Page 51 of What Happens In Vegas
Chapter 20
Quinn:Have fun with your friends. Text me when you’re done.
Bonni read Quinn’s reply over again for the millionth time. It read so . . . emotionless. Was he angry? Was he okay with her decision? Did he care? Part of her wanted him to argue and persuade her to stick to their original plan. The other part was relieved he didn’t push her. It was all terribly confusing, and she felt likeshe’d been wrestling with her feelings for Quinn for ages instead of mere days.
Maybe the time away from Quinn would give her some clarity. Help her figure things out. She knew she was sacrificing precious moments with him, but she’d definitely make sure they saw each other tonight. Her gut was telling her they needed to have a talk, to figure out what they were, what they could be. It was sostrange that she felt like she’d known him for ever. How could someone have such a swift and significant impact in her life? She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him.
Shestared at the phone, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, twitching, and so close to replying. As she had been since he sent the text hours ago. What was there to say?
Do you care if you never see me again?
I feel like meetingyou has changed my life.
I think I love you.
Okay, talk to you then.
She sighed and sent her phone to its lock screen. The night had begun with a drink at a piano bar in New York New York. They left the bar via a faux Brooklyn Bridge and wandered the strip until they’d located a Fat Tuesday, home of alcoholic drinks that came in three-feet long to-go cups. They’d each gotten one and taken increasinglytipsy selfies with an increasingly grumpy Ava who insisted she wasn’t that short, dammit!
Now the four of them stood on the street and stared up at the Eiffel Tower.
‘Wow, it looks so real.’ Celia was in awe.
‘We can pretend we’re in Paris.’ Ava sighed. ‘It’s the city of romance.’ She turned to Fredi. ‘Why don’t you ever do a photo shoot there? I want to go to Paris.’
‘Ah, maybe because itcosts a lot of money? How could I ever compete with the French couture anyway? And even if I did, who said I’d be taking you with me?’
‘To go to Paris, I would sit in the coach and be your gofer. Heck, I know you so well, you wouldn’t even need to give me orders. I would just automatically bring you your five o’clock can of Diet Coke.’
‘What are you talking about, Fredi? You’re a wonderful designer,’Bonni said, wobbling a bit when she leaned back to look at the tower.
Fredigrabbed her arm. ‘Whoa there.’
‘I’m okay.’ Bonni nodded, but didn’t look up, just in case she lost her balance again.
‘Maybe one day somebody special will take you, Celia.’ Ava gave her a nudge.
‘Ha! Dickhead was supposed to take me for our tenth anniversary, which would have been last year.’ She held up her fingersand counted. ‘Yeah. I bet he took the skank.’ Her bitter tone turned wistful. ‘I always wanted to try those French pastries – I forget what they’re called, but the round flat ones and come in pink and blue and yellow?’
‘Macarons?’ Fredi answered.
‘Yes! Do you think they’d have them here somewhere?’
‘Let’s go in and see if we can find any.’ Ava said. ‘A friend of mine was here a few years agoand she went on and on about the French patisserie here. If we can’t be in the city of love, then we can at least pretend we are.’ Ava hooked her elbow through Celia’s and led her inside.
‘I never really thought of Vegas as a romantic place,’ Fredi mused. ‘Despite all the hullaboo about quickie weddings.’
Bonni nodded in agreement. ‘Me neither, actually. It always seems to have a frenzied feelto it.’ They trailed after Ava and Celia to the base of the tower.
Fredi nodded thoughtfully. ‘Exactly! Like, if you don’t seize the moment, you’ll have missed your chance. Act now or, before you know it, you’re on a plane back home.’
Bonni felt off balance again, as everything seemed to keep going for her, tilting her a little bit, and she looked down at the Fat Tuesday cup she was still carrying.Fredi’s words landed like a punch to the gut and she wondered suspiciously if Fredi was trying to sneakily give her advice.
But now Fredi was wondering aloud about the marketabilityof wedding dresses that could be converted to cocktail dresses, for brides who got married on a whim or eloped.
‘—like, a detachable train, maybe. And then perhaps there’d be a way to convert the veil into a matchingdrawstring purse.’
‘Fredi! Bonni!’ Ava yelled to them. ‘We have to get tickets.’
