
“The police station?” I say. I very much do not want to go to a Las Vegas police station, sit in front of a couple of officers and explain that I handcuffed myself to a man I’d just married and we need help getting the damn things off. “We’ll call that Plan B,” I say, trailing after Luciano as he walks purposefully out of the hotel lobby and into the bright morning sunlight.
We’ve barely stepped out the door when a voice calls out, “Hey, it’s you two!”
I turn. A man in a security officer’s uniform is waving at us and grinning.
“How’d it go last night?” he asks, giving us a wink.
“What do you mean?” Luciano asks.
“Still got those handcuffs on, I see,” he says, and laughs.
“What are you talking about?” I say. “Did you put these on us?”
“Please,” he scoffs. “You put them on yourselves. After making a big song and dance about how you needed them to cement your new love, and I’d get them right back… You know, my boss isn’t too happy with me about that.”
“Well, unlock us and we’ll give them back to you right now,” Luciano says.
“I haven’t got the key. You threw it in that fountain over there.” He indicates a huge pool with a fountain at the center spitting high jets of water. “I guess you’ll have to go fishing. Good luck to you.” Whistling, he strides away.
Luciano watches him go with a sour expression on his face. “I guess we really made his day.”
“Do you think the key is really in that fountain?” I ask. The thing is massive, probably half a block in length and who knows how deep. If we threw the key in there, it might officially be the stupidest thing we did in a long and stupid night.