by Holly Rayner
Luciano shrugs, looking unhappy. “Why would he say we had if we hadn’t?”
“What are we going to do?” I ask. “It could be anywhere!”
“Come on,” he says. “We’ll just have to look in the water.”
We cross the street to the fountain. Without hesitation, Luciano begins rolling up the cuffs of his pants. I peer over the edge and see that the water is shallow—with his pants rolled up to his knees, he’ll be able to wade around and keep his clothes dry. Of course, if he’s going in, I’m going to have to go in too.
I sit down and start unbuckling my shoes, but Luciano places a hand over mine.
“Hang on,” he says. “You’re staying out of that water.”
“What?”
“There’s no need for us both to go in, and I don’t want you to ruin your dress. I’ll get in and hunt around for the key, and you can walk the perimeter and just look and see if you can see anything.”
I’m so startled by this gracious gesture that I decide not to mention the fact that Luciano’s system won’t allow us to search the middle of the fountain. That’s where the jets of water are, I reason, so it’s likely the little ripples and currents they’ve created have pushed the key to the perimeter. At any rate, it’s a place to start.
But after we’ve completed three laps of the fountain—laps in which I’ve kept my eyes on the water and Luciano has dragged his toes the whole way in hopes of catching something, laps during which we’ve scoured every visible inch of the fountain’s pool—we are forced to concede that our approach isn’t working.
“You might as well get out,” I tell Luciano, and he does so without argument.
I sit beside him and wait as he stretches his bare legs out in the sun, allowing them to dry before he unrolls his pants and replaces his shoes and socks.
“What now?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say hopelessly, rubbing at the chafed skin of my wrist under the heavy cuff.
I’m so tired. I’m so tired of this nightmare I’ve woken up in. I want to get this cuff off my hand. I want to get that annulment and forget I was ever stupid enough to get married to a stranger in Vegas. I want to be in my car, drinking coffee and singing along to songs that won’t make me think about anything in particular.
I want to be home.
“Maybe it’s time to consider going to the police,” Luciano suggests.
Fresh horror grips me at the suggestion. “I don’t want to do that,” I insist.
“Dani, it might be the best way to get out of this. I’m sure they could open these handcuffs for us.”
“Maybe they wouldn’t. Did you ever think of that? Maybe they’d refuse. Maybe they’d see us in cuffs and assume that whoever put them on us had a good reason for doing so. Maybe we’d be arrested!”
“Dani. I really don’t think that’s how the system works. They can’t arrest someone just because that person got stuck in some handcuffs. The worst thing they can do is laugh at us.”
“Well, I don’t want that, either,” I say.
“Of course you don’t. Neither do I.” He’s walking now, taking me with him, and I find I’m so used to this handcuff arrangement that I’m following him naturally. He leads us back into the lobby of the hotel where we started our morning. “But I also don’t want to be in these cuffs forever,” he adds as we sit down. “Neither do you.”
“Of course not.”
By unspoken understanding, we’re sitting very close together, almost in each other’s laps, the handcuffs buried between us. The parade of Vegas people walk by, headed on whatever errands people in this city have to complete on a Sunday morning.
Honestly, it could still be any day, at any time. It’s like I’ve stepped into a land that doesn’t recognize clocks or calendars. Everywhere else I’ve ever been slows down in the early morning, and especially on a Sunday, but this could easily be nine o’clock on Saturday night. A group of what look to me like frat boys go bounding past, howling, thumping each other energetically on the back. Two girls in short dresses covered with brightly colored sequins stagger by in the most uncomfortable looking shoes I’ve ever seen, clinging to each other’s arms, giggling. A cluster of men and women in immaculately pressed suits stride by with chins in the air as if they’re escorting the president or something.
I look over at Luciano. He’s not looking at any of the wild specimens of humanity that caught my eye. Instead, he’s staring across the lobby at the elevator door.
I follow his gaze. Standing in the elevator is a short, slender man in a top hat and tails. He’s even wearing white gloves. This isn’t the man I saw at the show last night, the man whose picture shone down from the marquee outside the theater. But there’s no mistaking the outfit. The man is a magician.
“Luciano?” I prompt. Why is he staring at him?
“That’s the in-house magician,” Luciano says quietly. He looks lost in thought as the elevator doors slide shut.
“Okay…” I say hesitantly. “But we should really be focusing on the handcuff situation, right? We can come back and see the magic show after we deal with this.”
Not likely. I can’t imagine spending one more day in this city than I have to. To my surprise, I’m not eager to flee Luciano’s company—having him here has made this situation a little easier to cope with. But I definitely want to get out of Vegas and put this whole messed-up day behind me.
But Luciano’s shaking his head. “I don’t want to see the show,” he says, and now, his attention is fully fixed on me. “I want to see Nick.”
“Who?”
“A magician friend of mine. I bet he can help us. Come on.”
“Good God, Luciano,” Nick says, circling us and shaking his head. “I told you to catch her outside the theater, not take her prisoner.”
“Can you save the jokes until after you get us out of the handcuffs, please?” Luciano says tersely, and I feel a surge of affection for him. “Dani’s been forced to follow me around all day, and she’s trying to get back home.”
This is an incredibly charitable interpretation of the facts. I want to say something, to thank him for his kindness, but I don’t know how.
Suddenly, it strikes me how lovely Luciano has been to me since we woke up this morning. He’s kept me calm when I’ve been on the verge of panicking. He’s put up with me when I’ve been angry and taken it out on him. He’s encouraged me when I’ve felt hopeless. And through it all, he hasn’t forced me to take the matter to the police, even though I knew he thought it was best. He found us another solution.
At least, I hope it’ll be a solution.
Nick is examining the cuffs. “I have a skeleton key that should work on these,” he says, and goes to a drawer. He rummages around for a few moments. “So, what did you two do last night, anyway?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Luciano says.
Nick raises his eyebrows but says nothing. Having located the key, he goes to work on the handcuffs, and a moment later they spring open. I snatch my arm back, overwhelmed with relief, rubbing my wrist.
“Thank you,” Luciano says, and I hear the relief in his voice too. “We really appreciate it, Nick.”
“No problem. Hey, can I keep those cuffs?”
Luciano hands them over. “Your reward,” he says drily, then turns to me. “Come on, let’s go.”
“You don’t want to hang around, get lunch maybe?” Nick asks.
“Sorry,” Luciano says. “I’m afraid Dani and I have more business to attend to before she can leave town.”
Right. The annulment.
In the absence of the handcuffs, it’s easy to forget the fact that there is still something tying me and Luciano together, something even bigger and more substantial than steel. I just hope the marriage proves easier for us to get out of.
Chapter 14
Luciano
I don’t have even the foggiest idea where a person goes to get an annulment. I suppose you need a lawyer, but the last time I had
dealings with one was on the occasion of my divorce five years ago. I really don’t want to call the same man again and explain that I need help extricating myself from a second marriage. There must be someplace in Las Vegas where tourists go for quick annulments, someplace specifically designed and set up for that function. After all, this has got to be an extremely common problem.
I turn to Dani. She’s wringing her hands.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“My luggage is still at the Castello,” she says. “Do you think we could go back there? I’d like to change out of…this.”
She gestures helplessly to the evening dress she’s wearing, and I see her point. She’s been wearing the thing since last night, and it’s got to be feeling a little uncomfortable right now, not to mention awkward.
I stop and really take her in for the first time since we woke up together. She still looks lovely, of course, but she’s showing signs of the stressful day we’ve had. Her hair is messy and a little tangled, and last night’s makeup is slightly smudged.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say. “Let’s go and pick up your luggage. Then, we’ll go to my place. We can each have a shower, if you want, and get changed into some fresh clothes, and then we’ll take care of this annulment. How does that sound?”
I see her hesitating.
“I’ll make us lunch, too,” I offer. “I make a pretty mean chili.”
“Well…that does sound pretty good,” she admits.
“Great. It’s settled, then.”
“I don’t know where my hotel is from here,” Dani admits.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “We’re only a couple of blocks away.”
We collect Dani’s luggage from the concierge at the Castello. She doesn’t have very much—a single rolling suitcase and a shoulder bag, which I take from her over many protests.
“We’ll get a cab to my place,” I say, even though I’d normally walk it. I’ve noticed her starting to limp a little. Those shoes must be painful. I don’t comment on the look of relief that crosses her face as I step off the curb to hail a taxi.
We don’t talk on the ride over, but to my surprise, it feels like a companionable silence. It’s as if, after everything we’ve been through together, some kind of bond has sprung up between Dani and me. A couple of times, we make eye contact, and she even smiles a little. For most of the ride, though, she leans her head against the window and just gazes out at the city, leaving me to wonder what she must be thinking.
How strange it must be to come to a place like this when you don’t live here. How disorienting it must be to come expecting a weekend of silly fun with your friends, only to wake up married to a stranger. Dani has handled it all surprisingly well.
When we reach my place, I pay the driver and we get out of the cab. I take both of Dani’s bags this time and lead her up the walkway and into the lobby.
“Top floor,” I say once we’re in the elevator, and Dani pushes the button to take us up.
When the door slides open, I step out, and it takes a moment before I realize Dani isn’t beside me. I turn. She’s still standing in the elevator, staring out.
“What is it?” I ask, concerned. “Is everything okay?”
“The elevator comes right into your apartment,” she says.
“Yes.” I look at her quizzically. “I’ve got the penthouse.”
“How do you stop total strangers from coming in here all the time?” Dani asks. “You didn’t use a key.”
“There’s a doorman. He doesn’t admit people who aren’t supposed to be in the building. You saw him on the way in.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. I thought he was just there for appearances or something.”
“No. He keeps people out if they aren’t residents or invited guests, and he hails cabs for people. Things of that nature.”
“I see…” She’s left the elevator, now, and is walking around, taking in the penthouse. “This place is really nice.”
“Thank you. The view is the best part, really.”
I pull back a curtain and show her my favorite view from the penthouse, the one that looks out over the Vegas Strip.
“It’s better at night,” I say softly.
“It’s…”
Dani turns away from the window and runs her fingers along the spines of some books I have arranged on one of my bookcases. I can tell she’s reading the titles. After a moment, she pulls one out, flips through a few of the pages, and then puts it carefully back in its place.
“It’s so normal.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean…oh, I don’t know how to say it. This is awkward. Never mind.”
“No, go ahead,” I urge her. “We’ve spent the last several hours handcuffed together, so I don’t think today is going to get any less comfortable. You can say what’s on your mind.”
“It’s just that this place is nothing like I expected,” she says. “It’s gorgeous, of course, and it’s clearly a wealthy man’s apartment. But it’s not…” She sighs. “It doesn’t match the way I was thinking about you. I guess I expected something flashy, you know? Gold furniture, swords on the walls…”
“What?” I can’t contain a laugh. “You thought I was going to have animal-print rugs?”
Her cheeks go pink.
“I don’t know what men have when they’re showing off their money. I didn’t think you’d have the same books I have in my own house. I didn’t think you’d be the kind of guy to invite me over for a bowl of chili. I thought you’d serve—I don’t know—quail eggs and lobster to the women you bring up here.”
“Do you want quail eggs and lobster?” I ask.
“No, chili sounds perfect. That’s what I’m saying. You’re so normal, and I’m…pleasantly surprised.”
“I see.”
“And…and I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry, Luciano. I know I made assumptions about you. When you told me you sold cars, I put that together with the fact that you have that platinum club membership at the casino and you’re—you know—older, and handsome, and…”
“I’m not that old!”
“Older than me. And, I don’t know, it all added up to a very intimidating picture. I didn’t see what a rich, handsome, older man could possibly want with me unless he was running some kind of con, so I immediately didn’t trust you. I made an assumption, and I’m sorry.”
She says all this very fast.
“It’s all right,” I say, settling into a chair so that she’ll sit down too, and she does. “You weren’t the only one to make an assumption. When I first saw you with a bachelorette party, I assumed you weren’t worth taking the time to get to know. And even after I met you, I thought there was no way you might be interested in attending that auto show. I should have asked you whether you planned to use those tickets before I tried to take them off your hands. That was thoughtless.”
“I overreacted to that,” she says. “It wasn’t as big a deal as I made it out to be. It’s just that I get so little respect working as a mechanic. Customers are always asking to speak to my boss, even though it’s my name on the sign at the shop.”
“That must be frustrating,” I say.
“It is, yeah. I get people calling thinking I’m a guy called Danny and insisting they talk to someone else.”
“I’m sorry. Hey, do you want to use the shower?” I offer. “I’ll get lunch started while you clean up.”
Dani nods gratefully, and I show her to the bathroom. I can see by her reaction that she’s impressed again when she sees the large room, the walk-in shower, and the whirlpool bathtub, but she doesn’t say anything.
I appreciate it. If there’s one room in this place that might run the risk of making me look like a playboy, it’s probably this one, but the truth is that I have that whirlpool tub because I like it. It’s a comfortable place to relax. I show Dani how to turn on the shower and then step out to the kitchen, leaving her in privacy.
I call my lawyer—no
answer—and leave a message on the voicemail. Then, I set to work on the chili. It’s my own recipe. I’ve been tweaking it and making additions to it for years now, so it’s easy to do on autopilot. I let it simmer on the stove and wait for Dani to emerge from the bathroom.
Eventually, she does, dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt with a towel wrapped around her hair.
“Thank you,” she says. “This feels much better.”
“Dani, listen,” I say. “I’m not sure we’re going to be able to get an annulment today.”
“Yeah,” she says. “I was afraid of that.”
“You were?”
“Well, it’s Sunday.” She says this as if it’s obvious, as if Sunday holds a special significance, and I realize I’ve been living in Las Vegas for far too long. “We need lawyers, right? We’re going to have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I guess I’ll have to get a hotel room for one more night.”
“Or you could stay here.”
“What?”
I spoon out two bowls full of chili and bring them over to the table.
“I mean, not if it would make you uncomfortable or anything. But at least give it some thought. I have a nice guest room. The building is safe, and there’s no twenty-four-hour casino going on downstairs. And I feel really badly about everything that’s happened. It’s the least I can do.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” she says, hesitating.
“You can use my laundry room,” I offer. “That way, you’ll have clean clothes for your trip home.”
Dani grins. “You do know the way to a woman’s heart,” she quips. “All right. I’ll stay. In the guest room. And we’ll take care of the annulment first thing in the morning.”
I join her at the table and we dig in.
“This is really good,” she says. “My compliments to the chef.”
“Thank you. I like to add a little Portuguese flair to my cooking.”
“You said you were from Portugal originally, right? You don’t have much of an accent.”
“Well, I’ve been in the States for the past two decades,” I say. “It comes back when I go back to Portugal, though.”