Shaking it off, I turn to the woman next to me. Sasha stares quietly out the tinted windows, drinking it all in as the familiar sights of the city whizz by.
The heaving, crawling traffic; the ostentatious buildings; the flamboyant lights of the city. The showiness seems almost vulgar in comparison to the country we just left.
For a split second, I wonder if living in Ireland full time would be impossible after all?
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
SASHA
The three-bedroomed, ten-thousand-square-foot Nobu Villa at Caesars Palace makes Huxley Castle look like a three-star resort in comparison.
The luxury is next level. It’s out of this world. The Japanese-inspired rooftop villa boasts an exquisite patio overlooking the Strip below. Gazing out across the city, I’m awe-struck, desperate to soak in every single detail.
Brightly decorated flashing Christmas lights glint and glimmer from every building and window. A life-sized snow globe sits on the street below, tourists posing adjacent for photo after photo.
An enormous inflatable Santa floats airborne from the next building, for a split second it feels like he’s waving specifically to me. Like his jolly, knowing smile is responsible for all the good in my life right now.
Spinning round, I admire the extravagant decorative foliage of the terrace, tinsel trimmed and preened to perfection. There’s a barbecue pit, a full bar, a fire and water feature and even a secluded Zen garden with an Italian-made whirlpool.
Yep, it definitely makes Huxley look mediocre.
Mind you, it is thirty-five thousand dollars a night. I know for a fact, because it was the first thing Megan texted when I sent her a picture. I guess as a hotel manager, it’s her job to know these things. Eight grand a night for the Huxley penthouse seems laughable.
As I wait for Ryan to emerge from the shower, I steal a few moments to myself, trying to get my head around the whole thing. Not just the shock of his lifestyle, because clearly, this is his normal lifestyle. He didn’t bat an eyelid at this off-the-chart luxury, so I gather he’s well accustomed to it at this point in his career.
No, it’s the shocking way life can take a tornado-like spiralling turn that I’m struggling to get my head around.
This life is something else, so morally decadent. So startlingly foreign to me. But it’s his life. Being here makes me wonder if Ryan would seriously give it up – partially anyway, if we’re going to make a go of it – for me.
Strolling back inside, I commit every single detail to memory. The interior is just as impressive as the exterior. A sprawling, formal dining room features elegant ultra-modern lighting and a table large enough to seat twenty. The opulent Japanese-inspired flourishes continue throughout. A curved staircase overlooks the terrace and a stone hearth wall. Everything about the place screams upscale extravagance.
It’s sophisticated and quirky. The wall art is eclectic. Trendy furnishings are every travel blogger’s dream.
Ryan emerges from the gigantic bathroom, striding across the room like he owns the place. Yeah, he’s definitely used to the high life. In a pair of low hanging navy jeans and a navy t-shirt that frames his huge powerful shoulders, he looks positively delectable. Ray-Bans balance across his forehead, his shaggy hair damp from the shower. Ink-coloured stubble lines his powerful jawline.
Right here, right now, in the middle of Vegas, I’ve never been more aware that the man is a fucking rockstar.
My legs wobble beneath me as the internal swoon surges through me. Then the anxiety kicks in.
How will I ever be enough for him?
A man who is habitually acquainted with utter luxury, utter perfection.
Shit, he is utter perfection.
Imposter syndrome is real. Glancing down at my Spanx jeans and off-the-shoulder white t-shirt only reinforces the feeling.
‘You okay?’ Ryan’s warm hand strokes the back of my arm before he tilts my chin upwards to meet his eye.
Swallowing hard, I nod, unable to trust myself to speak. How do I ask if I’m enough without coming across like an insecure loon? The man already thinks I’m half-crazy after preserving his family’s cabin since the day he left. Any more craziness might just push him over the edge.
Away from Huxley Castle, I’m a fish out of water. I don’t know what I am. Other than seriously overwhelmed.
As if he innately knows I need reassurance, he grabs my waist and hoists me onto the table. Hot, full lips graze my ear as he murmurs, ‘I missed you in the shower.’
The yearning in his liquid espresso eyes set a fresh shiver of longing rippling across my spine.
‘You think you can show me something more impressive than Vegas?’ My tongue streaks across his neck as I speak. Masculinity rolls off him in unmistakable undulating waves.
