LYDIA

The grand opening is a bit nerve-racking because I have to be Rhys' girlfriend in public. Sure, the last two weeks at work might be considered public but we don't interact in the office. Like ever. I see him in passing, but I keep my swooning tucked inside where it belongs. But tonight at the grand opening everyone will see us together and picture us naked. Right? Or maybe that's just me. Maybe I'm the only one who does that.

Anyway.

This morning was the official ribbon-cutting. The mayor of Las Vegas was on hand to assist with the literal ribbon-cutting. A giant pair of scissors was used and I wondered where they came from and if every casino in Las Vegas kept their own pair on hand or if there was just one pair that was passed around the city for special events. I also wondered where giant scissors were purchased because I've never seen a pair at the Goodwill and if everyone in Vegas had their own you'd think sooner or later there’d be an excess of them, what with all the grand openings and special events that occur here on a regular basis.

I decided I'll take a closer look during my next shop.

I met Rhys' parents and his grandmother at dinner last night. He introduced me as his girlfriend, which of course he would. It's not like he's going to introduce me to his mother as an escort. But it was hard because his mother loved me so I felt massive amounts of deep-seated Trooper guilt for deceiving her. But maybe it doesn't count as actual deceit since I am in fact eighty percent in love with her son. This seems like a gray area.

She enthusiastically gushed over me though, for the record.

She also said she'd love to have us to Connecticut for Christmas. I had no idea what I was supposed to say to that because of course I wanted to go to Connecticut for Christmas but I had no idea if I'd still be with Rhys by Christmas because Christmas is way past the thirty-day bubble.

"Are you ready?" Rhys exits his walk-in closet in the midst of knotting his second tie of the day. After the ribbon-cutting, which I attended, and a press tour, which I did not, we both came back to the apartment to change for the evening activities. We did the shower sex again too. I did it on one foot because Rhys pinned me to the wall with one of my legs raised and propped over his arm. I need to talk to Payton because I feel as though that maneuver might be worthy of its own badge.

"Can you zip me?" I ask, turning my back to him. I only managed to get the zipper halfway up without assistance.

"I'd rather unzip you," he murmurs into my ear, a single finger trailing the path of the zipper against my skin. "But you already look just-fucked enough for my liking," he adds, pulling the zipper smoothly closed.

I look at us in the reflection of the mirror, a bit alarmed. I knew I was right about that. Everyone is going to be thinking about us having sex. It's inevitable. And looking at him, I can't blame them. It was the first thing I imagined upon seeing him for the first time too.

"Do I really look like I just had sex? How can you tell?" I lean closer to the mirror and examine my eyes. "Obviously I get that everyone would assume I'm having sex with you every chance that I get, but how can they tell if it was an hour ago or last night?"

Rhys pauses in the act of slipping a cufflink into his shirtsleeve and stares at me. He narrows his eyes slightly, in that way he does when he's unsure if I'm serious or not.

"Let's table that thought for now," he says, but I continue to stare at myself in the mirror, wrinkling my nose and turning my head from side to side, trying to figure out what my tell is so I can stop emitting the just-had-sex beacon.

"Don't worry about it," Rhys says after fastening the second cufflink. "I was joking. I'll tell everyone you're still a virgin."

"As if I went through this much trouble not to have sex with you," I scoff.

"What does that mean?" Rhys is doing the narrowed eyes thing again.

"Um…" Shoot. "Let's table that thought too." I slip my feet into my heels and grab my clutch. "We're going to be late."

"It's an all-night event. We can't technically be late."

Uh-huh.

"Do you like my clutch?" I hold up the bag for viewing. "I found it at Goodwill. It's cute, right? Do you want me to carry your gum or anything?" It's a black clutch with a sequined pair of swans on the front.

"I don't chew gum. Listen, I know I've been busy, but we can't continue on like this. We need to talk."

Wait, what?

"Yes, yes, we can continue on like this. For two more weeks we can continue on like this. Exactly like this."

"Exactly like this?" His jaw ticks when he says it.

"Yes!" Why in the heck is he trying to rob me of my last two weeks with him? That's half my allotted time! And I know he likes me, I know he does. And he likes me more than a like amount. He just needs to come to terms with it or something.

Rhys' phone rings and when he glances at the screen to silence it I slide past him out of the bathroom and nearly sprint for the front door.

"Lydia." He's right behind me but I keep moving. "Hold on."

I ignore him and swing the door open, nearly bumping right into Canon.

"Hey!" I plaster a huge smile on my face, which isn't hard because I am so glad for the interruption.

"I was about to knock," Canon says with a hint of sarcasm, but it appears to be directed at Rhys not me so I keep on smiling and step into the hallway.

The executive elevator doesn't connect directly to the casino floor, so we have to take it to the parking garage level and then switch to a different elevator bank to reach the guest areas. Rhys is silent. I'm silent. Canon is oblivious, checking his cell phone, until he notices the silence. He looks up, his thumb moving across the screen, and glances between us.

"Everything okay?"

"Of course," I reply.

"Is it?" Rhys says at the same time.

Canon's eyes bounce between us again and he mutters, “Okay then,” as the elevator doors open and we're thrust into a crowd of people. Canon leads the way as Rhys takes my hand and my heart skips a beat at the gesture. He keeps me held close to him but I don't know if it's because of the crowd or because of appearances or because he simply wants me close.

I hope it's because he wants me close.

The next hour is a dizzying hail of introductions and socializing. Of smiling and hand-shaking and pretending. I'm introduced to Rhys' British cousin Jennings. He's also the CEO of the parent company that owns the Windsor, so I suppose that makes him my boss’ boss’ boss’ boss. Luckily he has no memory of me whatsoever, since he was there that night I first met Rhys at the bar. He was drunk and denouncing love at the time, so I don't expect he'd remember. It appears he's sorted out his love issues because I'm introduced to his fiancée Violet. She's American, so I ask how she met Jennings when we're left on our own, Rhys and Jennings having been pulled off to greet some bigwig or another.

"Well, I was impersonating my identical twin sister. Who was employed with the company in the tour division."

"Oh."

"Jennings was on vacation with his nan and ended up on my tour. Well, my sister's tour."

"Uh huh."

"Then it became this Undercover Boss sort of thing," she says, waving her free hand around. The other is holding a wine glass. "Because he never told me he owned the company."

"Right." I wonder if this is a real story or some kind of weird initiation? She doesn't appear to be in the least drunk, so it can't be that.

"But we worked it out," she finishes with a big smile. "So how did you and Rhys meet?"

"Um, in a bar." The normal way, I think to myself. Of course the whole virgin auction thing doesn't give me a whole lot of room to be a Judgey McJudgeypants. Then something else occurs to me. "Has Rhys heard this story?" Maybe he won't think what I did was so weird in comparison. It's not like I've impersonated anyone.

"Oh, I'm sure. They're very close. Hey, are those the LK Bennett Sledge pumps?"

"Um." I look down at my feet and then back to Violet. "I think so? I got them at LK Bennett when I bought the dress. I'm not sure which style they are."

"They're Princess Kate's favorite shoe," she tells me.

"Oh. Okay."

"Sorry, I'm a bit of an Anglophile."

"I guess having a British fiancé really works for you then, huh?"

"It does. It so does. Plus I get to listen to him speak in that sexy British accent whenever I want. Sometimes I ask him questions just to hear him speak. Last week I asked him to explain the history of the European Union to me. He went on for half an hour before he realized I just wanted to listen to him use words like ‘referendum’ and ‘organization.’"

I can't fault her logic.

Jennings comes back to retrieve Violet just as Payton slips up beside me, looking over her shoulder.

"Hey!" I pull her into a quick hug. "It's good to see you. Now tell me who you're avoiding."

"Vince."

"He's here?"

"He's freaking everywhere."

Huh.

"I think he's friends with Canon," I mention. "Canon probably invited him to the VIP event."

"Sure," she says quickly. Too quickly. "That's probably why he's here."

A waiter pauses in front of us with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. I shake my head no as Payton grabs some kind of mini puff pastry and shoves it into her mouth. Shoving food into her mouth is one of her favorite diversionary tactics. She must be wearing some of that magical lipstick that stays on for hours, because she manages to down it with nary a smudge.

"Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"Of course not." She waves her hand while shaking her head at the same time, but she won't look at me. "I'm taking care of it."

"Taking care of what?" I narrow my eyes in suspicion. Come to think of it, she's been acting a little bit shady ever since the auction. It was easy to miss until now because I've been living with Rhys and distracted with all the sexing stuff, but something is off.

"The thing. I'm going to fix it. It's just turning out to be a bit more complicated than one would think. And I didn't realize he'd be here tonight. I thought work was a safe zone but here he is." She's holding a glass of champagne and she takes a gulp and does another scan of the room then twists the glass in her fingers. Her blonde hair is pulled demurely into a updo and she's wearing a pale blush dress with three-quarter sleeves and a modest—for her—mid-thigh hemline. It makes her look like an innocent angel but that is a lie.

"What thing, Payton? What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'll tell you later," she adds when I give her a look implying I'm not buying anything she's selling. She looks past me and her eyes widen. "Listen, I've got to go. Love you! We'll talk later." She starts to edge past me without waiting for a reply but she's trapped between a waiter weighted down with a serving tray filled with champagne glasses and an actress taking a selfie with I don't know who. She spins, looking for another avenue of escape, when Vince stops directly in front of us.

He's dressed in a black suit with a perfectly pressed white shirt and he looks like a million dollars. More tall, dark and Italian than pseudo-pimp and confirmed strip club owner. He also looks pissed.

At Payton.

That much is clear because he's not looking at me, he's looking at her. Payton for her part is still attempting to find a pocket of space to slink away in.

"Mrs. Rossi,” he says. “Stop. Right. There."

Oh. Maybe he's not looking at Payton. Rossi, that's his last name. I didn't realize he was married. I turn my head to get a peek at his wife but no one is there. The actress and selfie-taker are gone. It's just Payton and the waiter and the waiter is already moving away. Payton snags a fresh glass of champagne from his tray at the last second and downs it in one long continuous gulp.

I look from Vince to Payton and back again.

Vince is still staring at Payton.

Payton glances at me and shrugs before her eyes dart over to Vince and then away.

"You married him?" I almost shriek it. In fact, I think I did shriek but the casino floor is loud enough to mask my outburst.

"Freaking Las Vegas, am I right?" Payton holds her free hand palm up and raises her eyebrows as if to say the city of Las Vegas is entirely responsible for her marital status. As if it's the same thing as complaining about the traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard or the temperature in summer.

She's entirely too nonchalant.

"When?" I demand. "When did this happen? How did this happen? You only met him two weeks ago! Payton! And”—I point my finger at her then stab it into my chest—"and you didn't even invite me?"

"I would have," Payton responds slowly as if I'm being irrational, "if I'd known it was happening. I absolutely would have invited you. You'd have made a much better maid of honor than Canon, that's for sure. My hair was a mess and he didn't even tell me. The wedding photos are horrible."

"There are photos?"

"Yeah. I think they came with the package. Did they come with the package, Vince?" She turns to him as if she wasn't just in the midst of trying to hide from him and as if he's not still in the midst of killing her with his eyes. "Pretty sure," she says again. "But good point. Maybe Canon took some with his phone that are better than the professional ones."

"That clearly wasn't my point."

"Oh."

"When did this happen?"

"Um, sometime after the auction but before the next morning." She waves her hand in an arc. "Somewhere in there. Things got"—she pauses—"a little crazy. I don't want to beat a dead horse about you missing it, but that night was a real good time.”

I glance between her and Vince again. Confused.

"So why are you avoiding Vince now?" I question. "Vince, also known as your husband."

"Calm down. Everyone knows what happens in Vegas isn't legally binding."

"That's not a thing that is true," I reply as Vince exhales loudly and closes the distance between himself and Payton, placing his hand on her lower back in a pretty obvious attempt to keep her from escaping.

"Enough. We need to talk," Vince tells her.

"Ugh. Talking is the worst," Payton groans, dragging out the word ‘ugh’ and dropping her head back in exasperation. She stomps one heeled foot in added protest.

For once, I have to agree with Payton. Also, I'm wondering if they had sex yet.