a white button up with the sleeves rolled up in the collar undone.
Then we hit the strip on foot. Out to our left is the dazzling sea. Up ahead, the city lights gleam from gorgeous Mediterranean style buildings, the sandstone facades and the red copper roofs flickering against the night sky.
We walk for a ways, Pippa clinging to my arm. We talk about nothing, laugh at everything. I look down at Pippa as we hit the crowded part of Monte Carlo, my heart so full that I can’t even speak. She looks at me, grinning, and pulls me into the first crowded bar she sees.
The party is in full swing already, judging by the intensely loud music and the insane crowds once we get in the door. As I make it up the last couple of steps, I can actually feel the floor vibrating.
At the top I stop and stare. The doors are thrown open and the party is so packed that it’s spilling out into the hall. Men in tuxes yell into the ears of ladies in ballgowns. There are people lined up for drinks from the bartenders at the bar set up just outside the doors.
The liquor is flowing freely too, from the looks of it. We grab a couple of drinks and then head into the dance floor, shuffling and maneuvering to get past the crowd at the door. Inside, the electronica music is bright and sounds vaguely distorted, but I suppose that’s probably on purpose. The lights are lower here by the door and brighter over across the dance floor, centering on a small, tightly packed dance floor.
Everywhere I can see, there are people dancing and chatting and drinking. Pippa dances against me and I try to keep up with her. I finish my drink quite quickly, ready for another. I don’t see any waiters, so I guess I’ll have to head back to the line outside.
“I’m going to get another drink for both of us,” I shout into her ear.
She sways to the music, giving me a thumbs up. I head out to the bar line, standing in it for what seems like forever and being sure that the bartenders make my drinks doubles. The music throbs as I wait.
I’m annoyed by the loud, persistent booming. I want to move on from this bar, to continue down the strip, to go back to laughing and talking like we were doing before.
And that’s when I see my fiancée and another guy.
Without question, I know it’s Pippa. She is wearing a simple black dress, fitted and full length with thick straps. She pushes a strand of her curly red hair back as she stands by the wall, talking to a man in a tux. Her expression is unreadable, but I can tell by her body language that the man is hitting on her.
I can tell she doesn’t like it.
As I start to push my way through the crowd towards her, I see the man grab her arm, lean in, and try to kiss her. She makes a face and turns her head slightly, avoiding direct contact between their mouths.
That’s when I start seeing red.
Fuck anyone who touches her against her will.
Fuck any guy that touches her and isn’t me.
As I start plowing my way through the crowd, I see her protest as the guy tries to pull her closer.
“Stop!” she yelps. “Seriously, you don't even know me—”
“If you would just—”
That’s all the guy manages to say before I get close enough to yank him off of her. Pippa’s eyes widen when she sees me and takes in my expression.
“Lars, don’t—”
“Foutre le camp!” the guy says. It’s clear to me that he’s very drunk, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior.
I punch him right in the nose, knocking him down to the floor. The crowd instantly parts, He makes a startled sound and holds his face; bright red blood starts to bloom on his face.
“Lars!” Pippa says, looking tense. She rushes to my side, tugging at my arm.
I glance at her, then back to the guy on the floor, who is just now getting surly.
“Who the fuck are you?” he yells.
I step closer, ignoring Pippa’s hand on my arm. “You don't fucking touch her,” I tell him. “You don't touch anybody unless they ask you to, you fucking asshole.”
“I didn’t do anything!” he cries, holding his nose.
“Bullshit,” I tell him. “I saw it all. And if you think that I’m the only one who would’ve stepped in, you’re wrong.