Math?“Wouldyoulike to go to the casino?”
She shrugs. “Nah. Besides I should get ready for the wedding.” She says it like this is a major ceremony, when it’s only a formality.
“Our reservation is in two hours. Plenty of time to go gambling if you’d like.” I point to the slot machines in the darkened lobby, a sea of them, and to the blackjack tables beyond. I’ve been grumpy, and I want to make it up to her. If gambling is what she wants right now, gambling is what she’ll get.
“Two hours? Oooh, I need to hurry.” She dashes to the bank of elevators.
I chuckle. I didn’t take Willow for a woman who needed two hours to get ready. I need to seriously revise all my assumptions when it comes to her.
“I’ll go get us some water,” I say as she walks away from me.
I picked one of Vegas’s top hotels and booked us thelavish weddingpackage, which includes two suites, flowers, champagne, thirty minutes at the wedding chapel and T-shirts. Yes, fucking T-shirts.
What it doesnotcome with, is enough water to keep us alive. We’re both parched, and Willow mentioned that whatever comes out of the tap makes her feel queasy, so I go back into the heat to a convenience store I noticed on the way and get us several gallons of water.
“Is your suite as cool as mine?” she asks when she opens her door for me half an hour later. “Come in for a minute.” She’s wrapped in a plush robe, her hair falling in wet waves on her shoulders, her scent of vanilla dangerously enticing.
I was going to haul her water in anyway, so I follow her inside. Her suite is a little nicer than mine. Set in a corner of the building, its floor to ceiling windows offer views on the brightly lit city at our feet and on the mountains in the distance, their tops snow-capped.
She nods. “Did you see this?” she adds without missing a beat, grabbing a remote. One press of a button, and a large TV screen slides up from the foot of her king-size bed. Another press, and what I thought was a vanity revolves to reveal a minibar to the tinny sound of “Here Comes The Bride.” “This suite is dreamy. I just want to live here forever.”
Her pink-painted toes dig into the plush carpet, matching fingernails playing in the wisps of her wet hair. Her robe opens slightly, revealing the milky swell of her breast. Turning my back to her, I grab two glasses from the minibar and pour us water.
“Thanks so much,” she says again and gulps her water, her throat bobbing up and down as she swallows.
Noticing all the details in which Willow is beautiful is all kinds of wrong, so I avert my gaze and skim the rest of her suite, my eyes trailing inadvertently to the open door leading to her bedroom.
Fuck.There’s a freakingwedding gownon the bed. After her advice that I pack a suit, I did expect a pretty dress, maybe white if she had one.
I did not expect a wedding dress.
The knot of guilt in my stomach tightens. Is this really the only wedding Willow thinks she’ll ever get? Because judging by her excitement, by the dress, by the fact she’s painted her nails—it’s a huge deal for her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
I set my glass down, close the distance between us and give her a brief hug. “Thank you.” What I want to say isI’m sorry, but that would unravel the tangled threads of my guilt, and I need to go through with this wedding. I didn’t bring us all the way to Vegas to back off because of some bullshit that belongs in a therapist’s notebook.
She shakes slightly under my touch and her breath catches. “It’s fine,” she says, turning away from me and gulping the rest of her water.
I step back quickly. Something’s off with Willow, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
First she doesn’t believe in marriage, but she has very set ideas on how my wedding should go. Then she says that I should find someone else, but barges in my home in the middle of night and declares we shouldn’t waste any more time. Following that, she’s offended about me wanting to compensate her financially. Finally when I say a simple thank you, she looks about to cry.
“Come knock on my door when you’re ready,” I say, giving the view from her window one last glance.
Right then, the Sphere lights up with the logo of my favorite group, Phish.Live at the Sphere, the moving display announces. I haven’t heard them live in so long, seeing their name sprawled here is a reminder of everything I gave up to hold it together in Emerald Creek. Bitterness fills my mouth.
Willow gasps, clutching at her chest. “Ohmygaaawd! Phish is in town!” She turns to me, eyes rounded. Then her face falls a little and she adds, “They’re probably sold out.”
I frown and smile at the same time. “You like Phish?”
“Who doesn’t?” she shrieks.
“You’d be surprised,” I answer as she says, “They’re my favorite band.”
Turning back to the Sphere where their name sprawls on an off-purple background, she coos, “awww,” and starts humming.
I pull out my phone. “Farmhouse? Really?”
