"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.
Thirty
RHYS
Lydia is talking to Vince and she's upset. Agitated. While I'm trapped talking to the governor of Nevada, a board member from the UK and a high-roller from Hollywood whose name I can't remember even though we were introduced not five minutes ago. Because I'm distracted. The one thing I wanted to avoid during this opening was distractions and I've ended up with the biggest distraction of my life.
I'm irritated for allowing this to happen. Allowing Lydia to wiggle into my life and disrupt everything.
I'm aggravated that I can't hear what they're talking about. That I don't know why she's upset or what's causing her eyes to widen and her lips to pout.
Fucking Vince. I'm putting an end to this tonight. Why do I even associate with people like this? What am I doing? The arrangement with Lydia can't continue like this. Not for another day.
Except it will have to, because Vince disappears shortly after I spot him talking to Lydia. And I never get a chance to speak to Lydia about what's upset her because we're torn in different directions for the rest of the evening, or surrounded by swarms of people.
Everyone loves her. I get it, I do, but I don't want to share. I want her all to myself like the selfish prick I am. I want to drag her upstairs and find out what Vince wanted, then make love to her until she does the ‘oh, oh, oh’ and the ‘Rhys, Rhys, Rhys.’
But that does not happen. When we're finally headed upstairs for the night I get pulled away to speak with the president of a major liquor company, a woman who's flown in from France to attend the grand opening, so talk I must. Lydia heads upstairs without me and she’s sound asleep by the time I join her thirty minutes later.