Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (129 page)

‘I think the traditional thing is to object,’ I replied, too scared to move. A sparkly diamond ring winked at me from Jenny’s left hand. So this had really happened? ‘With shouting.’

‘I’m not getting involved.’ He pulled his phone out of his suit pocket, checked the screen and put it back. ‘This is nothing to do with me.’

‘It’s everything to do with you.’ I turned, stunned. ‘Jenny’s my best friend. Jeff is supposed to be your friend. You’re here on his bachelor party and might I just remind you, that would be a bachelor party that was not related to this wedding.’

‘Uh, yeah, she’s your friend, emphasis on the your, and I was a last-minute standin for the bachelor shenanigans. At no point did I sign up for groom shepherding.’ He shrugged, upsetting me and the line of his suit. For the first time that evening, I wished he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. I wanted my Alex, not this fancy-dress imposter. ‘I sent the best man a text. I think we should just get out of here.’

It was just all too much. Jenny and Jeff had moved onto the next sofa and the gratuitous snogging had descended into an orgy of hands. Thank God that dress was so involved – the wedding video was already something they could never show their kids. And it was also being filmed on Sadie’s jewel-encrusted silver iPhone. That didn’t add to the sense of occasion.

‘We can’t just leave.’ I jumped up after Alex and followed him out of the chapel, shoes in one hand, bag snugly under my arm. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘This whole night has been ridiculous.’ He turned quickly, taking me by surprise. I dropped the shoes. I dropped the clutch. I stared at the angry man in the suit. ‘What a surprise. You’re knee-deep in Jenny’s shit again.’

He walked straight out of the chapel, leaving me and the girl at the counter very confused.

‘Is he coming back?’ she asked, pointedly looking away from the sofa where Jenny and Jeff were mere moments away from consummating their marriage. Sadie and Ben were nowhere to be seen. I had to assume, classy gal that she was, they’d vanished into the toilets. ‘Are you going ahead with the wedding?’

‘I’m going to say no,’ I replied, without the mental strength to think about what that meant. All I knew was that Alex was walking away from me. Whether it was for now or for ever, I had no idea. ‘So sorry.’

‘No worries,’ she chirped. ‘No shortage of weddings around these parts.’

‘So I see.’ I ran out into the casino, leaving my shoes and clutch where they fell. ‘Alex, please.’

He stopped right by a bank of Wizard of Oz slot machines, giving us an audience of little old ladies with an awful lot of hair. One eye on us, one eye on the Dorothy, they nudged each other and kept pumping the quarters.

‘Alex,’ I yelled one more time, accompanied by a chorus of ‘We’re off to see the wizard’. Moments like this were supposed to be soundtracked by Adele or Beyoncé, not Judy Garland and a bunch of Munchkins.

He leaned against the side of the nearest slot, much to the chagrin of its player, until she checked out his backside and nodded at me in approval. ‘I have to go figure this out. Leave it.’

‘Wait.’ I reached out, needing him to fill the empty space between us. It felt too permanent. But it wasn’t. Alex came back to me, pushed my hair back and held my face in both of his warm hands. He leaned in to kiss me, warm and soft as always, but it didn’t feel right. It felt like a sigh. And just like I knew he would, he broke away first, ran his thumbs across my cheekbones and stroked his hands down my neck, resting on my collarbone.

‘Just let me go,’ he repeated. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

And then he walked away.

‘Don’t worry, honey,’ slot-machine lady yelled over the clicking and whirring. ‘You’re in Vegas. Plenty of fish in the sea.’

‘But that’s my fish,’ I replied, watching him disappear around a corner. I never wanted to see that suit again.

Shoeless, bagless, cashless and Alexless. I slouched over to the bar and hopped up on a bar stool. At least that was easier in bare feet.

‘What can I get you, miss?’ the bartender leaned across the gilt surface to give me his best smile.

‘Can I charge it to my room?’ I asked.

‘Of course,’ he replied.

‘Dirty martini. Big one.’

These were desperate times and desperate times called for desperate measures. And loads of gin. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t get drunk tonight, that a little wine with dinner, maybe one cocktail afterwards, was more than enough. But that was before. I wanted to be wankered. The bartender was quick and the martini was strong; both things made me very happy. There was no way I could process the night’s events without at least one drink in me. Not for the first time, I wondered if I had a drinking problem. No, I decided, I’m just turning into a real New Yorker. Just in time to be sent back to London, where I will be labelled a lush and sent to bed without any dinner.

‘Are you going to drink that or swim in it?’

I looked up from my massive martini to see James, phone in hand, grin on his face. A sober, smiling man. It was a refreshing change. Setting the precious martini safely on the bar, I let James scoop me up in a hug.

‘I’ve been calling you, piss-head,’ he said, letting me go and ordering a whiskey and Diet Coke. ‘Should have known I’d find you here.’

‘I’m sorry, I lost my phone,’ I explained. ‘It’s been one of those days.’

‘Why do I feel like that’s an understatement,’ James asked, throwing a fifty-dollar bill on the bar without looking. Flash bastard.

‘What gave it away?’

‘No shoes, knackered hair, no lipstick and you’ve clearly been crying.’ He took a sip of his drink and carried on. ‘You’re here on your own, you’ve lost your phone, and you’re drowning in a martini so big it needs a life guard. Can’t have been your best day.’

For some reason it was easier hearing that in a British accent.

‘It wasn’t my best,’ I admitted, taking another glug of lovely booze. ‘How was yours?’

‘Got up at midday, had a massage, gave myself skin cancer at the pool, had a nap, had dinner, came here. Can’t really complain.’

I gave him a level look over the top of my rapidly emptying glass.

‘I hate you.’

‘I know you do,’ he nodded happily, his curls bouncing around his perfect face. ‘Here are your options. You can tell Uncle James all about it and we can get hammered, or you can pretend none of it ever happened and we can get hammered. Your choice.’

This was going to take some serious thinking.

‘My friend has been secretly shagging her ex and they just got married, even though he’s engaged to someone else and was supposed to be here on his bachelor party. And I asked Alex to marry me so I could get my visa and he said yes, but then he went a bit mental and walked off and I have no idea what’s going on.’

‘You’ve been busy, then?’

I nodded. ‘Quite busy.’

We sat drinking in amicable silence until both our drinks were dry. James slammed his empty glass first, I followed suit. And smashed the stem of the martini glass.

‘Shit. Sorry,’ I winced at the bartender.

‘Happens all the time.’ He swept the glass over to his side of the bar and smiled. What a pro.

‘Does it really?’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Another?’

‘Yes, please,’ James answered for me. ‘So what are you going to do?’

‘I have no idea.’ I really didn’t. ‘About any of it.’

‘Well, there’s sod all you can do about your friend, really.’ He started ticking off my problems on his fingers. ‘Obviously you’re worried about her and you want to be there for her, but if she’s being a dickhead, she’s being a dickhead. You’ve already talked to her about all of this, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘And she did it anyway?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you can’t do anything else but wait for her to come round. She will,’ he promised. ‘And she’ll need you then. Until she sorts herself out, you need to worry about your problems first. Starting with this visa nonsense. How come you suddenly need to get married? I thought you had a visa.’

He was ever so good. Taking a tiny sip of my second martini, I made a mental note to try harder to stay in touch this time. Clearly I was in need of gay wisdom on a regular basis. ‘I did.’ I put the martini down, determined not to inhale this one. ‘But I lost my job at The Look and so I’m out on my arse.’

‘And you’ve looked into all of the others?’ James was clearly not trying to pace himself. He chugged back half his whiskey cocktail in one gulp. ‘I’m a total expert in US visas. I think I’ve had them all.’

I filled him in on the current situation, Lawrence the Lawyer’s less than optimistic feedback and the general lack of options.

‘So I’ve got, like, a fortnight to get a job, become extraordinary or get married. I really couldn’t tell you which is realistic at this point.’ I pushed my hair back out of my face, almost all of it having escaped the pins by now. I don’t know how, but cocktails always make your hair slippery; there has to be a scientific reason. Pantene should look into it.

‘Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I know so many people who have got married for visas in LA, and it hardly ever works out,’ James said. ‘And it’s a tough time in the job market, I know. Are you sure you can’t apply for the O-1? That’s what I’ve got.’

‘Last time I checked, I haven’t been in any films. And getting papped snogging you in the back of a taxi didn’t seem to be enough for my lawyer. He said I could apply, but he also said I wouldn’t get it.’

‘He sounds like a right ray of sunshine.’ He grabbed an olive from my drink and popped it in his mouth. My stomach rumbled loudly, reminding me I hadn’t had dinner. Gin-soaked olives weren’t meant to be my only sustenance. ‘Was he at least hot?’

I nodded, scarfing the remaining two olives before he snatched them.

‘Well, that’s something, at least,’ James mused. ‘Let me talk to my lawyers. They might be able to see another way around it. They’re good at getting people visas.’

‘That would be amazing.’ The rush of gratitude I felt was so strong that if I could have given him the olives back I would have. And I hated parting with food. ‘Honestly, James, that would be incredible.’

‘They might say the same thing,’ he warned me, but raised his glass to mine at the same time. ‘But it’s worth asking. Now, what’s going on with Alex?’

Pacing myself be damned. I swigged my drink and shook my head. ‘I think I really messed up.’ I closed my eyes and let the gin settle. ‘And by think, I mean know.’

‘I’m assuming it wasn’t Alex’s idea to get married for the visa?’ he guessed.

I shook my head.

‘But it doesn’t sound like your dream come true, either.’ James was so wise. If ever there was an advert for coming out of the closet, it was him. I knew it would make him happier, but I had no idea it would drastically improve his intelligence. ‘Things like this are never a good idea, especially when you are actually in a relationship with someone. It only ever works when there are no emotions involved, and even then it doesn’t usually work for long.’

‘Where were you when I was listening to everyone else?’ I moaned. ‘This is all very good information that would have been useful yesterday.’

‘Why were you listening to anyone but yourself?’

‘Because I’m a moron?’

He let that one settle for a moment. I looked down at my feet and wrinkled my toes. Between the Vegas sprint in too-tight shoes and wandering around barefoot, my pedicure was completely destroyed. It really added to the overall look. At least no one would be mistaking me for a hooker. At least, not a good one; there was no way I could charge a hundred dollars for a blowjob in this state. Happy memories.

‘I want to say it’s all going to be OK …’ James interrupted my reverie with a tap on the knee. ‘But only you know if that’s true. I don’t know him well enough. I do know he loves the arse off you, though.’

‘I don’t know.’ I rested my elbows on the bar and slurped my drink, no hands. Sexy. ‘The more I think about it, the more I reckon asking him to marry me for a visa while repeatedly insisting that marriage means absolutely nothing to me might have been a bad idea, whether he loves the arse off me or not.’

‘Especially if he loves the arse off you!’ James knocked my elbows off the bar and whacked me on the arm. ‘You didn’t?’

‘Did I not already tell you I’m a moron?’ I asked, rubbing my arm. I was taking some serious abuse on this holiday, physical and emotional.

‘Angela, you twat,’ James groaned. ‘Can you even imagine how that would feel? If someone you loved, someone you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, asked you to piss away all your hopes and dreams for a bit of paper while ranting on about the fact that marriage didn’t mean anything, what would you say?’

‘Yes, thank you very much for the opportunity?’

‘Or?’

‘Fuck off you heartless, callous, tactless bitch?’

‘Yeah.’

I replaced the elbows with my face. ‘Fuuuuuuuuuck.’

‘Yeah.’ James rubbed the back of my neck with a gentle hand. ‘It’s not a lost cause, don’t panic. I’m sure you’ll be able to talk this out.’

I made a noise that implied agreement. It was the best I could do.

‘And by talk, I mean beg and plead,’ he carried on. ‘Probably going to have to be some bribery in there too. Have you got him a good Christmas present?’

I shook my head, rattling my forehead against the bar. Why hadn’t that second martini numbed all pain yet? When you couldn’t rely on gin, you couldn’t rely on anything.

‘We’ll think of something,’ James promised, still massaging my neck. ‘Give him tonight to cool down, and tomorrow we’ll sort it out.’

‘But I really want to talk to him,’ I said. ‘I just want to explain. I just want him to talk to me.’

‘He’s a man,’ he explained. ‘He doesn’t want to talk and you can’t push him. Give him his space.’

I hated that he was right. Why couldn’t men just be reasonable like women?

‘And what am I supposed to do until then?’

Raising my head, I saw a third full martini glass sliding across the bar to join the second, half-empty one. He was right. There really wasn’t another option.

‘Right then,’ I took a deep breath. ‘Let’s do this.’