“You haven’t been to Vegas if you don’t visit this place,” he says, gesturing to the rows of tables and slot machines.
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you a tour guide now?”
“I can be one for you, princess.”
He leads me to a blackjack table, and I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. But he slides into the seat like he was born to it, and I stand behind him, hands on his shoulders.
“What are the rules?” I ask.
“Get as close to twenty-one without going over.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
The dealer starts, and I watch Ledger play. He’s calm, methodical, like he can see the cards before they’re dealt. Within twenty minutes, he’s doubled his money.
He doubles again. Then again. I’m cheering him on, completely oblivious to strategy but loving every second of it. Other players at the table smile at my enthusiasm.
A waitress brings us drinks. More whiskey for him, another vodka soda for me.
After an hour, I’m getting restless. The casino is beautiful, all marble and gold, but it’s not why I came to Vegas.
“I’m bored,” I admit.
He cashes out, pockets the chips, and stands. “Then let’s go.”
We stumble out of the casino, back onto the strip. The lights are blinding, and I’m clinging to his arm because my heels areimpossible and the ground won’t stay flat. He’s carrying my purse, tucked under his arm, so I won’t lose it. Such a gentleman.
Vegas at 4:00 AM is surreal. Still busy, still bright, like the sun never has the audacity to rise here. We pass street performers and other drunk couples stumbling along.
“Where do you want to go next?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Anywhere. Everywhere.” I spin around, nearly falling, and he catches me. “Vegas is supposed to be fun, right? Wild? We should do something wild.”
“Like what?”
I see the signs everywhere.
Wedding chapels. Little neon hearts and white doves and promises ofWeddings 24/7!
A couple stumbles out of one, laughing and kissing, and I stop walking.
We both stop walking at the same time. The silence stretches between us, and I can feel him looking at the same thing I’m looking at.
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about it,” I say.
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about it too,” he replies.
I turn to face him. “We should do it.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. What’s the worst that can happen?”
He’s quiet for a moment, studying my face. Then he says, “If we’re going to do it, I won’t let it happen in a club dress and without a ring.”
“What?”
