That was exactly what the night called for.
Willa took a bath while I ordered several different kinds of junk food. Then we binged it while watching old comedies that did not involve romance of any kind, with both of us being a little sensitive about that, given our current circumstances.
Once Willa dragged herself to bed, I made myself sweat any lingering tequila out in the sauna before taking a bath and dropping into the spare bed.
As exhausted as I felt, though, sleep refused to come.
I got up, checked the doors and windows, unloaded the dishwasher, made Willa a lunch bag full of leftovers for the next day, then finally started to unpack my belongings.
That’s when I found it.
Not just my missing black dress, the one I assumed Harrison meant when talking about me spilling butter all over myself. But that one didn’t seem laundered. The one that did have a fresh laundromat bag around it, though? The wedding gown from the chapel images.
My heart lurched.
And for just a second, I had another flash of a memory.
I didn’t even know exactly where the store was, but I was standing in front of the window, looking in at the wedding gowns. And Harrison had his arms around me, his head pressed to the side of mine.
It was there and gone in a blink, but there was an unmistakable tug of… joy.
I’d been happy there.
With him.
On a sigh, I shoved the dress back into my bag and flopped on the bed, determined to stop thinking about him.
I mostly succeeded in those couple of moments right before sleep.
Then went ahead and dreamed of him.
CHAPTER NINE
I spent three days with Willa, trying to get to a point where I wasn’t so emotional and frazzled about the whole situation.
But when it became clear that I was hunkering down to try to avoid handling the whole marriage thing, I packed back up, thanked my cousin for her hospitality, and hopped on a train to Manhattan, where Willa said I would find Harrison’s office.
I’d always loved New York the way I loved Vegas. They had the same heartbeat, the same restless hum under the pavement. I felt it in Hong Kong and Macau too—in cities that never slept because too much money was too awake.
Technically, on paper, New York was not a gambling town. There were no full casinos full of spinning slot machines and windowless disorientation.
Though anyone who knew anything about professional gambling knew that there were many private poker clubs, backroom games, and invitation-only rooms.
It was the same game I loved, but with added stakes. And, often, celebrities at the table.
This was the first time I’d visited the city without a game in mind.
Anxiety thrummed in my veins as the train pulled into the station. I had yet another copy of the paperwork in my bag, sentover from my Vegas attorney and printed out at Willa’s office, in case Harrison did something stupid like throw his copy out.
I wanted no excuse for him to say we couldn’t do this if he had done the smart thing and changed his mind.
I made my way out of the station, pausing on the sidewalk to soak in the energy of the city. But for the first time in my life, New York felt too loud, too fast, too overwhelming.
With a sigh, I turned away from the yellow taxis sitting near the curb waiting for passengers and started walking.
Harrison’s office was in Midtown too.
And I guess that made sense.
