tears start welling up in her eyes. “Shit, Lilly. I’m really fucking sorry. I’ll get you out of this. I promise.”
“It’s going to be fine, Deanna. Don't do anything stupid.” I give her a quick squeeze and then turn to face David. I have no idea if everything is going to be fine. I have no idea what David has planned for me. I have no idea what David even wants with me. Compared to the bombshells I’ve seen in Las Vegas…I’m boring, at best.
“That’s enough. The phone.” David nods to the guard.
“Hey!” Before I can protest further, the beefy security guard has grabbed my small bag right out of my hands and is rummaging around in it. As he’s rifling through, a lip gloss falls to the ground, followed by my book of compositions—that’s what I call it, at least. They’re dishes I’ve come up with.
David stoops to pick them up. “What’s this?” He looks at the battered notebook. “Your journal?” I notice a slight smirk playing at his lips.
“No.” I grab the book, feeling defensive. “Recipes.”
David raises his eyebrows in slight surprise but doesn’t respond.
“Am I allowed to keep that at least?” I go on.
“Of course.”
“Here’s the phone.” The security guy has finally found my small phone. He hands it to David, who turns it off and pockets it.
“Perfect. Now, take her to the penthouse please, Ben. Make sure she has anything she might need. Send Marta by with a fresh toiletry kit and the basics.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
I stuff my notebook and lip gloss into my bag, and take one last look at the scene I’m leaving behind. The glamorous backroom where a high-stakes poker game established my worth as a woman—$1.3 million. I shiver at the thought. The others avoid eye contact as Ben escorts me out the door. Even the snotty rich kid Jeremy is looking down at his own hands. He’s trying to appear casual but I can see the furrow in his brow. Meanwhile Tessa is white as a sheet. One of the cocktail girls is hiding her face and sniffling slightly.
The only person who will meet my eye is David. I look back once, over my shoulder, before we step through the red velvet curtains. He’s looking at me intently. There is that same dark stormy look I first saw out on the floor. There is also a flicker of something new and strange, an emotion I can’t yet pinpoint. Whatever it is, it sends a rush of heat running over my body. I turn away and look ahead, more to hide my flaming cheeks than anything else.
Ben doesn’t speak the entire journey to the penthouse, which seems to take hours but in reality probably takes mere minutes. Through some tiled back hallways, he brings me to an elevator. The mirrored doors show me, looking wide-eyed and afraid. My dress is rumpled and strands of hair have come loose from my ponytail. My face is stark white, with a red dot burning on each cheek. I look more like my twin sister than ever.
The doors slide open and Ben urges me forward into the elevator. He takes a key from his pocket and turns it in the keyhole next to the floor marked “PH.” Up we go. The entire time, he doesn’t release his grip on my arm.
At the top, the doors open directly into the penthouse suite of the Fortuna. Yet again, my mouth drops open. Las Vegas seems to have that effect on me. I pause but Ben shoves me out into the room.
“Welcome home. Need anything?” His voice is gruff.
“I’m fine. Thanks,” I add as an afterthought. Do you thank the prison guard when he locks you in your cell?
“Okay.” Without another word, he steps back into the elevator. The doors slide shut behind him and I’m alone. Taking in the view, I forget my fear. Floor-to-ceiling windows make up the entire wall opposite the elevator so the first look I got as I stepped out was that of the Vegas skyline. Fluorescent lights twinkle at my feet. I see the outline of famous casinos. A replica of the Eiffel Tower. A replica of the Empire State building. A replica of the Acropolis. Las Vegas has a replica of every great architectural wonder, it seems. Does this guy actually live here? I wonder to myself. It’s beautiful but it doesn’t feel very homey. It seems empty and cold.
I take a step but the click of my sandals on the marble