Later, the city lights streak past us as the driver heads back toward the hotel. “Thank you for telling me everything,” I say softly.
Ben goes quiet. He asks the driver to pull over. Then the car slows. My stomach drops.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he says. “Because I respect you too much to continue to lie.”
I gulp down my nervousness at his admission.He’s been lying to me?
And then he spills everything. Right here on Las Vegas Boulevard. About providing my license plate to track me down using only my first name. His friend Max who was able to track my whereabouts. All of the updates he received and the not so coincidental flights.
“So neither flight was happenstance?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
My eyes narrow. I’m honestly not sure how to feel about this. “Is this how men with money operate?” And here I thought this kind of manipulative behavior was limited to the freeloaders I’ve dated before.
“No, no,” he blurts. “Not me. Not ever. Until you.” He runs his hands through his hair, seeming to look panic stricken. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’m sorry. It was wrong. But I wanted to come clean about it.”
I swallow hard. Heck, he didn’t have to admit any of this. And it’s not like he’s attempted to do anything but befriend me. Regardless of his interest in me, Ben has never taken advantage of my situation. He’s only ever seemed to be concerned about my welfare. “I thought about you all the time too,” I admit.
“You did?” His face lights up, like a kid at Christmas. So hopeful. It makes me swoon a little more for this powerful man.
“I didn’t have room for anyone else. It wasn’t you. Honestly. It was self-preservation.”
He cups my cheek. “I’d understand if you were too pissed about all I’ve done to give me a chance. But I’m praying you try. You’re special, Grace. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”
Is this the cocktails talking? I don’t think either of us isthatintoxicated, but admittedly we’ve been enjoying ourselves throughout the night. His words are beautiful. Tempting even. But they’re also terrifying. Because I’ve been conned by the best of them. And something tells me he has more resources to pull off a disappearing act than any of the rest.
Eventually, Ben signals the driver to return to the hotel. Just as we pull back onto the road, neon light washes over the car. The Graceland Wedding Chapel glows beside us. I catch Ben staring beside me when he blurts, “Grace Kelly. I think it’s fate.”
27
BEN
The carbarely comes to a full stop before I’m out of it. The chapel glows like something pulled straight out of a neon dream. There are white columns trimmed in gold light, soft pink bulbs tracing the roofline, and palm fronds swaying gently in the cool Vegas night. The sign above us blinks in all its cursive grandeur:
Graceland Wedding Chapel
My heart is beating double time. Grace steps out beside me, smoothing her silver dress, and for a second, she looks like she stepped out of a fairy tale written just for me. Jesus, what was in those drinks? I’ve turned into a hormonal girl drunk on love.
The two of us approach the doors when she hesitates.
“We don’t have to do this, Grace,” I interject. And I mean it. I take both of her hands in mine, turning to face her. “When I said marry me, I was only explaining that I needed you to come to another dinner before Milton would sign the property over. But even that is up to you. I’ll find another location if this one doesn’t work out. I’d never want you to feel like I cornered you into anything. I had no right to blurt that out. I’m sorry.” I leave out the fact that those two words were more likely a Freudian slip, having nothing whatsoever to do with Milton.
She squeezes my hand. “I don’t know how to explain this, Ben. But for some reason,” she blinks slowly up at me, “this just feels right.”
My brows lift. My brain scrambles for logic. “Are you?—”
“Yes. I’m sure. No, I’m not drunk. Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” She smiles, steps forward, and wraps her fingers around the polished brass door handle. “Let’s do this.”
Holy hell.
I’m getting married to my dream girl.
This is actually happening.
Inside, the chapel is awash with velvet and over the top crystal. There’s a red carpet leading to an ivory altar framed in faux marble columns. Twinkle lights are woven through white silk flowers, and the air smells faintly like artificial roses, vanilla, and Vegas magic.
I pick up an informational brochure from the counter.
