‘Wait. Are you the same girl that guy wants to marry?’ asks a passing waiter. ‘Hey, Jeff. This is the proposal girl!’ He points at me, and the bar staff all peer over. Thankfully, Jeff the bartender is busy with customers. ‘Jeff! Jeff! It’s the proposal girl!’
‘Cool,’ he says, dinging the bell. ‘Free drinks for proposal girl and all her friends!’
Oh, no.
‘No. I’m not proposal girl,’ I protest, mortified. I feel Matteo’s body tense beside me. ‘I’m not going to accept. No need for free drinks.’
There’s an outraged gasp from the Dollz and Ged and Liam. Luckily, my plea falls on deaf ears, and any additional attention from the people in the bar is drowned out by Tash squealing because the Dollz are up on screen. The advert guarantees a night of unforgettable singing and dancing as we promise to sweep customers off their feet if they come to see us at the Cocktail Hour club tomorrow at 6p.m.
‘Wait,’ the waiter says again. ‘Is that you guys up there?’ He does a double take.
‘We look better when we’re not in our Barbie outfits,’ says Cherry.
‘Oh, man,’ the waiter says. ‘You’re British. We love you guys. That accent. Are you from London? I love the Barbie vibe.’
‘Well, at least some of us have made the effort,’ says Liam, who has been unusually quiet. He looks sulkily at Liberty, who is without wig and wearing a gorgeous, slinky designer slip dress that is nothing short of spectacular on her. ‘I thought this whole trip was supposed to be about us and our pre-moon.’
I flick my eyes to Cherry, our resident paralegal with a photographic mind and unparalleled ability to quote verbatim. Liam very famously and very recently, before we boarded the plane, ensured us that this tripwasn’tto be all about them. She is opening her mouth ready to correct him. Likewise, Tash, who is still peddling Sister Kevin’s BIG birthday even though he looks forty-three.
I mentally roll my eyes. Liam needs attention and he needs it right now.
Liberty is quick to leap in. She smiles at Liam before snuggling up to Dripping-Wet Guy who is no longer dripping wet but head to toe in a stylish cowboy outfit. He has a Stetson on his head. He has Liberty all over him. She has dressed him up to her ideal of a hot American rancher. I am surprised he is not wearing a fake moustache. He is obviously smitten, so that’s all that matters.
‘This is just temporary. There was an incident earlier requiring a quick change of clothes.’ She tugs shyly at her man’s arm. ‘Everyone. I’d like you to meet Hank Junior.’
Honestly, if ever there was a cowboy with a fake name, he’s got to be it.
Big Sue is first to act. ‘Hank Junior? Really?’ She pierces Hank with a sharp look. He instantly shrugs his shoulders in apology.
‘’Fraid so, ma’am. Hank’s a popular name where I come from.’
‘And where do you come from?’ asks Big Mand. She has fully recovered from earlier, after a mammoth power nap and four cans of soda.
Hank strokes his chin as though giving it some thought. ‘I guess you could say I’m from Texas originally.’
He’s not giving much away.
‘Hey now. Did you say you were celebrating?’ he asks Liam, who nods forlornly. ‘Well, I don’t know about you folks, but here in Vegas, we like to do things in style.’ He calls to the waiter. ‘Can we please have a round of champagne? And can you bring some of that shrimp on ice and, heck, we’ll have whatever these good folk want. Keep it coming. Charge it to my room. Thank you.’ He flashes the waiter his key card. I see the waiter instantly redden.
‘Yes, sir. Whatever they want, whenever they want it.’
There’s a beat of silence as his words hit home. He’s offering to buy us anything we want. When the waiter begins to take everyone’s order, suddenly the party spirit is back in full swing. Liberty is gazing up at her generous cowboy with huge respect. She loves a man with a big, fat wallet. She’d probably overlook the lack of a moustache for that. He stares back down at her for approval.
That reminds me… I have my own love interest to attend to. The whole group are now suddenly very interested in Hank Junior and his generosity. I’m sure no one will notice if Matteo and I slip away for an hour.
I feel Matteo squeeze my hand. He leans down to whisper in my ear. ‘Do you think…?’
‘Way ahead of you. Let’s go,’ I say, dragging him silently away.
9
We race back to our room like giddy teenagers. The pressure has been steadily building since the airport. Waiting for the lift is agony. Then, in the lift, there are so many people. Matteo puts his hand on the small of my back, sending tingles floating up my spine. I place my hand casually on his buttock and lightly rub the hard surface. He shakes his head slowly at me as though to say there will be a major incident if I keep going. When we finally reach our floor, we have a maze of corridors to navigate. We keep stopping whenever a corridor is empty to kiss passionately against the wall, the housekeeping cart, the empty food trolleys. My hands sliding up and down his chest. His hands tangled in my hair. His erection throbbing impatiently against my thigh as our bodies collide together.
‘Should we talk about what happened back there… on the screen?’ I feel obliged to ask as my hands undo the buttons on his jeans as we reach our suite.
‘No,’ says Matteo, sliding his hand up my thigh and under my dress. ‘I trust you. That’s all there is to it.’
Everything in my whole being flutters. I want him. I want him down to my very bones. We crash against the door to our room and Matteo scrabbles to find his key card. He is having difficulty locating it because I have unbuttoned his jeans, and it has scrambled his brain. He is pulling down the shoulder of my dress to leave a trail of kisses down the length of my neck. It causes me to thrust myself against him even harder. He has his hand under my knee, and I’m half straddling him, my pelvis gyrating against his. I lift up his T-shirt to press my hands against the hot, taut skin of his abs, causing him to moan softly in my ear. He unzips the back of my dress and reaches a hand inside to cup a generous handful of voluptuous breast. He is squeezing it gently and groaning with desire. With a desperate swipe we are finally through. Matteo kicks the door shut, picks me up and flings me onto the king-size bed before settling his weight on top of me in the most delicious way.
