And it terrifies me because since that time, I had first-experience of what Rio can be capable of.
But I don't share any of that. Instead, I ask a simple question. "What does 'bespoke' mean?"
"A made to order creation by a known designer."
I glance at Snorty.
“Well, he does like to be pampered,” I say. “He loves anything girly, even though he's technically a boy dog. Treats, attention, strangers telling him he's cute.”
“Don’t we all,” Antoine says dryly. He gestures toward a storefront gleaming under soft gold light. "Come. First, we dress the dog. Then, we dress the bride."
Antoine leads me towards the glamorous Louis Vuitton store.
Inside, everything gleams. Polished surfaces. Strategic lighting. The signature brown leather accented by a shade of orange I can’t quite place. Pumpkin? Saffron?
I inhale the scent of expensive leather and extravagance.
“Can I be of assistance?” A woman approaches us, her straight blond hair as glossy as the glass displays.
“Yes,” Antoine says, his cultured voice carrying easily through the hushed space. “We would like to buy a carrier for this little fellow.” He gestures to Snorty.
Sensing attention, Snorty lifts his head proudly.
“We have several options,” she says, already leading us toward a small pet section. “He’s about six pounds?”
“How did you know?” I ask.
“We’re a dog-friendly hotel. We see a lot of small breeds.” She lifts a miniature Louis Vuitton dog carrier. “This would fit him perfectly now. He won’t grow into it, but the next size up would be too large.”
Snorty squirms, and I set him gently on the counter. He sniffs the carrier, then steps right inside.
The carrier is a work of art. Plush lining. Structured sides. Like a tiny throne.
“The carpet is cushioned,” the woman says, running her manicured hand along the interior. “And notice the whisper-soft ventilation netting.”
“Excellent,” Antoine says without hesitation. “We’ll take it.”
I glance at the price tag and nearly choke. “Three thousand seven hundred dollars? Antoine, absolutely not. He’d be fine in a potato sack.”
“Chérie,” Antoine says gently, scratching behind Snorty’s ears. “A dog of such distinction cannot be transported in a sack. He deserves a chariot.”
I look at Snorty. He’s already curled up inside, eyes half-closed, looking like he was born into luxury.
Antoine hands over his card without breaking stride.
Snorty gives a proud little yip as we leave the store, fully aware he’s been upgraded to official luxury pet.
We pass a row of designer storefronts. All polished glass and gold lettering. Mannequins posed like they belong to a different species of woman.
My reflection flickers back at me in the mirrored panels. I don't know what to make of myself.
Compared to Antoine in his sleek suit and even Snorty in his designer carrier, I look plain. Out of step with my own companions and the entire Las Vegas scene.
Antoine glances at me, following my gaze. “You look like someone who believes she does not belong here.”
A sardonic laugh escapes me. "You heard what Rio called me. I stand accused of rocking the 'schoolmarm look.'"
"And that's what we're going to correct right now," Antoine says. "Prince Michael sent a list of the weekend’s activities. We need to make sure you’re presentable.”
