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Peter smiles, his eyes reflect my wide-eyed enthusiasm. “Just wait until you see inside.”
The Mansion is a private group of residences nestled discreetly within the MGM Grand casino. It’s an invite-only sanctuary shrouded in an air of exclusivity and mystique. Franco, our designated host, greets us and offers to give us a tour. As we enter, I’m struck by the architectural grandeur of the place.
“It’s modeled after an 18th-century Florentine villa.” Peter notices my fascination. “Isn’t the attention to detail incredible?”
“Yeah. Like your Florence-inspired tattoo.” Jordan grips my bicep.
Franco guides us toward a display of art. “I’m told the lady is an artist. While you’re staying with us, please feel free to enjoy our collection. We’re honored to have over eight hundred exquisite pieces by artists such as Henri Matisse, Pablo Picasso, and Salvador Dali.
“It’s like walking through a private museum,” I marvel, nearly reduced to tears.
“This property has quite a few villas, we have you staying in the main mansion where you’ll have your own private pool, and I’ll be around to take care of your every need.” Franco leads us through a temperature-controlled atrium. “This is where you’ll dine, we’ve arranged a series of delicious meals over the next few days.”
I can’t help but be overwhelmed by the sheer decadence of it all. “Peter, this is unbelievable. It’s like we’re in Tuscany, not Vegas.”
Peter takes my hand, weaving our fingers as we follow Franco toward our villa. “I thought it would be the perfect place for us to unwind, to be away from the hustle and bustle of the Strip. Maybe reimagine Vegas to tell a different story for us.”
“I dunno.” I lean up to kiss him. “Our story has turned out pretty fucking awesome.”
But as we settle into our villa, overlooking the lush Italian-style garden atrium, I realize this weekend is more than a getaway. It’s a celebration of our journey, a testament to our love and the life we’re building.
Amidst the grandeur and splendor of The Mansion, I find a profound sense of peace and happiness, knowing I’m with the person who means everything to me in the place where we met nearly a decade ago.
A few hours and many orgasms later, after a blissful and romantic afternoon spent naked in our twelve-thousand-square-foot villa, Peter coaxes me to get ready for dinner.
“The chef is incredible; I’ve arranged for something special tonight.” He’s so handsome, his eyes shine with excitement.
Once we’re showered, I’m taken by surprise as we dress in our evening attire. Peter’s arranged for me to have hair and makeup, and a gorgeous floaty seafoam green gown hangs in the wardrobe.
“It’s beautiful.” I let the fabric slide through my fingers. “This is so much fun.”
I’m primped, plucked, and styled and the anticipation of the night ahead fills me with a sense of delight. A wardrobe attendant helps me put on the dress and leads me to the foyer where Peter, looking dashing in his suit, offers his arm.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, Jordan.” He bends to kiss me, gently touching my mermaid necklace. “You have no idea how proud I am you’ve chosen me. I’m the luckiest person on the planet.”
“It’s always been you, baby. From the first time our eyes met.” I tuck myself under his strong arm as we step out into the plaza to stroll the grounds before dinner.
At night, the Mansion’s grounds are even more breathtaking, a serene oasis amidst the vibrant energy of Las Vegas. We wander past beautifully manicured gardens, each turn revealing another stunning piece of art. The atmosphere is imbued with a sense of tranquility and timeless elegance. Peter seems to know exactly where we’re going as he guides me toward a high wall obscured by a large tarp. Two men dressed in butler uniforms stand guard.
Curiosity piqued, I turn to Peter. “What’s this?”
With a mysterious smile, he gives a subtle nod to the men, who proceed to pull down the tarp. My breath catches in my throat as it falls away, revealing a magnificent mosaic spanning the entire wall—ten feet high and ten feet wide. It’s one of my mixed media mermaid pieces, brought to life in vibrant, shimmering tiles.
I’m overwhelmed, speechless at the sight. It nearly brings me to my knees. “Peter, this…how? It’s my design! I thought I’d lost it. All of this collection went missing a few years ago.”
Peter takes my hand, his eyes reflecting the mosaic’s hues. “Jordan, you’re my mermaid, and your art is as beautiful as any fresco in Italy. I wanted to celebrate your talent, to immortalize it forever. I’ve been working on this project as a surprise as part of my collaboration in modernizing The Mansion with contemporary artists’ works.”
“But, how?” I’m so confused.
Enfolding me in his arms, Peter divulges a few surprises. “After our night in Vegas, I still found myself captivated by the most magical woman I’d ever known. I respected your relationship, but everything about our night made it impossible to forget you. Every now and then I’d Google you, or your brother, to pick up information about what you were up to. I was able to piece together a bit more about your background in fine art.”
“A little stalkerish, but so far I’m with you,” I tease, nestling against him.
“Don’t be a little shit.” Peter nuzzles my neck. “Anyway, around the time I got brought into The Mansion project—a year or so before you started my tattoo—I stumbled upon an old podcast you did with Dave Navarro. You spoke candidly about your career in the tattoo industry and how difficult it was for a woman to break through. You also spoke about your upbringing. Values. I began to understand what made you tick a little more. What resonated most was what you said about embracing the dual influence of your mom’s creative nurturing and your dad’s business acumen. It led you to open The Salty Siren where you combine your artistic talent and entrepreneurial spirit in a more accessible way.”
I turn in his arms. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I remember the podcast. More importantly, how did you get my piece?”
“Listening to those interviews made me fall in love with you even more.” Peter presses his forehead to mine. “You perfectly articulated how the arts are continuously devalued in a world of instant gratification which, as you know, breaks my heart. In your case, stunning original mermaid artwork by Jordan fucking Deveraux—was lost. Sold. Stolen. Misplaced. Didn't matter. Somebody devalued your priceless creations, and allowed it to happen, which means they devalued you.”
