Thankfully, Celine has left nothing to chance. Every single accessory, piece of jewellery and item
of clothing has been taken care of. Like a woman on a mission she has seen to the smallest detail. I am
so grateful to her.
It’s 6.55 p.m. I have a black clutch in one hand and a glass of chilled Chardonnay in the other. I’m
wearing my Vivienne Westwood taffeta shift dress in light metallic black; it’s above the knee, a little
shorter than I’m used to but, with the asymmetric design and ribbon around my waist it looks quite
stylish, if I say so myself. I feel young and playful in it. Celine has arranged my hair into a tidy
chignon and I’m waiting to be collected and whisked off to … who knows where.
There’s a familiar voice down the hallway; I’d recognise the sexy timbre of my future husband’s
voice anywhere. My eyes widen into a stare when he comes into view. Inside I’m thinking, ‘Fuck me!
You’re hot!’ Thankfully I have time to edit out the profanity and words leave my lips with faultless
finesse. “You look so handsome Ayden.”
He looks as if he’s just stepped out of a movie. He’s had a haircut, he’s clean shaven, pristine and
everything about him says class with a capital C. His black suit has those Armani edges sharp enough
to cause a paper cut, but it’s his eyes that cause the air to leave my body in a heavy gasp. They are
iridescent and awash with a lustrous sheen of azure blue. This is a man who has the world at his feet
and the woman he loves on his arm. I take that arm.
“Ready?” he asks, folding my fingers over his left forearm.
“Yes, I think so.”
Before taking one more step, he pauses, unwinds my fingers and pushes me gently backwards with
his splayed hands. There he stands, head cocked to one side, arms folded. nodding like an ornament
left on the back shelf of a VW. “Where the hell have you been all my life Beth?” he asks, with such
admiration I think I may fall into his arms. “I have lived for this moment. Seeing you like this, so …
so utterly beautiful. You have no idea how much I adore you.”
I reach out my hand and he takes it, pulls me to him; black on black, taffeta on cool cotton.
Inseparable. Placing my clutch under my arm I rest a soft palm on his heart. “I’ve been right here
Ayden. Right here.”
We stride out into the Vegas night; lovers soon to be husband and wife. I proudly stand beside him,
watching the numbers illuminating above the lift as it ascends, feeling beautiful, beloved and besotted
with this fiancé of mine.
“Where are we going?” I ask, preparing to step from the lift into the hotel foyer.
“To the Chandelier Bar for a drink before dinner. Where else?” He gives me a knowing smile. Now
this is a place he has visited before.
“Sounds wonderful,” I say, finding his roguish grin so endearing.
We head towards a sign that says Casino and find ourselves in a dimly lit expanse of noise and
frenetic activity; a cave where a cacophony of fruit machines and music intermingle. It’s not what I
expected and then …
From inside this gamesters’ paradise appear glimmering droplets of light; enormous chandeliers
that fall from the ceiling like heavenly stalactites. With my attention caught, Ayden places his hand
around my waist and guides me safely through the crowd heading towards a wall of radiant light.
We step inside a circular elevator with glass on all sides; the ascending portal takes us deeper into
the web of violet light. The hot breath from my mouth leaves a misty O on the glass as I lean in,
willing my eyes to register every shimmering piece of crystal. Ayden says nothing; leaves me to
stargaze, awe struck and muted.
When we step out of our gateway to Fairyland, I can do no more than gape; wide mouthed and wide
eyed at the awesome spectacle of crystal webbing, surrounding us on all sides.
Ayden slips his hand in mine and when I look into his eyes I see pure joy; he’s revelling in my
wonderment. “I knew you’d love it,” he whispers, kissing my hair softly. “Now. What would you like
to drink?” He awaits my reply with amusement, wondering what I have to say for myself when I do,
finally, rediscover my voice.
“There’s only one thing.” I smile. Taking his handsome face in the palm of my hand, I state, “When
in Rome … a Cosmopolitan, of course.”
He nods in agreement. “Let’s make that two.”
Our limousine winds its way Downtown through traffic and tourists. In the distance I see the
unmistakable landmark that is the Stratosphere Hotel Tower, rising into the cloudless night sky like an
Olympic torch.
Feeling a little sedated after my Cosmopolitan, I rest my head on Ayden’s arm, cushioned by
muscle and soft material. “Where are we going for dinner?” I ask casually, appearing to take
everything in my stride.
“The Top of the World Beth.” I watch his mouth twitch and follow the line of his pointing finger.
“You’ve got to be joking!”
“Now, would I joke about our dining arrangements?” he cajoles.
Another elevator and another event. My brain is bursting at the seams with incomparable
experiences. How will I find room for this?
Down a red corridor we walk until it opens out onto the view. For a split second I sway and Ayden
catches me. “Are you alright?”
I feel his hand under my left elbow. “Yes. I’m fine. It’s just the view. Wow!”
Over 100 floors below is Las Vegas; a dancing, dazzling array of coloured lights and buildings.
Like a scatter cushion covered in sequins, it stretches out for miles and miles as far as the eyes can
see, reaching out into desert and a dark horizon.
Ayden beckons over a waiter. “Table for two, Stone.”
With instant recognition, the waiter outstretches his hand and leads us towards our table, clicking
his fingers as he goes to gain the attention of other waiters. Mr. Stone appears to have adopted a
celebrity status. It isn’t until we reach our table that I realise why. Tucked away from prying eyes is a
lonesome dinner table, beautifully set; free from onlookers, free from anything other than a
spectacular view. Glasses sparkle in candle light and cutlery glistens beneath my fingers. Does it get
any more romantic than this?
As so often happens at moments like this, I lose my voice. I forget to share my thoughts, happy to
keep them to myself to store them for a rainy day. Ayden’s in no rush. He arranges his hands in a neat
little pyramid on the table and waits contentedly, sharing the view.
I speak first. “Do you do this on purpose to strike me dumb Mr. Stone?
The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly and he winks. Laugher ripples from somewhere
beneath his shirt and I smile, when really, inside, I’m doing cartwheels.
“What I struggle to get my head around is how you organise everything. What do you do? Spend
your entire time thinking of ways to astound me?”
“Yes Miss Parker. That’s how I spend my day.” He smirks and takes my left hand, running his
thumb across my engagement ring, back and forth. “I have more money than is good for me and it
gives me more pleasure than you can ever imagine to share it with you.”
“But I don’t need this …”
“Shall we leave?” He leans back in his chair and tips his head to the right, and gives me ‘the look.’
Th
e look he has honed and perfected over decades. The look that floors me at fifty paces. The look
that says, I love you.
I live for that look.
I arrange the napkin on my knee. “And miss a view like that? I think not.”
Undisturbed, we eat our delightful meal. The Caesar Salad is the perfect starter. My Mexican
Prawns, with scallops and lobster a la Plancha, is to die for and the fromage du jour is the perfect way
to end a delicious meal. Predictably, Ayden keeps the waiter on his toes, by reorganising food choices
but I don’t batter an eyelid. I’ve seen it all before and there is little left to learn about this wonderful
man that will surprise me.
With the table cleared, Ayden sits back and settles into his chair. We have reminisced about our
love affair, scanned photos of the Grand Canyon and discussed our wedding plans for tomorrow.
Nothing has been left to chance. Reassured and leaving my resplendent lover to enjoy the final
fragments of our view, I head for the powder room.
I notice how the ambience changes. There is more noise; excited diners are standing and pointing.
I’m being blinded by camera flashes. The mood shift is unsettling and I’m grateful to Ayden for his
meticulous planning. I wouldn’t have been happy eating here, not because of some outdated form of
snobbery but simply because I hate crowds.
Maintaining a safe distance from birthday cakes and balloons, I smile and keep moving, until I spot
them. Ayden’s bodyguards are standing in the shadows; close enough to keep him in view but far
enough away not to be seen, unless his dinner date makes a dash for the powder room, that is.
In that split second my smile fades and a frown replaces it, causing my face to contort and ache
under the strain. When I take a look at myself in the mirror, I’m alarmed by my own reflection; fear
has me in its grip. How will I ever shake free of it?
I sit a while, thinking things through before allowing cold water to trickle through my fingers;
regardless of my efforts I can’t hold onto it. I must let it go. All I can do is watch it disappear. I hope
it’s not an omen. Using my lip gloss brush, I follow the contour of my lips in the hope of creating
shape and plumpness from sharp edges. There is none.
I make a point of not looking up as I return to our secluded table. Ayden is not here. I gaze around
but there is no sign of him. I focus on the view and see my reflection; how sad I look on this, the night
before my wedding. That singular thought is enough to bring a lump to my throat.
“All set?” Ayden asks, reaching for my hand.
Purposely I keep my eyes down as I step clumsily from my chair to arrange my dress. “Sure.”
Taking his hand, I turn side on, harnessing enough self-control to stifle tears. Somewhere to my left a
balloon bursts, making me flinch and my grip tighten on his hand. He must have felt it.
Thankfully, there are several diners in the lift with us but, even so, our descent to street level seems
without end.
Outside, the cool night air greets us with a satisfying gust that wafts against my face, softening the
worry lines that had begun to form. Better still, the air conditioning in the limousine is fresh enough to
tamper down my fear just a little more. I feel safe within the confines of this sleek motor vehicle.
More importantly, Ayden is safe too.
Instinctively Ayden tucks me under his left arm as we make our way back to our hotel. His hand
grips my shoulder just a little too tightly to be reassuring; it feels more like he’s holding onto
something he knows may be snatched from him at any moment. It’s a worrying sign.
“Are you tired?” he asks, brushing imaginary flecks from his trousers.
“No. I’m just thinking.”
“About our two friends at the restaurant?”
I turn my head to face him. “How did you know I’d seen them?”
“Because the beautiful, contented woman who left me to go to powder her nose appeared to have
stayed there; a beautiful woman returned but the contentment was absent from her smile. Or at least
the one I saw reflected in the glass.”
I can offer no more than a flat smile. “I didn’t want to say anything.”
“You didn’t have to Beth. It was written all over your face.”
“I’m sorry.” I stroke his cheekbone with my thumb. “This is such an unforgettable night, the
highlight of a memorable day. I don’t want to ruin it.”
With his free hand, he envelops my face. “You couldn’t even if you tried Beth. You mustn’t worry.
They are there as a precaution and nothing more. You’re perfectly safe and so am I.” His lips brush
against mine. “This time tomorrow you’ll be Mrs Stone. I think it’s only fair we should celebrate our
last night of freedom don’t you?
“What?”
“I mean, after tonight I will be unavailable.”
I shrug his hand free from my shoulder. “Keep talking like that and you’ll be back on the market
sooner than you think.”
He’s laughing and I’ve rediscovered my smile. He’s right, we should be celebrating; not the fact
that we’re still single but having found each other after such a long, long time of waiting and wishing.
“Okay. Where should we go? There must be somewhere in the town where we can dance.”
Ayden lowers the glass between us and the driver. “The lady wants to dance. Take us somewhere
classy.”
“I can do that sir, but what kind of dancing does the lady want to do?”
Ayden turns, hold up his hands, gesticulates.
“I don’t know. To a nightclub where there’s dance music. Something with a beat.”
“Did you get that?” Ayden asks the driver. “What about Tao?”
“Yes, sir. Tao it is.”
“Ring ahead and arrange a table will you?”
“Yes, Mr. Stone.”
The glass panel slides back into place. Our driver makes a quick call and our car slows before
making a U-turn. I have absolutely no idea where we’re going and neither do the occupants of the car
following us. No doubt they will be a little put out by our detour.
I’m fascinated by Asian culture, so this is quickly turning into the cherry on the top of an already
outrageously wonderful day. Striding forward, Ayden takes my hand and we pass under an enormous
red archway. We are expected. The nightclub is called Tao; it’s an eclectic mix of all things Asian,
another world. I love it.
We stroll through a barrel shaped corridor filled with perfumed candles and enormous bowls of
scented water into the Tao Lounge; it’s a sensory paradise. The room is full of people milling around,
some standing but most sitting, either in the semi-circular booths or on the plush cream sofas to the
far side. Making for the bar, I take in the sophisticated elegance of the room. It has a subtle serenity
about it, overseen by the army of enormous Buddhist statues looking down upon smartly dressed
guests, urging them to talk in whispers.
Ayden pulls out a high backed stool by the bar. “Wait here, I’ll only be a minute.” He kisses my
cheek then disappears from view. Something tells me he doesn’t need a toilet break. I picture him
moving to a quiet area where he can make a call and be heard.
Minutes pass. I spend them checking out the impressive collection of bottled spirits neatly arranged
on the back shelf. An observant bartender is asking me what I
want to drink and I’m holding up my
hand and miming: no thank you.
I sense someone behind me and I close my eyes. I’m not in the mood to be hit on. Not tonight. I feel
a soft hand on my arm and turn sharply to confront the owner of the offending hand. And then …
“Charlie!” Her name leaves my lips like a two syllabled screech that has her collapsing into a fit of
laughter. I jump from my chair and throw my arms around her and feel an avalanche of tears about to
cascade down my cheeks. “What the hell …?”
“Seriously Beth. Do you think I would let you jet off to Vegas to get married and miss it?”
“I had no idea you even knew.”
“Well, you can thank you know who for that.“ She takes hold of my hands and takes a step back.
“Just look at you. You’re friggin’ gorgeous!”
I accept the compliment and hug her tightly, unable to contain an aching sob that has been wrestling
with my heart all evening. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She takes a tissue from her bag and pats my eyes. “Hey. Now stop that or you’ll set me off. It’s
taken me three hours to get ready and I don’t want this masterpiece running down my cheeks.”
We laugh like sisters and sit opposite each other on two bar stools.
Feeling a little embarrassed, I explain, “I don’t know where Ayden is.”
“He’s with Jake,” she states confidently. “We flew here together in Ayden’s jet.” Her hand rests on
mine. “He’s got a lot of class that future husband of yours.”
“Yes, he has.” I smile and nod.
“Do you love him Beth? I mean, apart from the obvious attributes …. I mean, do you really love
him?” She holds me captive with a serious stare.
“Charlie. I love him more than life itself,” I state, remembering my conversation with Patrick.
“Well, that’s alright then. You’re getting married and I’m going to be the maid of honour. Yay!”
I stroke her hair and nod my head. “Yes, you are Charlie.”
I follow her expectant stare and see the man of my dreams approaching, accompanied by Jake
Harrison.
Ayden rest his chin on my head and plants a soft kiss on my hair. “She found you then?” He grins
cheekily.
“Yes, she did. Thank you for flying her out.” I pull his face down to mine by his tie and our lips
TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) Page 35