Page 66 of Devil's Iris
Somewhere deep inside, something fundamental has shifted. The world is changing, and I’m right in the middle of it—no, it’s not the world. It’sminethat’s changing. And for a terrifying moment, I wonder how I’ll fare at the end of the year when my relationship with Romero expires. How do you go back to being alone after experiencing this kind of connection?
Would I survive it?
A gentle jolt stirs me from sleep. I blink awake, squinting against the pale morning light streaming through the windows.
For a confused second, I forget where I am and why I’m wearing silk. My robe has slipped off one shoulder, and a blanket I don’t remember getting pools on the floor.
Where am I? What?—
“Ladies,” a voice chimes over an intercom. “We’ll be landing in Las Vegas shortly. The local time is 12:05 PM.”
Vegas.
I sit up straight, suddenly wide awake. “Vegas? We’re in Vegas?”
Gianna yawns and stretches next to me. “What time did we even leave?”
“Ten this morning,” Emily mumbles, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “New York time. So technically, it’s still the morning back home.”
“Time travel,” I whisper to myself, grinning as the excitement from earlier rushes back in.We’re landing in Las Vegas. They brought me to Vegas.
I can barely contain myself, the urge to stamp my feet in pure happiness almost impossible to resist as the jet touches down with barely a bump. As we taxi along the runway, I peek out the window and catch a glimpse of the mountains in the distance, pale and hazy against the desert sky. Heat shimmers off the tarmac, and even from inside the cabin, I can already feel the electric energy of the city buzzing just beyond the airstrip.
When we descend the jet stairs, we find another limo waiting for us at the base. The driver, a middle-aged man in a suit, smiles up at us as he holds open the door like we’re actual royalty. But it’s the license plate that stops me dead in my tracks.
BRIDE-TO-BE.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, covering my mouth with both hands.
Elira grins, running a hand through her bright red hair. “Surprise.”
A completely undignified squeal bursts out of me, and I spin around to hug them all in a flurry of satin robes and messy hair. “You guys are insane. And Imeanit.”
They chuckle, hugging me back.
We pile into the limo that is pure Vegas excess with velvet seats, neon accent lights, and even chilled bottles of water waiting in a crystal bucket. For a moment, I just let the ridiculousness of it wash over me. But as we roll off the tarmac and hit the highway, my attention shifts to the three black SUVs falling into formation behind us, keeping pace.
Okay… that’s not normal.
My blood chills. “Um… guys? This might sound paranoid, but I thinkwe’re being followed.”
They glance out the back window, but none of them look remotely alarmed. Emily just waves a hand. “It’s fine. They’re Rafael’s people. He knows where we are and insisted on security detail.” She says it so matter-of-factly, like having armed guards tailing you is the most normal thing in the world.
I gulp and try to push the thought out of my mind—which becomes surprisingly easy when the Strip comes into view. I’ve read about it, seen it on screens, but witnessing it in person is something else entirely.Indescribable.
Towering hotels, flashing signs, and rows of palm trees zip past the tinted windows like a scene straight out of a movie.
Music suddenly pulses through the limo’s speakers—some classic Beyoncé song—and the girls scream with delight, singing along at the top of their lungs. I can’t help grinning, swept right up in their energy, the lights, theluxury, all of it.
We pull up to a five-star hotel that looks more like a palace than anything else—a glittering skyscraper with shiningwindows, fountains shooting water high into the air, and valets in perfectly pressed uniforms.
How is this my life?
I pinch myself just to be sure this isn’t some elaborate dream I’m having.
But the pain is real, and so is the blissfully cool air-conditioned lobby we walk into. Heads turn as we pass, and I can’t even blame them. Four women strutting in robes and slippers, followed by a bunch of scary-looking men in dark suits? Yeah, that’ll get attention. I meet one guest’s curious gaze, and she promptly looks away, probably wondering if we’re celebrities or criminals.Well.
The concierge hurries over, practically bowing as he greets us, the whole thing feeling like royalty treatment to me. “Welcome to the Bellagio,” he says, handing over our keycards with a perfectly polished smile. “I hope you enjoy your stay here, ladies. And if you need anything—anything at all—don’t hesitate to call the front desk.”
