by Holly Rayner
“This isn’t going to help,” I say, scanning it. “Even if we go through all of these, it could take weeks, and we still might not find him. I guess we could try calling them. That might be faster.”
“Hang on,” Dani says. She’s leaning over my shoulder. “That one.”
“What? Why do you think so?”
“Look at the address. It’s located next door to the hotel I was staying at with my friends. That’s where we were for karaoke. I bet you anything we stumbled out the door and right into the chapel.”
I groan. “How did we not think of that? Of course.”
We head back to the Castello. I’m a little more at home here, what with this being my regular spot, and when I see Michel Hernandez standing off to the side, I approach him directly instead of going to the receptionist.
“Mr. Oliveira!” Hernandez shakes my hand enthusiastically. “Wonderful to see you, as always.”
“Thank you, Mike,” I say. “I wonder if you can help me with something. I’m looking for someone, and I believe he might be one of your employees. A Jack Borman?”
“Jack Borman.” Hernandez nods. “I know the fellow. He works here on Fridays and Saturdays, but I don’t know what he does the rest of the week. He works the roulette rotation, primarily.”
“Would he have been here last weekend?” Dani asks.
“I believe he was, yes,” Hernandez says. “Do you know him?”
“Not personally,” I say, “but it’s important that we find him. He isn’t working today?”
“Not here. It’s not uncommon for employees to work some shifts here and some shifts at other establishments, so he might be somewhere else on the Strip.”
Dani looks dejected, but I think this is good news. At least we know he lives here. He’s almost definitely here in the city somewhere. That means we’ll probably be able to find him if we keep looking long enough. I don’t know what I would have done if we’d discovered that he was from out of town.
“Mr. Hernandez,” I say, “it really is important that I get in touch with Borman. I know this isn’t something you would ordinarily do, but do you happen to have a phone number where I might reach him?”
Hernandez hesitates. “I can’t give out an employee’s private information.”
“I understand. But Ms. Bell is here from out of town—she was a guest at this hotel last weekend—and she and I have pressing business with Borman. You know me,” I add. “You know who I am. I’m not going to harass the man.”
“Well, I suppose it’s not as if you’re a complete stranger,” Hernandez concedes. “Let me go in the back and I’ll see if I can dig out a number for you.”
Back at the penthouse, I pour Dani a glass of wine and go into my office to try contacting Jack Borman. I dial his number, but the call goes to voicemail after a couple of rings. I’m not entirely surprised. I wouldn’t answer a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize, either. But if he won’t take a call from my number, how can I get him to respond to me?
I’ll have to try texting him. That way, at least, he’ll know I’m not a spam caller or something similarly annoying and ignorable. It might be the best chance I have of making contact.
I pause, thinking, and then compose a message:
Mr. Borman, my name is Luciano Oliveira. I believe I met you last weekend when you served as a witness to my wedding. Would you please contact me as soon as possible to discuss an urgent matter? Thank you.
I hit send and pour myself a glass of scotch. Before I’ve even taken my first sip, the phone buzzes with a response from Borman.
I remember you. What’s up?
I breathe a sigh of relief. The fact that he remembers me is huge. It means we’ve definitely found the right man, and it also greatly decreases the odds of him thinking I’m insane when I make the request I’m about to.
I have a big favor to ask. The woman I married and I are getting the marriage annulled, but for legal reasons, we have to fly to Portugal to do so. We’re also required to have our witness present. I know what a big ask this is, but I’m happy to compensate you financially for your time and cover all of your expenses. Would you please consider flying to Portugal and witnessing the annulment for us?
I hold my breath. Will the offer of an all-expenses paid trip to Europe be enough of a draw to persuade him?
The silence is long this time.
Dani comes into the office, wine glass in hand. “Were you able to reach him?” she asks.
“I’m texting with him now,” I say. “He remembers our wedding, so that’s something.”
She takes a sip of her drink. “At least someone does. How does he seem? Do you think he’ll come to Portugal with us?”
“I have no idea,” I admit. “It’s a big thing to ask of someone. And I can’t really tell what he’s like, to be honest with you. He’s not being especially chatty.”
“Do we have a backup plan?” Dani asks.
“Not at the moment.”
She takes the seat across from me at my desk. “This is so stressful. Every time I think we’re past the worst of it, it gets more complicated. First the handcuffs, then that insane Attorney General, and now, this…you’d think there would be one aspect of all this that would just be easy.”
“The fact that it’s you makes it easy,” I tell her. “I could be in this with a lot of people who would make it a lot more painful. With you…it’s almost fun, in a weird way.”
She smiles and looks down at the floor, biting her lip.
My phone buzzes. Borman has replied.
I guess I can do that, he says. Do I pick up the ticket at the airport?
I text him the flight information and tell him the ticket will be booked in his name.
Okay, he says. I’ll be there.
I hand Dani the phone and she scans the texts.
“This makes it sound like he’s just going to meet us in Portugal. Can we really rely on that?”
“I think we have to take our chances,” I tell her. “Just the next part of our wild adventure, I suppose.”
Chapter 21
Dani
“What airline are we taking?” I ask Luciano. We’re standing on the curb outside the airport, luggage in hand, and I peer down the row of curbside check-in stands, trying to determine which one we should approach and where we should enter the building.
“Well, actually, I’ve got a surprise,” he says. “Wait here, okay? I just need to run inside and drop off Borman’s ticket.”
I take a seat on top of my suitcase, confused but curious, as Luciano disappears into the airport. He returns about five minutes later, smiling.
“All taken care of,” he says. “Assuming Borman does show up, he’ll be able to collect his ticket and board the plane.”
“What about us?” I ask. “Shouldn’t we be heading to the gate to catch that same flight? And, ideally, we’ll see Borman there, won’t we?” Not that I’ll know him when I see him. At least, I don’t think I will. I have no memory whatsoever of Jack Borman and I can’t bring a face to mind when I think of him, but maybe seeing him will jog something loose.
But Luciano takes my hand and leads me into the crosswalk, away from the airport terminal.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He points to a smaller stretch of tarmac, isolated in the middle of a dirt area, with a single paved bit of runway crossing a bridge over the street that I’m guessing takes it back to the main terminal. Sitting on the tarmac is a gleaming white jet.
“We’re taking my jet,” Luciano explains.
“You have a private jet?”
“It comes in handy for taking clients out, things like that. Besides,” he says, taking my suitcase from me, “my wife deserves the very best.”
I laugh at that as we reach the jet, where I allow a steward to take my hand and help me climb the steps. The inside is carpeted and looks more like someone’s living room than the interior of a plane, with two squishy sofas on either side of the aircraft
and giant reclining loveseats that each have their own lap table extending over them. Luciano guides me toward these and we sit down, preparing for liftoff.
Soon enough, we’re airborne, and the same steward who helped me aboard comes into the cabin with an offering of beverages that is nothing like I would expect on a commercial flight. Luciano orders champagne for both of us, and when the drinks have been poured, lifts his in my direction.
“To new adventures,” he says.
“To new adventures and to new friends.” I clink my glass against his and drink. The champagne is sweet and effervescent.
A few hours later, the steward brings pillows and thick white comforters, and Luciano and I settle in for the night. I’ve never had a comfortable night’s sleep on a plane before, but as Luciano shows me how to fully recline my seat so I can be completely horizontal, I have to admit that I’m definitely in for a pleasant night. The cabin lights are dimmed, the plane seems to rock gently beneath us, and it’s not long before I’m drifting off into a bizarrely blissful sleep.
I wake up as we’re making our descent into Lisbon—the pilot is announcing our imminent arrival on the cabin speaker—but for a moment, I don’t open my eyes. I am so comfortable. If I owned this plane, I’m not sure I’d ever sleep anywhere else. How can sleeping on a plane be so delightful?
I open my eyes. Luciano is beside me, still sleeping, turned toward me so he’s on his side like I am. At some point in the night, we must have reached out to each other, because our hands and arms are entwined and I’ve moved so close to him that my head is resting on his shoulder. As I pull myself further into consciousness, I become aware that my ankle is draped over his leg.
I’m about to pull away, but I hesitate for a moment, and then a moment more. It’s been so long since I was close to a man like this…
Luciano’s eyes open.
Immediately, I pull back, but I see him register the way we were positioned in sleep.
I’m at a loss for what to say. It feels as if, subconsciously, we wanted to be holding each other, but now that we’re awake, we won’t allow it to happen. There’s something really sad about that, because after everything I’ve been through with Luciano, I consider him a friend. I do feel safe with him. And honestly, if I could choose anyone to hold me through a night, I think it would be him.
I look at him, trying to read his response to our closeness. He’s a closed book. He yawns, stretches, and sits up, adjusting his seat to its upright position.
“Coming down?”
“We just started our descent,” I answer automatically, parroting the information the pilot gave. “Should be down in about fifteen minutes.”
“Great,” Luciano says. “I’m just going to freshen up. I’ll be right back.”
He tosses off his blanket, stands, stretches again, and then disappears down the aisle of the plane.
I fall back in my seat, overwhelmed and discouraged. What am I supposed to think of this development? I just spent a night in Luciano’s arms, my head resting against his shoulder, and it was one of the most wonderful and restful nights of my life. The space beside me feels empty now, without him here. Am I supposed to just pretend it didn’t happen? Can I really get off this plane and go about my business, ignoring the fact that Luciano and I shared this intimate moment? I’m already thinking about that first night we spent together, wishing I could remember more, wondering what it was like. Will he and I ever get the chance to spend a night together like that again?
No.
I’m firm with myself, reminding myself why I’m here and what I’m doing. I can’t get distracted by how kind and sweet and attractive Luciano is, by how much I want to be around him. Because I do. It’s a fact I can no longer pretend to ignore. But the other fact I can’t ignore is that Luciano and I are here for an annulment. Bringing up the fact that I liked how it felt to sleep in his arms would only confuse the issue unnecessarily.
How would I feel if he came to me and said something like that right now? I’d think he was trying to…trying to get out of the annulment or something.
I need to remember that Luciano is not some guy I met who I have a crush on. I can’t make eyes at him from across the room, flirt a little, and then take him home, as Rhonda would suggest. I can’t ask for his number so I can call him for a coffee date, like Melanie would tell me to do. And I can’t smile at him and mention my favorite restaurant so he knows where I’ll want to go when he asks me out, which is Sandy’s move.
The fact is, there’s no rule book for how you act with the man you married accidentally, and even fewer guidelines for when you realize you might actually have feelings for him after all. But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that this annulment has to take place. I can’t let him think he has to stay married to me. If anything happens between us, it will have to be after our marriage is wiped from the record.
The plane touches down. Portugal.
We’re here, in a country I’ve never been to before, and for a moment, I feel overwhelmed. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, steadying myself. This is Luciano’s home, after all. He’ll be able to navigate it as easily as I make my way around Riverside.
Our luggage is waiting for us on the tarmac, and Luciano and I collect our suitcases and make our way toward a town car parked several yards away.
“What now?” I ask, looking around and trying to get a sense of my surroundings. This part seems not too different from the airport we left behind a few hours ago. I imagine airports everywhere look somewhat alike.
“Our appointment isn’t until tomorrow,” Luciano says. “We have a whole day to do whatever we want. Are you tired? We could go back to my villa and rest.”
“Your villa?”
“The home I own in Lisbon. I haven’t been able to get to the place in some time, but I have staff who maintain it when I’m away and I let them know to prepare for my arrival,” Luciano says casually. “I think you’ll like it.”
I nod. “That sounds great. I’m looking forward to seeing it.” If it’s anything like his penthouse, not to mention his private jet, I’m sure it’s going to knock my socks off. Every time I think I have a handle on how rich but also tasteful Luciano is, he surprises me. “And I’m not that tired, to be honest with you,” I add. “I got a lot of rest on the flight.”
“It was a restful trip,” Luciano agrees, and I wonder if he’s thinking, as I am, of the fact that we woke up twined together. “Well, why don’t we drop off our bags and then go out sightseeing? It would be a good opportunity to see the area, especially since we have plans tomorrow and I don’t know how long they’re going to take.”
“That sounds perfect,” I agree. “I was really hoping to see some of the country while I’m here.”
“Well, you couldn’t ask for a better tour guide,” Luciano says with a grin. “I grew up visiting Lisbon with my parents. I know all the most fun and exciting things to see in the city.”
“Do we have time to change?” I ask. I’m still in my plane clothes, now rumpled from a night’s sleep, and I’d like the chance to put myself together. Although I haven’t looked in a mirror, I’m also fairly sure that my hair is all over the place. For a moment, I flash back to the night in Las Vegas when my friends gathered around me to do my makeup, and I wish they were here. In a matter of moments, I know those girls would be able to take me from looking like I’d rolled out from under a bus to beautiful and ready to face the people of Lisbon.
The town car pulls to a stop. Luciano opens the door.
“We’re here,” he says. “I’ll show you to your room, and then you can take all the time you need getting ready.”
The room Luciano leads me to is at the very back of the house. It’s spacious, with sleek hardwood flooring and a bed surrounded by a gorgeous sheer canopy. Part of me is disappointed that conditions aren’t forcing us into sharing a room. I remind myself, yet again, that we’re here to annul a marriage, not to hook up. My thoughts are not appropriate.
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I pull on a dress, cardigan, and flats that will be good for walking, and then rejoin Luciano in the living room. He’s changed, too, into jeans and a button-down shirt, and he’s looking particularly handsome. He’s standing in a patch of light, and as I look up, I realize there’s a skylight in the middle of the ceiling throwing a glow down on the living room floor.
“Do you want anything to eat before we go out?” Luciano asks.
“I’m all right for now,” I say.
He nods. “We can always get some food while we’re out exploring the city. That might be fun, actually. I could take you to one of my favorite restaurants.”
“Sounds good to me,” I say with a grin.
We start the day with a tour of a cathedral that seems like it’s older than religion itself, even though our guide says it’s still actively used. When we step inside, it does feel like a semi-modern building—it has wooden pews and felt carpeting, it’s lined with books, and I can see that the candles ensconced on the walls are really artificial lighting fixtures. But outside, the thing is all stone, and in some places, it’s starting to crumble.
From there, we go on to the zoo, where we stand and watch penguins racing each other down the hills of their icy habitat. We laugh at their antics, and Luciano buys me a stuffed penguin at the gift shop. Part of me wants to stand on my toes and kiss him, it’s such a first-date moment, but I don’t act, and the moment passes. After all, this isn’t our first date—not by a long shot. This might actually be our last day together.
We end the day in the shopping district, sipping coffees and sampling bready treats Luciano calls bolinhos, and the sun is setting when we walk into the restaurant Luciano has chosen for our dinner. As we sit down, I realize that, for the first time since I woke up and found myself married, I’m not worried about what’s going to happen next between us. I’m just living in the moment.
Chapter 22
Dani
The restaurant is absolutely gorgeous—one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. We have to board an elevator in the lobby, and as we ride up, I look out the glass-paneled back over the city of Lisbon, which is just starting to turn on its lights for the night. I can see the old buildings, the cathedrals and ancient government structures, lit up next to the modern architecture, and it’s amazing to behold. All the lighting in Lisbon seems to be soft and yellow, not like the bright white I’m accustomed to back home and a far cry from the screaming neon of Las Vegas. It’s a city I can’t help but smile at.
