“Yeah,” Gabby says. “Sounds like this guy is totally not into you. Like, not at all.”
I laugh and give her a small shrug. “Help me open these boxes,” I say. “Let's see what he's picked out for me this time.”
“I have to say, I'm a little jealous here,” she says. “Maybe I should have sent you off with that two-pump chump and stayed with Brayden at the club myself last night.”
I laugh and slap her on the butt. “Too bad you didn't.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
We spend the next few hours opening boxes and trying on dresses. Each is more amazing than the last. Some of them are elegant, with others more casual, but all are exquisite. Brayden really does have impeccable taste.
“So, which one are you going to wear tonight?” Gabby asks.
Still holding a dress against my body and looking at myself in the mirror, I reply, “I don't want to leave you again. This is supposed to be a girl's –”
“Honey, don't even worry about it,” she says and giggles. “It's not often you run into Prince Charming in a place like Vegas. And besides, I'm sure I'll find some way to keep myself entertained.”
“Oh, I'll just bet you will,” I say and laugh.
“So, go,” she says. “Enjoy yourself, honey. You seriously deserve it.”
I drop the dress on the bed and pull her into a tight hug. “Thanks, Gabs,” I say. “You're the best.”
“Remember,” she says. “Brothers. Check into it.”
“Anything for you, Gabs.”
My phone starts to ring, and Gabby gives me an excited look. “I bet that’s Prince Charming,” she says. “He found out what room you're in - I bet he found a way to get your number too!”
“He did tell me he always finds a way to get what he wants!”
Feeling like a giddy schoolgirl all over again, I rush over to my purse and dig out my phone. When I see the caller ID display, my heart sinks into my stomach and I feel the hefty weight of dread pressing down on me.
“Don't even think about answering that,” Gabby says.
I look up and see her staring at me, as if she somehow sensed that it's my dad on the other end of the line.
“I should –”
“No, you really shouldn't,” she says and walks over, plucking the phone from my hand. “You can deal with his bullshit later. Not like it's going away anytime soon. Right now, you need to focus on yourself. On having fun and enjoying your life. You're worth it and you deserve it, honey.”
On an intellectual level, I know that Gabby is right. I don't owe my father a single thing, let alone my entire life. He may think that I’m being dramatic, but forcing me to marry a stranger that I don't even know is basically asking me to give up my life, my future. It's monstrous and I still can’t believe that he had asked it of me.
On an emotional level though, I know my dad's in trouble. Serious trouble. He was vague about who he's in debt to – and how much – but I got the unsettling impression that he owes a lot of money to a very bad man. And I worry about what will happen to him if he doesn't give my hand in marriage to this man's son.
I may not always like my father. I often despise many of the things he says, does, and represents. I may hate how he marginalizes and trivializes me, condescends to me about being a teacher. But, at the end of the day, he's my dad. I only have one and despite his many flaws, I still love him and never want him to get hurt because of me.
Gabby takes my hand, her eyes filled with emotion. “This is your life, honey,” she says. “Live it for you. Enjoy it. You only have one.”
My phone chimes to notify me that I have a voicemail waiting. And a moment later, it chimes again, alerting me to a new text message.
“Don't read it,” she says, shaking her head. “It'll put a damper on what should be a fun, relaxing, and entirely sexually gratifying vacation, honey.”
I hesitate a moment, but then nod and giggle. “You know what? You're right,” I say. “Reality can wait.”
“It's overrated anyway.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
I drop the phone in my purse, refusing to look at it again. At least for a while. I know eventually that I'm going to have to return his calls. But for now, I'm not going to worry about it. I'm going to focus on me.
Gabby hands me another dress to try on. “Know what you should do?”
“What's that?”
“Go find the cheesiest, corniest, gaudiest chapel you can find. One that has a big, fat Elvis impersonator as the preacher and marry that man,” she says and laughs.
“Right,” I say, teasing along with her. “That's definitely going to happen.”
She shrugs. “At least it would take the pressure off you. That way, you wouldn't have to tell your dad no to marrying the other guy.”
I laugh, shaking my head. Gabby is right though - that would take the pressure off that situation. Can't get married twice, after all. The idea of Brayden and I getting married in Vegas after knowing each other only a single day, though, is hilarious. It’s not going to happen, but it’s funny to imagine all the same.
Chapter Thirteen
Brayden
The limo I'd hired pulls to a stop in front of the Rio at precisely six o’clock sharp. The driver comes around and opens the door for me. Climbing out, I stand next to the car and wait for her. Not even a minute later, Holly walks out through the doors and I feel my breath catch in my throat at the sight of her. She's stunning. Spectacular really.
She's dressed in a black, knee-length black dress, cut in that vintage style I know she likes so much. She has on the string of pearls I sent with the outfit, a white sweater, and black heels. And of course, the whole outfit complements her fair complexion and fiery red hair perfectly.
Holly really does look like she just stepped out of the pages of a vintage clothing catalog.
She passes a couple of guys standing outside of the entrance, smoking and drinking. When she walks by, I see their heads turn and follow. A moment later, the two men catch up with her and jump in her way. Holly tries to go around them, but they maneuver her in front of them, not allowing her to pass.
I feel my anger begin to bubble up. My jaw clenches and my hands ball into fists at my side, seemingly of their own accord. Stepping away from the car, I head straight for them. As I get closer to their group, about ten yards away, I hear them pestering Holly for her name and phone number. One of them even has the gall to ask her for a blowjob.
When she sees me, her eyes widen, and an expression of relief crosses her face – an expression that quickly morphs into one of fear. I grab the first guy by the back of his neck and sling him away from her. The kid hits the ground, ass first, and rolls, his cigarette and beer bottle flying. There are gasps from some people standing nearby and all eyes turn our way.
I quickly move, positioning myself between Holly and the second guy, who is standing there staring at his buddy like he can't comprehend what just happened.
“You and your friend need to get the fuck out of here right now,” I say, my voice low, my eyes burning with anger.
“Brayden, let's just go,” I hear Holly say behind me.
The guy standing in front of me looks up at me, his face twisted with anger. “Fuck you, man,” he says. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You her brother or something?”
I step closer to him, looming over him. I've got six inches and fifty pounds on the kid, plus I'm not drunk, and I know how to fight. If he wants to fight me, he's going to lose. Big time.
“I'm the guy that's going to put you and your buddy in the hospital if you so much as look at her again,” I snap.
Time seems to have stopped around us. The bustling crowd outside the Rio has fallen silent and still. People are gawking at us, wide-eyed – some of them looking anxious to see punches thrown and blood shed. The second guy gets up and joins his friend and they both stand in front of me, glaring.
“Brayden,” Holly says softly. “Let's just go.”