Midnight Play

by Lisa Marie Perry

  Danica nudged the maid of honor in reprimand, hiding her laugh behind her pale-rose-and-ostrich-feather bridesmaid bouquet. It seemed no one else had caught wind of Kensie’s comment—not the minister, who was flushed at the enthusiasm of Mekhi Corrine and Veda Smart’s full-contact embrace, and certainly not the masses of guests and VIP media that were mesmerized at the glamour and spectacle of the most extravagant wedding Las Vegas had hosted this year. Applause, punctuated with catcalls, rang throughout Mandarin Oriental’s foyer and ballroom. Women discreetly dabbed their eyes. Children squirmed and fussed, and one very distinctly whined, “Eew! Cooties!”

  As for Danica, she really wanted cake. A nice fat slice of the six-tiered masterpiece of gourmet delight she knew was waiting to be wheeled into the ballroom. She’d eaten fruit all day to save her appetite for the decadent French-vanilla cake she had helped Veda customize with the pastry chef. And after a morning spent holed up in the bridal dressing room, filling in for Kensie, who had been shirking her maid-of-honor duties from the moment she’d arrived at the hotel late, and an afternoon spent playing nursemaid to one flower girl who’d thrown a tantrum and the other who’d gotten sick from a tummy full of rose petals, Danica thought she deserved the indulgence.

  Cheers, and the beginning strains of “Por Ti Volare,” escorted the couple down the petal-littered aisle, followed by the best man and maid of honor. Then the ring bearer and flower girls scampered away, and finally the groomsmen and bridesmaids paired off.

  Danica’s escort, a Wall Street bigwig friend of Mekhi, was too charming for words and the closest she’d come to a date for the all-day event. Unfortunately, he was also married, and after the outdoor photo shoot he’d be much too preoccupied with his wife and seven children for Danica to pretend that she wasn’t the only one in the wedding party without a date.

  For hours now, she’d been dodging “Who’s your date?” questions and ignoring curious glances, but she hadn’t been able to escape Veda’s mother, the founder of Dating Done Smart, the largest matchmaking business on the West Coast. Now that Willa Smart had successfully married off her only daughter, it was her first order of business to see her daughter’s best friend happily hitched. With Temperance Blue already working overtime to make sure Danica didn’t stay on the shelf too long, it was going to be pretty damn tiresome to fend off two matchmaking mamas and their lists of eligible bachelors.

  Danica was more interested in managing her boys. As she stood outside, letting a makeup artist dust bronzer over her cheekbones, and a seamstress’s assistant adjust the lace halter bodice of her graphite Lazaro gown, she scanned the closed-off hotel grounds where the photographers were setting up and where three of the groomsmen stood engrossed in something on their smartphones. She would bet the dainty high heels pinching her feet that a football game was on each and every one of those screens.

  Because she couldn’t bring herself to hide her phone under her dress, and had begged her younger sister to hang on to her purse until the reception, she was without an immediate way to monitor the gridiron matchup that was happening in Texas right about now. Since becoming GM, she’d maintained perfect game-day attendance, and being disconnected from the Slayers now made her feel uncomfortable. So she sweetly thanked the makeup artist and the seamstress and hustled booty across to the groomsmen.

  “Any of you fellas watching the Slayers?” she asked.

  Two of the men held up their phones, showing off NFL Mobile apps. The third shrugged his broad shoulders. “Missed American Horror Story.”

  “No judgment here.” She sidled close and took one of the proffered phones. “Just want to check up on my men.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be gossiping and gettin’ all pretty with the other honeys?”

  She gave him a saucy smirk, then focused on the phone, noting the Slayers were behind a touchdown and Brock Corday was gearing up for a second-and-goal. Her brow wrinkled in concentration as she mentally urged, Connect, damn it! Don’t run the ball! Don’t you dare throw an interception! “There’s no downtime for the general manager. I have to always know what’s going on.”

  A defensive lineman made contact with Brock, gripping his waist and dragging the man backward a few paces. But Brock released the ball and it soared like a spiraling arrow toward the end zone…and into the grasp of a Slayers wide receiver.

  Danica whooped in triumph, even as she watched referees assemble to review the initial touchdown call. A total delay of game, but she couldn’t knock thorough officiating.

  Heads whipped around, eyes stared, conversations paused at her outburst.

  She composed herself as she returned the phone. “Besides, don’t you think I’m pretty already?”

  The trio of men grunted low chuckles at this, taken off guard by the bold question. Coming at a man—any man—from a different direction always kept things interesting. Men were more complex and unpredictable than some women gave them credit for. Danica herself had discovered that. She never would’ve guessed that her ex-husband, the man she’d given her virginity and fidelity to, had been getting some on the side for months before he’d decided to clue her in. And now, in reaction to just one question, three committed men showered her with laughs and very appreciative once-overs as she strutted away to join the other “honeys.”

  Veda now stood among the women, a vision in white lace and tulle, with a rather full flute of champagne. “What were you and the guys chatting about over there?”

  Danica borrowed the glass and took a refreshing gulp. “Football,” she answered, handing the drink back to her friend.

  “Oh, work, work, work. You’ll never change.”

  “No, why should I? Everything around me is changing plenty.”

  Concern drifted over Veda’s face like a veil. But a photographer interrupted her response with “Picture time, ladies and gents! Follow me.”

  Danica was glad to be set free roughly an hour later. She would reclaim her purse from her sister, fade into the background of the reception and eat cake.

  Were there now even more guests present? Danica could scarcely squeeze past the bodies filling the Mandarin Oriental ballroom. Though plenty occupied the tea-light-and-flower-petal-accented tables, even more stood engulfed in conversation while others danced to a Lionel Richie ballad. A tuxedo here, an evening gown there. A child stepped on the hem of her dress. A security hulk bumped her, practically crushing her bridesmaid bouquet. A camera clicked, and behind it was one of the photographers Veda had commissioned to take candid shots throughout the day for her wedding album. None of the people she encountered was the one she was searching for.

  Martha, where the devil are you?

  Danica changed course, moving with purpose, only in passing noting the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows and the glass bubbles dangling overhead that spun the light so beautifully over the ballroom.

  In the hushed, fresh-scented hall leading to the powder room, Danica froze.

  Swaying slowly, in the arms of her lover, was her sister Charlotte. The sultry country love song overhead was barely audible from the ballroom, but it wasn’t likely that Charlotte or Nate Franco even noticed. They were fitted together so closely, her arms draped over his shoulders and his hands curving over her hips.

  A simple embrace. But the obvious passion and trust between them wasn’t simple. They’d both risked so much to share moments like this. Danica knew—she was still helping to soften the consequences of their against-the-rules affair during training camp in Mount Charleston. Her sister’s social life wouldn’t be a juicy topic in sports media had she not struck up a relationship with Nate—had she concentrated on her job and only her job. But then she wouldn’t have in her life a man she cared about, and who clearly cared about her. Who could observe them now, so lost in each other that they’d probably forgotten anyone else existed in the world, and not feel Charlotte had made the right choice?

  Not that it was fair that Charlotte could throw out the rule book and wind up with a man who
was sexy, smart and proving hell-bent on sticking with her no matter what, while Danica had followed the good girl’s guide to love and marriage but would have no man in her bed tonight.

  Danica feigned a cough, but instead of jumping away like a guilty teen, Charlotte simply let Nate go and turned so that she remained in his arms with his front to her back.

  “I’m looking for Martha. Have either of you seen her?”

  “Not since the ceremony,” Nate answered, and Charlotte added, “She was talking about getting a hold of some wedding cake.”

  “The cake hasn’t made its grand entrance yet, and I didn’t see her in the ballroom.” Danica looked pointedly at the pair. “Charlotte, let’s go freshen up our lipstick.”

  Never mind that Danica didn’t have a purse—hence, no lipstick. The meaning behind the suggestion should’ve been clear enough: Lose the hot guy. I need to talk to you now.

  Charlotte finally stepped out of Nate’s arms, but not before twisting around and kissing him in a way that made freshening up her lipstick a very necessary task. Danica stepped into the ladies’ room ahead of her sister and swept her gaze across the bank of stalls to find them all empty. “If our too-cute-for-her-own-good little sis isn’t in the ballroom or the potty, there’s a strong likelihood that she’s in the parking lot with a different guy than the one she brought to the wedding.”

  “Tell me how you really feel,” Charlotte muttered, going to the mirror to smooth her pink silk party dress. She retrieved a tube of lipstick from her bag. “There’re too damn many cameras flashing around this place for even Martha to forsake common sense. Did you try her cell?”

  “No phone. It’s in my purse. Martha has my purse.”

  “Oh. Now your mood makes sense.”

  “My mood?”

  Satisfied with her makeup, Charlotte offered the lipstick, then dropped it into her evening bag when Danica made no move to accept it. “You’re giving off a vibe that sort of says, ‘Don’t screw with me.’ It makes sense that you’re missing your phone and you probably want to know what’s going on with the team. Believe me, I get it. I was staring at my phone searching for injury updates like a madwoman until Nate took me out to the hall for a dance—” She suddenly stopped.

  Danica stifled a frustrated sigh. “Why do you feel that you need to walk on eggshells around me, Charlotte? Talk to me. I’m your sister.”

  “And the general manager. My boss. Not too recently you reminded me of that fact.”

  Of course Charlotte and Martha wouldn’t understand what it was to be expected to juggle managing an NFL franchise and nurturing relationships. Both “professional” and “personal” competed for the first spot on her priority list. When Charlotte’s indiscretions had started to put strain on the Slayers, Danica had had no choice but to step in and pull rank. She’d do so again in a heartbeat.

  Which Charlotte knew. Which was why she could no longer speak to Danica freely the way she had before their parents had acquired the Las Vegas Slayers and put their entire family in the spotlight by hiring Martha as a publicist, Charlotte as an athletic trainer and Danica as the GM. They were young women in a men’s game, and Charlotte’s off-field romp with a colleague had lit the media like a match to flame. Even after Nate’s resignation and Charlotte’s preseason suspension, the backlash still blazed.

  “Am I not helping you and Nate flip this in your favor?” After ordering a few cleverly worded interviews and press releases, the tide was subtly beginning to turn. Accomplishing that hadn’t been as challenging as she’d originally imagined it would be. Part of her was sorry that her true abilities had yet to be tested. The rest of her despised the idea of gossip attached to the Blue name. It was a blemish her family didn’t need when her parents were cultivating a legacy for their daughters to carry on with pride. A sex scandal in football was not something to be proud of. “You’re not doubting my ability to communicate with the media, are you?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I’m not doubting you, Danica. You always seem to get what you want. It’s just annoying that commentators and reporters and analysts and paparazzi haven’t moved on from the fact that two single, consenting adults had sex.”

  “Because what they don’t yet realize is that you two are in love. Trust me—they’ll realize it soon enough. See, they don’t like to admit it, but sports guys dig a love story. Love is something to celebrate, but because of your circumstances you and Nate had to keep it secret. You’re star-crossed lovers.”

  “Is that what you’re telling folks?”

  “It’s what they’ll realize naturally.”

  “With your encouragement, of course.”

  “Of course.” Danica fiddled with her bouquet, which was a little beaten but still beautiful. She brought it close to her nose, and the ostrich feathers tickled her chin. “I don’t always get what I want, though, Lottie. I wanted a husband who wouldn’t go around banging other women, and I didn’t get that.”

  Charlotte took the bouquet and enfolded Danica in a hug. As the eldest sister, she was now pulling rank and reminding her that sometimes she knew what was best for Danica. Over a decade ago she’d tried to warn against a hasty marriage to Marion Reeves. On the morning after Marion had moved out of the mansion, Charlotte had come over at dawn and invited her out for a run—and it had done her a world of good. Now she was giving her a huge sister hug in a ladies’ powder room because she knew Danica needed it. “Sorry, sis.”

  The door flew open and spurts of drunken laughter preceded two young women. One was stumbling with her ebony corkscrews bouncing over her face and her frilly dress fanning out as she spun around in an effort to figure out where she was. The other was Martha, who looked reasonably put together in her chic flapper-inspired outfit and finger-wave hairstyle, but was loopy from the whatever was in the conspicuous bottle she held protectively to her chest along with her purse and Danica’s.

  “This is Leigh,” Martha said as her friend leaned on her for support. “She’s in love!”

  Danica lifted a handful of curls away from the woman’s face. “Leigh Bridges? Her father’s a CNN correspondent—a friend of Veda’s family.”

  “But I’m in love,” Leigh insisted, though no one had disputed the announcement. She perched on the countertop and rested her head against the mirror. Dazedly she said, “Don’t you know what it’s like? It’s the best feeling there is. When you fall asleep, you can still hear his voice. And all he has to do is touch you—just once—and the sensation stays with you all night.”

  “I want to know what that’s like,” Martha whispered, all of a sudden serious beneath the haze of inebriation. She joined her new friend on the countertop and began swinging her long legs as if she were a child and not twenty-two years old. “What if I never have what you and Nate have, Charlotte? What if I never have what you and Marion were s’posed to have, Danica?”

  Thank you, Martha, and you, too, Jim Beam. Danica extracted the bottle from her sister’s grasp and poured the remaining bourbon down the drain. “Boozing it up isn’t going to help you get it, Martha.”

  “Promise y’all won’t tell Ma and Pop. Please? I just want some fun, without them breathing down my neck.” Martha frowned defiantly…then promptly tipped sideways and retched into the nearest sink.

  *

  In spite of watching her younger sister get sick on Jim Beam, and working with Charlotte to discreetly secure two hotel suites for Martha and Leigh to sober up in, Danica still wanted her cake. She politely stopped to exchange air kisses with a People photojournalist who was bubbling over about having VIP privileges at Las Vegas’s most darling socialite’s fairy-tale wedding. After cleverly avoiding a probing question about her past with polo player Ollie Johan, Danica posed for a picture and kept moving. She made it back to the reception in time for dinner, a round of toasts and—finally!—the unveiling of the wedding cake. When she was in possession of a delicate china plate made heavy with a generous slab of French-vanilla cake, she escaped outdoors to the
spacious terrace to check her phone and eat in solitude.

  The game had already concluded, and her parents, the head coach and the head trainer had emailed her detailed reports. At least she had something to look forward to reading when she went home tonight.

  The text message from her mother begged a response, but how to answer ARE YOU GIRLS HAVING A GOOD TIME AT THE WEDDING?

  Without lying outright…?

  She couldn’t dish the truth. Charlotte and her beau can’t keep their hands off each other, Martha’s drunk and I can’t seem to stop feeling sorry for myself. And, by the way, I didn’t bring a date.

  Aiming for nonchalance and brevity, she sent a reply. IT’S A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT. CALL YOU TOMORROW.

  A beautiful night it was. The darkness was bedazzled with city lights. A calm, warm breeze stroked Danica’s straight hair as she moseyed to the retaining wall and prepared to attack the cake.

  Footsteps interrupted her, and she turned around as her best friend stepped onto the terrace.

  “Hey, V.”

  “Hey.” Veda ambled over. “Can you believe I’m married?”

  Danica nodded. “I knew love would find you. So, is the DJ going to play ‘At Last,’ or what?”

  “Too cliché.” They laughed, and then Veda added, “I shouldn’t’ve switched you and Kensie the way I did. That’s my girl, but she’s a shitty maid of honor. She’s more interested in the dinner than helping me.”

  Danica peered through the glass but didn’t see Kensie. “Well, I should confess I’ve been thinking about this cake since you said ‘I do.’”

  “Thanks for keepin’ it real.” Veda’s smile was pensive. “This—happiness, a good marriage—is going to happen for you, Danica. You’re out here eating cake alone, but you don’t have a loner’s spirit. Someone’s meant for you.”

  “No pep talk. This is your day. Get back in there and enjoy it. Go. I’ll be in as soon as I’m done pigging out away from all those damn cameras.”

  “Okay, okay. But hurry. I’m going to toss the bouquet soon.”