Chapter Four
“Wow.”
I walk into the lobby, dressed in a simple, tight black dress and high heels, and Emerson’s mouth falls open.
Seeing as how the wasted version of Eliza had only packed seven pairs of panties, condoms, Teddy Grahams, and a toothbrush and toothpaste, I needed some clothes. So Emerson and I parted ways this afternoon for some shopping.
And for some reason, I’d actually wanted to impress him. It’s not every day a girl goes on a date with her husband. So I’d gone all out on a slim-fitting dress and some long, dangly earrings. I’d pulled my hair up and even went to the mall and got my makeup done. I’m not good at much more than some mascara and lip gloss.
“I mean, really, wow,” he says. “Easily the most beautiful girl in the place. And that includes the strippers,” he adds in a hushed voice, and we both laugh. Fucking Vegas, of all places. Not where I expected to say I do.
I know Emerson has already seen what’s under the dress, so it’s nice to hear I can impress him with clothes on. Of course, the only time he can remember is when I was lunging for a towel to cover myself with yesterday morning, when we were figuring out we were married.
“You look pretty amazing yourself.” And I’m being honest. He’s wearing black pants, shiny shoes, and a crisp white button up. He has a black jacket slung over his shoulder. His brown hair is combed back, but some of it is already falling in his face.
Without thinking, I step forward to brush it back. When I do, our eyes lock and my heart leaps into my throat. Touching him like that was incredibly intimate. Presumptive. I’m about to apologize when he takes my hand and brings it to his lips to kiss it gently.
“Can I just say that I am so very happy that you agreed to go on a real date with me?” he says.
I smile back at him. “It’s like all the pressure’s off,” I say. “It’s not like either of us has to ask where this relationship is heading.”
“That’s a good point,” he says, holding out his arm for me to take. “I mean, I’ve had to pop six ibuprofen today, so I’m guessing we covered most of the bases last night.”
I feel myself go red.
“And maybe the dugout,” he adds. “Parking lot.”
“Concession stand,” I interject. “There were… several mouth-sized marks.”
“Oh?” he asks, looking concerned as he glances at my neck. I put my hand on my throat, and blush.
“Not there,” I whisper, and he covers his face, lowering it to my shoulder in playful embarrassment. There were, in fact, two well-loved spots on my inner thighs.
“I apologize,” Emerson says, and holds the door to let me go ahead of him. “That’s not like me. You must have tasted delicious.”
I open my mouth like he’s outrageously flirtatious, and he crinkles his nose as he laughs.
“And I hope you don’t mind,” he adds, “but I’ve planned the evening for us.”
I look up, for some reason surprised. I’m the one who always plans things. I’m sort of used to being in charge.
“Not at all,” I say. It’s sort of nice to have someone else take the wheel for once.
“Have you ever seen the fountains in front of the Bellagio?”
“Have I ever been to Vegas?”
He laughs. “I have no idea.”
“I haven’t. Let’s go.”
The fountains are in walking distance, and so walk down the strip, hand in hand. Emerson keeps checking his watch, and the sun starts to set behind the hotel, making all the lights that much brighter. We stop in front of a huge blue foundation, spanning the length of the majestic Bellagio, but the waters are calm. There are a few other tourists, some with big cameras around their necks, but the night is surprisingly calm. The sky is cloudless and big. A desert sky.
“They’re about to start,” he whispers.
I lean into him, and I feel his arm around my waist. For some reason, even though I barely know him, it feels strangely right, standing in front of a big, blue fountain.
“So, do this often?” I ask.
“Get married and then take girls on fancy dates?” Emerson asks. “Oh, sure. All the time. Big hobby of mine.”
“So we have that in common?”
He grins, showing his even white teeth. “You know what they say.”
“I don’t know what they say. You’ll have to tell me.”
He hesitates. “I have absolutely no clue. I was just sort of hoping you’d agree with me.”
I burst out laughing. “We have absolutely no idea what we’re doing, do we?”
“Nope.”
His hand finds mine again and squeezes, and for some reason, instead of feeling panicked, I feel…strangely okay. More okay than I have in a very long time. Maybe doing something insane and out of control is exactly what I needed.
Although 48 hours ago, I probably would have more willingly jumped out of a plane than…this.
In front of us, a song begins, and the first fountains surge jets of water into the air in time to the music. They move back, and forth, and colors change in time to the music. They move in circles and patterns.
“It’s like choreography,” Emerson murmurs.
We watch together, side-by-side, and Emerson tilts his head toward me and kisses my shoulder. Softly. Knowingly, even though he hardly knows me. My eyelids flutter, and I turn to him, seeming to surprise him.
“Do you want to dance?” I ask.
He grins. “Excuse me? In these shoes?”
I laugh out loud, and before I can turn back to the fountain, he
says, “Well, fine, then, if you insist.”
Emerson takes my hand, and spins dramatically, before twisting me into his arms. We both smile, and I slide my arms over his shoulders, his hands on the small of my back. We sway, steps from the fountain, and for a moment, it feels so nice that I tilt my head back toward the sky, which is quickly darkening into a beautiful desert night, lit by the strip.
“You’re a very good dancer, Eliza,” he whispers to me.
“And so are you, Mr. Banks.”
He spins me around again as the song ends, elegantly like he might actually know some ballroom dancing. I’m impressed. I wonder if we danced together on our wedding night.
The music stops, the lights on the fountain fade as the water comes crashing down at once. And I’m still in Emerson’s arms. In the sudden quiet, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.
I lift my eyes, and find Emerson gazing at me. Like he adores me. Like he worships me. I slide my fingers up the back of his neck and thread them through his hair.
“You should kiss me,” he whispers, quiet and to the point. And his light brown eyes are intense, filled with longing.
There’s another small flash, us in bed, him on top of me, looking at me just like this. And me moaning his name.
I get on the tips of my shoes, and press my mouth to his. He kisses me back, pulling away to kiss my top lip, then my bottom. He tightens against me, and I stand even taller on my tiptoes, wanting to be closer. His tongue glides against my bottom lip, and I make a soft sound and he kisses me harder, his tongue against mine. It’s dizzying, a perfect first… almost first kiss.
Maybe we knew what we were doing after all.