And fake fiancée or not, being with Ben has been the happiest time of my life.
Sure, that might not be saying much. My dating history is basically a cautionary tale of what and who to avoid. But there’s no denying this man is the most compassionate, kind, and attractive man I’ve ever known. One that makes me feel appreciated in a way I never realized was possible. Outside of romance novels and Elvis movies anyway.
We pull up to the Bellagio and step out of the car. I have to physically stop walking for a second. My mouth falls open in shock at the sight. It’s one thing to picture otherworldly places like this on televisionor social media, but in person is another thing entirely. It’s more than enormous. This place is grand. The fountains dance luminously, putting on a show as if they’re alive in a way I’ve only ever pictured on the big screen. It feels like I’ve stepped into another universe.
Ben blinks down at me. I’m sure he’s waiting for whatever emotional outburst might be coming next.
My chest tightens as I think about my mom back home. She’d lose her mind over this place. She’s never had the chance to live large like this. Sure, she made it to Graceland.The mecca.I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, so Ben doesn’t think I really have cracked. Oh, to see her surrounded by such beauty and indulgence would make my heart smile. That familiar sting returns to my eyes, because she deserves so much more than she’s been given.
But then Ben laces his fingers through mine.And for the next forty-eight hours, I decide something.I’m going to let myself cling to this moment, to this man, and to his promise to paint the town red.
Whatever happens, I’m simply going to enjoy the moment.
About an hour later,after checking in and leisurely strolling through the impressive lobby on the way to Ben’s room, we arrive at the doors to his suite.Yes, doors.
Ben swipes his key card and opens both of them with a flourish, and my eyes widen in shock. I step into what feels less like a hotel suite and more like a private wing of a palace.
Soft golden light spills across polished marble floors veined with cream and honey. Every surface gleams, not so much in a flashy way, but with a quiet, expensive confidence only the Presidential Suite at the Bellagio would know how to do.
The air smells faintly of white tea and something floral I can’t name but immediately want bottled and shipped home to create soaps out of. I close my eyes and take a deep inhale. Oh, I could get lost for hours in this enchanting scent.
Directly ahead, towering arched windows stretch from floor toceiling, framing a sweeping view of the Las Vegas Strip. A river of neon, headlights, and glowing signs dances below. It looks like the city is breathing light into the desert night’s sky. Sheer ivory curtains billow gently from hidden vents, fluttering like silk sails.
The living room is enormous. A collection of plush, curved sofas upholstered in pearl and champagne tones, scattered with velvet and silk pillows embroidered in subtle metallic threads, sits front and center. A hand-knotted Persian rug lies beneath a grand glass coffee table, its surface reflecting the crystal chandelier overhead. The lighting belongs in a museum. It’s a cascading sculpture that sparkles like frozen fireworks.
To the side, a full wet bar gleams against black marble counters, mirrored shelving, and softly backlit bottles arranged like a jewel display. Everything whispers indulgence.
Beyond the living area, double French doors open into the bedroom. And I actually stop breathing when I take in the sight. The bed is massive. It’s ornately dressed in layers of creamy linens so soft they look like clouds you could sink into and never return from. A tall, upholstered headboard rises like a throne behind it.
Gold-rimmed mirrors and delicate sconces frame the room, casting a warm, romantic glow that makes everything feel somehow more intimate. Another wall of windows offers a second breathtaking view of the city. And right beside it sits a chaise lounge draped in velvet, clearly designed for reading, dreaming, or doing very little in the most luxurious way possible.
But the bathroom… the bathroom might actually be where I’m dying to spend the most time. It has Italian marble floors, and a soaking tub big enough for two people to swim in. The glass-enclosed rain shower next to the tub has built-in seating and polished chrome fixtures that sparkle under recessed lighting. Fluffy white towels are stacked high next to what I can only assume is a towel warmer. Everything smells clean and expensive and impossibly serene.
This hotel is the kind of place where you understand how people get away to forget their problems. Where you can imagine staying uplate into the night talking in hushed voices. Giggling before falling asleep in tangled sheets. Pretending, even for a little while, that life is kind and generous and full of possibility. This isn’t just a hotel room. It’s a whisper of what lifecouldbe. If you let yourself dream of the impossible.
Of people like Ben Banks.
“Wow. You have enough money to stay at a place like this?” I feel crass asking. But heck. If Brad had taken me to a place like this, I’d have had to keep one eye on my escape. Because I’m certain that eventually, the police would’ve caught wind of whatever shenanigans he had up his sleeve.
“Yeah, Grace. I’m trying to be careful about how I use my money right now. Because getting my business off the ground is very expensive. But you deserve to have a weekend in Vegas you’ll never forget. Especially after your last trip here.”
My heart swells. What have I done to deserve this man’s generosity? Especially after making such foolhardy decisions.
“Now, come on. Go get cleaned up. Wash away all of that stress, and I’ll get a tour or two lined up for once you’re done. Then maybe we can hit the pool later.”
“The pool? I’m not sure if you missed it, but it’s January.” I laugh.
Ben comes closer, gathering me into his arms. “It’s the Bellagio, Grace. They have heated pools and whirlpools here.” He drops a kiss to the tip of my nose before giving my ass cheek a playful tap.
I bite down on my lower lip. “Well, I didn’t bring a suit.” There was nothing about this trip that was supposed to be leisurely and relaxed. I had one mission. Get my check and those negatives.
He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Even better.”
My eyes narrow.
“Just kidding. Hell, a man can dream, right? If not the pool, you could push me into that tub big enough for two.”
He’s not wrong.Wait—“Did you actually watch it?Viva Las Vegas?”
