by Anthology
Zero catches it. “Should we try?”
I touch the silky skirt. I remember sitting on the sofa with my dad, laughing my fool head off. I loved the part when Audrey screams after Gregory Peck sticks his hand in the Mouth of Truth.
“Yes,” I say softly.
Zero takes the dress from its hanger. “This one is a step in,” he says.
I know when the soft fabric encases me that this is the one. I turn to the mirror. I don’t feel too fancy in it. It fits me just right. I bite my lip, wishing my dad was here to see it. He’d tell me I was prettier than the regal princess at the end of the movie.
“It’s a good one,” Zero says.
I nod, unable to speak. I turn to the side, feeling the skirt move with me like a wave.
“Decision made. They’ll special order it,” he says, unzipping the back. “Should it be sent to your house in LA?”
I nod. “The condo.”
When he’s slipped out of the room, I bend down and slide my jeans on. A wedding day. It’s not something I thought would happen to me, given my past. But now it’s just three months away.
If I don’t run off screaming before then.
When I walk out, Zero is at the counter making sure they are getting the order right. There seems to be a commotion outside.
One of the girls peeks past the curtains in the front window. “I think there’s a protest or something going on,” she says.
Hildebrand looks up from her computer screen. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a lot of—women? Dressed in costumes.”
Zero’s head pops up. “Uh oh,” he says.
I hurry over to the window. “Zero? What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he says innocently. He taps the counter. “Now make sure you get the size right.” His focus is razor sharp on Hildebrand’s screen.
I jerk back the curtain. Outside is at least a dozen of the performers from Zero’s show, including Angel Wild, Zero’s ex. They are all dressed in various interpretations of Xena: Warrior Princess.
“Zero,” I say again. “You probably want to see this.”
He turns around. “What is it?”
“Angel. And a lot of his friends.” I dash to the counter, and before Zero can stop me, I snatch his phone from his purse.
“Hey!” he says.
I jump to his Twitter account. He’s Tweeted a dozen pictures of himself in the white gown. “Divine for a big day, right?” he posted alongside them.
“You didn’t!” I say.
“Nobody follows me!” he shoots back.
“You have twelve thousand followers!” I exclaim.
He looks sheepishly at Hildebrand. “I am wildly popular,” he says. “I have fans.”
“You Tweeted the one of us together!” I cry. “With the sign!”
“So what if a few admirers have assembled?” Zero looks cross.
“They’re all dressed as warrior princesses!” I tell him.
“Really?” Zero heads across the room.
Right about then the door blasts open. Angel Wild steps in. His costume is impressive, a gold bra and leather strips hanging down to his knees. His black boots are at least eight-inch platforms. His black wig is spot on with fringe bangs, and even his make up makes him resemble Lucy Lawless.
I spent a lot of time with Angel while he and Zero were dating. I never understood their breakup. Obviously this isn’t over.
Angel pulls out a rubber sword and lets out a roar. The helper girls squeal and back away.
Angel aims his sword at Zero. “Who is this person you’re marrying?” he demands.
I expect Zero to correct him, but he just shrugs. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says.
“Zero!” I say.
“You will tell me now,” Angel insists. “Or I will unleash my warrior princesses on this establishment.” He spots the rack of dresses. “Is one of these yours?” He thrusts his sword at them and the girls squeal again.
Hildebrand has had just about enough of this. She comes out from behind the counter like a raging bull. “You will put down that ridiculous sword and leave my shop!” she says.
For a second, Angel hesitates.
I’m so mad at Zero for posting pictures of himself. I have to stop this.
“We’re shopping for MY wedding gown,” I say. Angel’s about to feel really foolish. Dang Zero.
Angel lowers the sword. “So this is for you?”
“Yes, it is.”
He glances back at the double doors, propped open by his legion of Xena Warrior Princesses. “Oh.”
I pull on Zero’s arm. “Come on you two,” I say to them both. “Let’s tell the Xenas to stand down and go get some coffee.”
Three: Elvis Speaks
I leave the coffee shop an hour later with Angel and Zero moon-eyed over each other again. People walking by stop to stare at all the Xenas scattered around the tables.
They seem fine now. Funny what a little wedding misunderstanding can do to bring a couple back together. I think Zero did it on purpose. He can be stubborn when he wants something but doesn’t want to admit it.
The Bellagio is only a few blocks down the Vegas strip, so I decide just to walk it rather than call Colt’s car.
I should feel relieved that I have a dress that I love, but something tells me it’s not going to pass muster with The Cure’s publicity department. The couture bridesmaid gowns will all be long and freakishly lavish. I’ll look like the flower girl.
Even during the day, the long street of casinos and colorful hotel fronts is like a dream. I never tire of coming here. So much of my recent history has happened in these city limits. Colt’s big win. The crazy time that Power Play’s girlfriend Maddie got snatched by another MMA fighter, and we had to get her back. And so many other ordinary visits to support fighters or just watch a match or let Colt cut a ribbon to some new business.
People flow around me. It’s summer and high vacation season. Tourists with their cameras snap pictures of their families in front of the dancing fountains. Bleary-eyed gamblers step out of casinos, blinking as if they haven’t seen the sun in days.
Anything can happen here.
I pass a strip mall wedding chapel, this one promising an Elvis lookalike who will sing “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You” at the altar. Dozens of photos of happy couples are plastered in the front window.
Maybe Zero’s right. Colt and I could just elope.
But Colt wouldn’t defy his dad. They think there’s a lot at stake. The Cure seems to believe Colt is underperforming with his publicity. I don’t see why that matters. A fight is about the challenge. The physical and mental dance between two tough people. It’s not like any of them need the money.
“Hey there little lady,” a voice says.
It’s an Elvis impersonator, standing in the doorway of the chapel. He’s late Elvis, decked in a white suit with gold studs in the shape of an Eagle.
“You lookin’ to get married?” He points at my engagement ring.
“Not today,” I tell him. Although, if Colt does make it Vegas tonight…
“You’re hesitating,” he says. And without warning, he breaks out in the chorus of “It’s Now or Never.”
I can’t help but laugh. If I believe in signs, then Elvis here is telling me exactly what to do. “Maybe I’ll come back around this way if I can find my groom.”
“I’m here all night,” Elvis says. “Thank you, thank you very much.”
I climb the stairs to take the bridge over to the other side of the Strip to head into the Bellagio. Now if only Colt will come.
Four: Social Trending
I’m sitting in the room watching a recording of an MMA fighter one of my trainees will be going up against when I get the message that Colt is heading in to watch the fights at the MGM tonight.
I’m a mix of happy and disappointed. I would like to have a little time with just him. But at least the fights won’t go on all night. Well, depending on th
e after parties.
I flop back on the bed, feeling frustrated. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. High Tide has her first match in three days. I shouldn’t have left her. She’s bound to be nervous.
Maybe I should just fly back. I got the dress. I hung out with Zero. I’m sure he’s tied up with Angel now. He can get his helicopter flight later.
In fact, that’s what I’ll do. Colt can just go to the match himself.
I snatch up my cell and dial the pilot’s number to let him know I want to go home.
The answering service picks up. “Hey, Jo, what can I do for you?” a girl asks.
“I was hoping I could get the helicopter to take me back to LA,” I say.
“Let’s see. Jake is with Colt right now, bringing him to Vegas. ETA is about two hours.”
“Shoot. Okay.”
“I can schedule you a charter, but by the time we could get them ready for you, Jake would probably be almost there.”
“That’s okay. I’ll wait.” I hang up. Of course Jake went for Colt. I should have realized that.
I sit by the window looking out on the Strip. The MGM is advertising the fight. Looks like our friend Power Play is in one of the matches. That’s why Colt is coming.
But he’s running tight on the time for the opener. He’ll probably go straight to the arena.
I don’t know what to do. It’s all so confusing. I’m upset and I don’t know who to blame. Myself probably.
I snatch up my string bag and my phone and take off again, too pent up to stay in the room any longer. When I pass the registration desk, a woman manager calls out, “Love the dress! Glad you found one in town!”
That’s weird. Maybe the salon had to send a receipt to the hotel. No telling what all Zero told them.
I wave at her and push through the doors. A crowd has formed outside to watch the dancing fountains and light show. I pause, trying to make myself enjoy this visit. I’m supposed to be escaping my life for a day.
Maybe I should take up gambling. What would it be like to just waltz into the high rollers section and put a thousand dollars down on a number?
I shudder. Just a year ago, a thousand dollars would have lasted me two months.
Still, I go through the entrance to one of the casinos, drawn by the pulsing lights and buzzers. A girl tying on an apron stops short when she sees me. She straightens her little cap. She must be coming on duty.
“Aren’t you that fighter’s girlfriend?” she asks. “Pretty dress!” She hurries past me to a door marked, “Staff only.”
Okay, that’s weird. I’m wearing jeans. What dress?
I sit at an empty poker table and pull out my phone. I’m not on Twitter myself, but Colt is. I check his profile and see a trending hashtag #GunnerWedding.
What has happened now? I scroll through screens, ready to serve Zero’s head on a platter.
But it’s not him. The bridal shop posted a picture of me with a boastful, “The MMA champion’s bride was here! #GunnerWedding.” It’s a shot of the sausage dress. I groan. Really?
The commenters alternatively think I look “pathetically skinny” and “like I’m letting myself go.” I’m criticized for everything from the dress to my ponytail to the way I look like I’m terrified. A secondary trending tag is #RunFromTheGunner.
Great.
I brace my elbows on the poker table and hold my head in my hands. Now I really want to go home.
A ball cap lands on the table in front of me. It says, “Viva Las Vegas.”
“Need one of these?” a low voice asks.
I look up. It’s an Elvis. Young Elvis this time, in a black silk shirt and tight pants.
And a little familiar.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
“We didn’t meet properly before,” he says. “I’m a friend of Colt’s father.”
Now I recognize the voice. “Are you that secret spy guy who helped us with Parker?”
He bends at the waist. “I am indeed. Jax De Luca at your service.”
“You’re Elvis?”
He chuckles. “Just for today’s assignment. Your father-in-law—”
“Not yet,” I interrupt.
“Your future father-in-law got concerned that you might be hounded after the wedding dress incident and asked me to look after you.”
I groan. “Can’t I do anything without everyone watching?”
“Not in your position.” Jax picks up the hat and expertly fits it to my head, pulling the ponytail out the hole in the back. He’s pure charisma up close, I’ll give him that. Fortunately I like my men a little rougher around the edges.
“Would you like me to take you somewhere?”
I cough an almost-laugh. “I don’t think you’re very low profile in that get up.”
He holds out his elbow for me to hold on to. “Au contraire. Here in Vegas, there’s an Elvis on every corner.”
He’s got me there.
Five: Colt and Fireworks
Jax takes me on the slow route to the heliport, walking along the Strip to get to his fancy Aston Martin. By the time we get there, Jake has already set down the chopper.
Colt is sitting inside, no doubt getting all the messages that deluged him when he got back in range.
“He should get a satellite signal,” Jax says, shouting over the whir of the blades, deafening even as far away as we are.
I shake my head, holding on to the brim of the ball cap. “He wants to have some places where no one can contact him!”
Jax nods. “Don’t we all.”
Colt opens the door to jump down.
My heart catches, just like it always does when I see him coming toward me. He’s so broad, so muscular. The extra training he does now that he’s the MMA champion shows in the power of his stride, the width of his thighs in the jeans.
Since we’ve been together, he’s adapted my style of dress instead of expecting me to be like him. So today it’s just a snug-fitted UFC T-shirt and a ball cap from Hawaii, a gift from my half-brother.
When he sees me, he breaks in a big smile. “I see you’re the talk of the town.” He nods to Jax. “Thank you for finding her.”
“Anything for a lovely lady.” Jax salutes us and turns back to his car. “Have a beautiful wedding.”
“You’re coming down for it, right?” Colt calls out.
“They’d have to lock me away someplace very serious before I’d miss it,” he says.
We watch as the sleek car drives away.
Colt tweaks the brim of my cap. “I like this.”
“Jax brought it. Everyone seemed to know who I was.”
He wraps his arm around me. “I know you don’t like that.”
“Hate it, actually.”
He hasn’t arranged for a golf cart, so we start walking toward the black car.
“We’re going to have to go straight to the match,” I say. “You’re going to miss the introductions as it is.”
He pulls me in close. The smell of jet fuel and hot asphalt surrounds us as he leans down to kiss me. His mouth is hot and demanding, and I start to forget the worries of the day. Zero and the bridal shop, and the horrid sausage dress hitting the news.
His hands slide down my back and lift the bottom of my shirt to find a bit of skin. I lurch against him, hot from the contact.
When his mouth starts to move along my jaw, I say, “The car?”
“Mmmm,” he says. “Good thing there are privacy panels installed between the seats.”
We walk the rest of the way to the black Mercedes, and he opens the door. I duck inside and wave to Martin, who gives me a polite nod. “To the Bellagio?” he asks.
Colt sits beside me. “I’d say go about twenty minutes out into the desert, then turn around and take us back.”
He waits for Martin to acknowledge the request, then closes the glass between the seats, then a black privacy panel. Now the only way to communicate with the front is to use the speaker.
“You think the windows are dark
enough?” I ask as his hand travels up from my knee to my thigh.
“I think I don’t give a damn.”
His mouth takes mine again. I groan against his lips as his hand finishes its journey between my legs. His fingers work the space between, pressing hard against the seam of my jeans.
The wedding plans are erased. The TV screens. Colt’s father’s edicts.
His other hand slides beneath my shirt. His palm is warm. I’ve gone back to wearing athletic bras, but Colt doesn’t care about that. His thumb slips beneath the band, and I arch against him as he grazes a nipple.
His lips find mine again, urgent and hard. He’s kissed me so many times, but somehow he always makes it seem new. Emotion surges through me as well as desire. I love this man. He’s the only one I ever have.
He presses me down on the seat, and I sink into the luxurious leather. Colt pushes the shirt out of his way and lifts the bra over the crests of my breasts.
“Mmmm,” he says as his mouth leaves mine and goes lower, capturing the nipple. His hat is pushed up and tumbles off his head onto the floor. I laugh a little and run my hands through his hair.
He grazes the nipple with his teeth. I’m flooded with heat and arch up against him. His body is strong and hard over mine. I want everything out of the way and reach between us for the snap of his jeans.
His belly is rock hard, flat, leading to the bumps of his abs. I find the scar from his surgeries, the gun shot wound that almost killed him, and once again thank God for all we’d survived together.
Colt jerks at the waist of my jeans and yanks the zipper down. He’s impatient now, unstoppable, and my breath catches as his mouth moves to my belly button. He kisses along the indentions from my waistband and pushes the jeans away from my hips.
I clasp his hair again as he makes his way down, biting along the path left open by the zipper until he reaches the top of my panties.
With a growl, he shoves my jeans down and away, over my knees and ankles, taking my sneakers off with the force of it.
Before I can take another breath, his mouth is on me, my thighs wide. The panties still separate him from me, but his tongue slides along the crease anyway.