by Abby Brooks
“True,” purrs Antonia. “But if you could give me some direction…” She thinks she’s going to get me to admit that I’ve never worn a designer anything before but let me tell you, she’s got another thing coming for her.
I sigh and sit back on my heel. “I guess I understand that you’d be uncomfortable picking something current. I mean. Given your age and everything.” I look up, like I’m considering the three designers she mentioned.
Antonia’s eyes narrow and her lips go taut. “I assure you, Ms. London. I’m more than capable of finding something current.”
I stare her down and watch her start to wonder if she misjudged me. I wait a few seconds before responding. “Why don’t you bring me a selection then? Pick a few you think will flatter me and we’ll see.” I’m not typically a bitch, but I refuse to be looked down on by anyone. I may be small, but I am mighty. It’s best if everyone knows that up front.
“Certainly, Ms. London.” Her tone has gone from scathing to accommodating and she whirls on her spikey heels, disappearing in a cloud of cloying perfume.
My team is staring at me with varying degrees of incredulity and fear. I flare my hands. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m really not terrifying, I just hate being pre-judged.”
Cleo’s mouth drops. “I have never seen someone put Antonia in her place like that.”
“Neither have we,” say the twins in unison.
I shrug. “I wouldn’t know a Louis Vuitton if I saw one, let alone know if I prefer it over Prada.” A smile blooms across my face. “But I guess I’ll get to find out.”
“You sure will.” Sasha takes my hand and gives it a little squeeze. “Now. Come with us and we’ll make you so beautiful, Antonia will be falling all over herself to get on your good side.”
The next several hours pass in a whirlwind of curling irons, hairspray, nail polish, and makeup brushes. The women flutter around me, talking to me and around me, depending on the topic, while the photographers fade more and more into the background. Who would have thought I’d get used to having my own personal paparazzi so quickly?
I pretty much like all the women on my style team. They seem so content. So happy. So comfortable in the knowledge that they’re doing what they love and that they’re good at it. Is this what I get to look forward to? Is this what it’ll be like, writing my travel blog to feature Dominic’s pictures?
I really fucking hope so.
By the time Antonia shows up, wheeling a clothes rack filled with white dresses and shoe boxes, I can’t help but smile at my reflection. I still look like me, which is great. I didn’t want to be styled into oblivion. I just look, I don’t know, amplified. Cleo played up my eyes and they shine bright and happy back at me through the mirror. Sasha has my hair curled, half up with some volume at the crown of my head and long looping curls coming down around my shoulders. The twins managed to make my stubby hands and feet look a little more elegant. (And the fact that they managed to make them look elegant at all is a testament to their skill.)
“You look stunning, Ms. London,” purrs Antonia and I catch a smirk from Cleo through the mirror. I get the feeling they very much enjoy watching me put the older woman in her place.
“Thank you,” I say graciously and head over to peruse the gowns she brought for me. I don’t have a clue which designer did which gown and if Antonia decides to test me, I’m screwed. “These are all beautiful.” I mean it. I have no idea how I’ll choose between them.
Antonia beams and pulls a gown off the rack. “This is the one I think is best suited to your frame.” The dress is simple yet stunning. Fitted silk that flares into a circular train edged in lace.
“Wow,” I say. “You have spectacular taste, Antonia.” I’m not sure the woman deserves the compliment, but like I said, I’m really not a bitch and she did a damn fine job of finding the perfect dress.
I slip it on and Antonia laces up the back. I’ve never needed help getting dressed in anything. Another new experience for me, compliments of the wonderful Dominic Kane. A man who will be my husband before the end of this weekend. They won’t let me look in the mirror until we decide on shoes and I go with a sky-high pair of heels that will help close the height gap between me and Dominic.
When they finally let me see myself, I gasp. Part of me was afraid the silk would be unforgiving. That it would cling to all the worst parts of me and that I’d look small and fat and unworthy of something so beautiful. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It’s as if the dress is made for me, designed to hug my body where it needs it most, and fall away from the spots I’d rather no one see.
“Don’t you dare cry,” says Cleo. “I used waterproof everything, but I’d rather not take a chance on having to fix anything before the wedding.”
“I have no words,” I say. “And that’s saying something because I always have something to say.”
The click of the cameras fills the silence while I turn this way and that, grinning at my reflection in the mirror. After I’ve had my fill of staring at myself, they present me with several bouquet options, each one more stunning than the last. My stomach rumbles while I try to choose, reminding me that it’s been many hours since breakfast. Overwhelmed by the opulent floral arrangements, I choose a bouquet of cascading lilies, drawn to the bright colors. I’m whisked away and taken to a sitting room where I’m introduced to my bridesmaids.
“Since your wedding pictures will be used for publicity purposes, the Bellagio wanted you to have a complete wedding experience. And what’s a wedding without beautiful bridesmaids?” Antonia clasps her hands. Her tone has slipped back towards judgmental and condescending but I guess I don’t really care. Maybe that’s just her natural state. She rattles off the names of the women who will be sharing the most important day of my life with me. I don’t think I even catch one because I’m too busy realizing that these women are probably professional models.
They’re each at least five foot ten. Impeccably groomed. Thin as rails. I’m going to look like an oompa loompa beside them. Well, an albino oompa loompa, anyway. They compliment my hair and my dress, my makeup and my nails and I realize they have no clue that I don’t typically look like this. I pull myself up, square my shoulders, and smile as they chatter on about the magic my style team worked for me. My thoughts are pulled towards Dominic as they prattle away. What has he been doing for the last couple hours? Is he enjoying himself as much as I am? Will he still want to do our Elvis wedding after this one?
I really hope he does. As amazing as this day has been, as crazy as it is to look in the mirror and find myself looking scrumptious in my designer clothes with my professionally styled hair and face, I still want something that feels like us. Right now, I’m dressed in someone else’s clothes, smiling at someone else’s friends, looking like someone else entirely. It’s one hell of an experience and will be one hell of a memory, but it feels a little off.
Antonia retrieves us from the parlor and leads us out to the terrace where the ceremony will be held. The photographer scuttles along beside us, snapping so many pictures that I just plaster a pleasant grin on my face and hope I don’t look as stupid as I feel. The bridesmaids walk one at a time onto the terrace and I strain my neck, trying to see Dominic around them, but damn it, they’re too tall and I’m too short. Finally, it’s my turn and what I find waiting for me takes my breath away.
Dominic is dressed in a tuxedo, his hands clasped in front of him, smiling at me like I’m more beautiful than any of the models who just walked before. There’s a softness to his dark eyes. They gleam with love and adoration and they’re aimed right at me. Behind him, the fountain begins its show, the jets shooting water into the air the moment I step onto the terrace.
The rest is a blur because I only have eyes for Dominic. When the officiator asks for the rings, Dominic shakes his head. “We’re skipping that part for now,” he says. “Gonna do this wedding thing the right way later. We’ll pretend for the cameras though, won’t we babe?”
I be
am. “You bet your ass we will.”
The man, bless his heart, doesn’t skip a beat. He just smiles and lets us pantomime the exchanging of the rings. I’m sure, given that we’re in Vegas and all, he’s had to keep his cool under much weirder circumstances than this.
“Don’t present us as man and wife either,” whispers Dominic and the officiator stumbles, if only for a moment.
“You may now kiss the bride,” he finally says and Dominic swoops me up and kisses me deeply.
“I’ve been waiting to touch you all day,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine as the photographers click away. We take about a million posed shots, Dominic helping to pose me like he does every time there’s a camera involved. Finally, they decide that they’ve gotten every possible shot the could every possibly think of and we’re taken back to our dressing rooms to change.
I hang my dress back up on the rack and put the shoes back in the box and wonder what I’m supposed to do with my bouquet. It looks like now that the show’s over, I’m on my own. My style team is gone and Antonia is nowhere to be found. I get dressed in my own clothes, not sure if I should try to do something with my hair. It’s a little much for just walking around, but hell, it’s got so much hairspray in it, it’s not going anywhere.
Turns out that Antonia has been keeping Dominic company. I find them in the Chairman’s Lounge, with her looking at him with that pursed-lip look she really should avoid using.
“What do you mean, you’re not actually getting married?” she asks, her voice as pointed as her heels and loud enough for me to hear from all the way across the room.
“We’re getting married. Just not today.” he says. “And as far as anyone knows, we just got married this very minute. We’re still holding up our end of the bargain.”
Antonia lets a long breath out through her nose and puts her hands on her hips. “It seems to me that you just got a very expensive experience under false pretenses. I’m not sure how this will go over with management.”
Dominic looks exasperated as I arrive in front of them. “What’s wrong?” I ask and earn myself the most disgusted look from this wasp of a woman with her asshole-looking mouth.
If looks could kill, I wouldn’t be dead because I could care less what Antonia from the Bellagio thinks about me. “You know exactly what’s wrong.”
“Actually, I don’t. You organized a beautiful wedding for us,” I say with a smile. “I have never felt more special and more pampered in all of my life. I’m sure that the hundreds of thousands of people who follow Dominic through all his social media will agree once they see the pictures. And the dress you found me, it was so perfect. I’ll be sure to personally thank you in the article I write about this whole experience. I couldn’t have asked for more.”
Antonia studies us through narrowed eyes. Takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “You’ll have your proofs from the photographers by the end of the week. If I don’t see that article on your blog or if I see one mention of the fact that you didn’t actually get married anywhere on your social media. Anywhere,” she says, pursing her lips and stabbing the air with her finger. “I will alert the manager and you can expect a rather large bill for this entire experience.” Without waiting for a response, she pivots and stomps away.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Dominic looks at me with a gleam in his eye. “Her mouth looks like a butt, doesn’t it?”
Chapter Seven
We’re both starving, so we grab some lunch at one of the restaurants in the resort. The meal is good, I think. I wolf it down too quickly to really be sure.
“You’re still good with the Elvis wedding, right?” Dominic asks as we sip the coffees we ordered when we finished eating. “I mean, it’s a little late to be asking now, I guess.”
“Of course!” I pick at the bits of leftovers on my plate with my fork. “I was afraid you still didn’t want to do it that way. We never really got a chance to talk about it before we got whisked away from each other.”
“You looked so beautiful in that dress. I admit I was tempted to go through with it right then and there. I had the rings in my pocket.”
I widen my eyes, surprised. “Really?”
“Yep. I will never forget the way you looked in that dress. You put those spindly giants who came out with you to shame.” Dominic runs a finger along the outside of his coffee cup.
“What stopped you?”
“Honestly? The spindly giants who came out with you.” He wraps his long hands around the mug and takes a drink.
“What? Why?” I’m laughing because that just seems to be what I do now. I’m so happy I’ve become a frequent giggler.
“Who were they? Why were they there? Wasn’t it really weird to have a bunch of strangers at our wedding?”
I slap the table and the people behind Dominic jump. “Yes!” I say and then wave an apology to the couple I just scared to death. “At first I loved all the pampering. I didn’t think I would, but I really did. But then, it was just … not us, you know?”
Dominic nods knowingly. “Exactly.”
“Plus, doesn’t it just sound totally epic to have two weddings? What a great story we’ll have, you know?”
“Yes. We’re just always on the same page. I love it.”
We chat for a while and Dominic takes a slew of pictures. Some of me, some of us, and some of him, making sure to get different elements of the restaurant in the background and then uploads them all to Instagram, tagging the Bellagio in all of them. The caption? Me and the wifey.
It’s silly. And not true yet. But I grin like an idiot anyway.
“You wanna get our tattoos?” he asks during a lull in the conversation.
“Now?”
“Yep, I researched some good artists while I was waiting for your stylists to finish beautifying you.” Dominic throws a few fives on the table for the waitress and stands, leading me out of the restaurant with that open palm on my lower back.
“I didn’t think you were serious about that,” I say.
“Of course I’m serious. Why would you doubt that?”
“Well, I’m thrilled about the idea of getting another bird tattoo. But for you? It doesn’t exactly match your current tatts, and, it might not be the manliest thing out there.”
Dominic stops and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Dakota. Babe. I’ve wanted a bird tattoo ever since I found out what they mean to you. And now that we’ll have matching ones and we’re going to get them the weekend we pledge our lives to each other? How could I not want it?”
Without another thought about it, we hail a cab and head out into the city. It’s a long ride to the tattoo parlor, which is fine by me because it gives me time to really study my surroundings. I want to commit the whole thing to memory. Don’t want to forget a single thing about this weekend. Not one single thing.
The tattoos take a couple hours and when they’re done, they look absolutely perfect if I do say so myself.
“They don’t exactly look like they’re kissing,” I say as we admire them in the mirror. “You’re so tall and I’m so not.”
Dominic leans over, dropping his shoulder down to bump lightly against mine. “There,” he says. “Mine just kissed yours on the top of your head.”
We leave, ridiculously proud of ourselves. The sun dips low over the city as we make our way back to the hotel. The new tattoo on my shoulder burns and my heart is full and I should probably be exhausted but I’m just not. I love this man beside me and right now, I feel like I could survive on him and nothing else.
“Did you say they gave us some chips to use at the casino?” I ask as we pull up in front of the hotel.
“Yeah, why? You feel like wasting some imaginary money?” We hop out of the cab and Dominic pays the driver before taking my hand in his—making sure our love birds are facing each other, of course—and leads me inside.
“I think I do. Especially because it’s not really our money.”
We decide to head up to the ro
om to change and the moment the door to the penthouse closes behind us, Dominic grabs me and pulls me to him. His mouth covers mine while he takes my shirt in his hands and carefully pulls it up over my shoulder. He breaks our kiss long enough to lift my shirt over my head and unclasp my bra and then his mouth is back on mine. I part my lips and our tongues meet. I bring my hand to the bulge in his pants while he lowers his mouth to my breasts, taking first one, then the other nipple between his teeth.
And then, just when I’m ready to undo his pants, he steps back. “I’m thinking we should dress up for our trip to the casino. Did your sisters pack you another dress?”
I step back into him, my hands going back to the button on his pants. “I don’t care what they packed me right now.”
Dominic turns away from me and heads into the bedroom, tossing me a look over his shoulder that says he knows just how hot and bothered I am. “Well, that’s just silly. I’d think you’d want to look good on the night before our second wedding.”
“I’m sure I will, after you fulfill the promise you just made me.” I follow him into the bedroom. Surely he’s teasing. Surely, he’ll throw me on the bed and put out the flames he fanned in me as soon as I’m close enough.”
“What promise?” he asks as he makes a really big deal about pretending to pick out his outfit for the evening.
“The promise of multiple screaming orgasms.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t remember saying anything about screaming orgasms. And I’m pretty sure I’d remember something like that.”
I get really close to him, press my breasts against him and run my hand over the hard—very hard—bulge in his pants. “You just wanted me all hot and bothered, didn’t you?”
“Sometimes anticipation makes everything better.” His cups my cheek and I lean into his hand, desperate for his touch. “Now, get dressed so we can go waste a lot of someone else’s money.”