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Sliding the folder back where she found it, June tiptoed out of the room. She shut the door quietly and made it down to the lobby and outside. Thankfully there was a cab waiting. She slid into the cool backseat and directed the driver to her hotel. The guy, along with every other cab driver in Vegas, didn’t drive like Brock. There was a whole lot of angry lane changes, rapid turns and hard rights that left her dizzy and jostled in the backseat. She was relieved when they finally pulled up in front of her hotel. She tipped the guy anyway, since she had to admit, he was at least efficient.
June made her way up to her room. She hesitated when she gripped the handle but turned it anyway. She crept into the darkened room. Even though it was sunny and bright outside, the curtains were drawn across the windows and it was dark as midnight inside.
She made out two shapes, one in each bed, and let out a sigh of relief. Neither of her friends was currently asleep with a naked stranger.
Thank god.
June let them sleep. It was still early, just past nine, which in the real world might be late, but in Vegas, it seemed to be the equivalent of a 5am wake up call. Instead of doing something noisy, like turning on the TV or having a shower, June picked up Mandy’s phone. She flipped it on, relieved to see that it still had half its battery life left. I still can’t believe I lost my phone. Thank god it was old anyway.
She brought up the web browser on the phone and typed in Brock’s name. First and last. She hit search, prepared for maybe one or two hits, maybe social media pages.
What she saw stopped her heart in its tracks. She leaned forward and scrolled down the page, sure that it was a mistake. That there must be another Brock out there with the same name. One who wasn’t the founder and head of a massive multi-billion-dollar software corporation. Apparently, he’d sold that and started something else, something where he funded start-up businesses. Brock was a real-life Midas, because that took off as well. Everything he touched turned to gold.
June’s hand shook so hard she could barely navigate to a page with a picture.
She dropped the phone as Brock’s face swam into focus.
He lied to me. She’d straight up asked him and he’d lied to her about who he was. What else had he lied to her about? If he was some rich billionaire, why the hell did he need a Vegas wedding? Was it some kind of trick? Some rebellious move or PR stunt gone wrong? What the hell had she done?
Panic worked its way up inside of her. This was a mistake. All of it. Oh my god, I slept with him. Like… two times. And that shower…
Anger squeezed her chest and cut off her airway. She felt like she was falling, hopelessly out of control, drowning, the water filling up her throat and lungs. She was in over her head. Brock was the ocean, sweeping her under, closing in on her.
Gold. Everything he touches turns to gold. Her eyes fell to the gold wedding band on her left hand. Where the hell did they even get those rings? Who in their right mind would sell two inebriated, black out drunk people a set of rings? Fuck. Who wouldn’t? This is Vegas. In a fit of rage and fear, she ripped the ring off her finger and tossed it to the floor. I’m not gold. He doesn’t own me. I’m not his.
June shut her eyes, trying to come up with a plan of attack. Instead, she saw an image of herself, grainy and fleeting. Sitting at that poker table, Brock beside her. Their wager. He’d just proposed marriage. She knew that. She’d remembered it before, but there was something else. They’d made the bet and he flipped his cards up. Two pairs. Eights and kings. Impressive.
Except that in her hand, burned into her brain, searing her like a red-hot brand of realty, cutting her to the core, was two kings. The third was on the table. She’d mucked her cards, tossing them in and announced that she’d lost.
Why?
Was she really that drunk? Or just that pathetic?
June didn’t want to answer that question. She let out a low moan and both Jaz and Mandy stirred. It might have been horrible to wake up married to a stranger. It might be worse finding out that he lied to her about who he really was, and she had no idea why he’d proposed marriage in the first place.
But it was the worst that she suddenly remembered, in her terrible moment of clarity, that she had no one to blame but herself.
