VANESSA (FoodFirst): Heard you're going to be in Vegas. Perfect. Board members are at the Bellagio tonight. Get me intel on the CulinaryVision terms. This is your last chance, Harper. Don't waste it.
I delete the message and look up to find Victor watching me.
"Everything okay?" he asks.
"Fine," I lie. "Just my mom. Checking in."
He nods, accepting the lie, trusting me.
And I hate myself a little more.
The plane door opens, and Vegas heat rushes in—seventy-five degrees and dry as bone despite it being November.
"Ready?" Victor asks, standing and offering me his hand.
No. I'm not ready. I'm not ready to face this city again. I'm not ready to betray him. I'm not ready to lose something I never really had.
But I take his hand anyway.
"Ready," I lie.
Here goes nothing.
17
ICE PRINCE ON THIN ICE
VICTOR
By the time the clock strikes noon in Vegas, the StreamEats jet’s wheels are touching down on the desert tarmac.
The November sun is relentless—seventy-eight degrees and climbing—and the dry heat hits like opening an oven door after the crisp cold of New York. The sky is that particular shade of blue that only exists in the desert, cloudless and vast.
Ten minutes later, we’re in the back of a town car heading to the Bellagio, and Harper is staring out the window like she's never seen the Vegas strip before.
She has, of course.
This is where we got married. This is where everything started. And judging by the way her hands are clenched in her lap, she's thinking about that too.
"You okay?" I ask.
“I’m great.
"You're a terrible liar."
"I'm an excellent liar. You’re just starting to know me too well.”
The admission hangs between us, and I file it away for later examination.
"We're staying at the Bellagio," I say, watching her reaction.
Her head whips toward me. "The Bellagio?"
"Yes."
"The same hotel where we?—"
“Crashed after getting married in a video game chapel? Yes. Though technically the chapel was off-strip. But we did start the evening at the Bellagio." I pause. "I thought it was fitting."
