She opened the first dress. An ivory, strapless lace gown with a black satin sash, elegant, modern and formfitting. She slipped herself into the exquisite frock. Troy zipped the dress and Elle walked to the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. She sighed, gazing at her reflection. She looked like a bride. A beautiful bride.
“It’s perfect.”
“There are four more. You don’t have to settle—” Troy had moved to the bar and was pouring himself a glass of Johnnie Walker Platinum, his favorite scotch. Elle had ordered it from the hotel to surprise him and she was happy to see him indulging in his favorite drink since he’d gone to such great lengths to make the weekend so special for her.
“I’m not settling. It’s elegant, timeless. I’m in love with it.” She spun gently to and fro, eyeing the dress from all angles. She loved the way it accentuated her curves and hugged her hips. It was as if the dress had been made specifically for her.
Troy truly knows me. He knows me so well.
“And,” she said, giddily, walking quickly to her suitcase, “I can even wear my favorite black heels.”
She slipped the shoes on her feet and walked back to the mirror, enveloped in the happiness surrounding her in that hotel room. Troy’s reflection could be seen with her own as he leaned down to kiss her exposed neck, her hair still up in a fluffy white towel.
“I’ll take my shower now, and we’ll begin our night, Mrs. Almost Saladino.”
Elle giggled. Troy polished off his glass of scotch and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Elle ignored the anxious flipping of her stomach at the mention of her future last name. Everyone had jitters just before tying the knot, and she was no different from any of the millions of brides before her who were overwhelmed by their nerves. She took a deep breath, carefully removed the dress, and began to groom herself for their evening.
Her hair was curled, tumbling in loose waves down her back. Her makeup was finally complete as she closed her cosmetics bag. Elle slipped off her cozy robe and stepped back into the lace gown. She emerged from the bathroom, feeling beautiful and excited. She lost her breath when she saw him.
Troy looked ridiculously handsome in his tuxedo, the color of midnight. He was fixing the collar of his crisp white shirt when their eyes locked.
“Wow,” Elle sighed. She walked to him, smoothing down the lapels of the suit. “You’re so dapper.”
“You’d better believe it, baby.” Troy winked. Then he took a small step back, holding Elle’s hands in his own, gazing at her from head to toe.
“You’re stunning. The most beautiful bride ever.”
“Thank you.” She blushed, pressing her lips together, feeling overwhelmed by the emotions in the room. They were doing this . . . really doing this. It wasn’t just a fantasy anymore. It was a reality. The anxious flip returned to her belly, and she pressed her hand into her abdomen, trying to calm herself.
“You okay?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she answered, swallowing hard. Troy narrowed his eyes; his hand grazed her cheek softly as he studied her, making her feel uneasy. She didn’t want him to know about her jitters. It was clear to Elle he had none to match hers. No, Troy wasn’t anxious—he was elated, enamored, and excited.
“Listen, Rigby, if you need more time—”
Again, Elle interrupted Troy’s offer of more time. She was dressed head to toe in wedding garb. The love of her life was standing before her in a tuxedo, looking as handsome as humanly possible.
She was getting married. She’d be absolutely insane to walk away.
“No. I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
Elle stood in her beautiful gown, her hands trembling as she studied her surroundings. Midnight was approaching, and the scorching heat of Las Vegas had cooled. A faint breeze blew against her clammy skin as she focused on her groom-to-be. Troy was standing beneath the gazebo, hands clasped in front of him, an expression of ease on his face. She wished she could will herself to be so confident, so at ease with this life-changing event. That voice had returned, telling her she was too young to get married, that their relationship wasn’t quite there yet, that she was swept up in the romance of it all. That she’d regret it and soon. But the idea of disappointing Troy, of ruining their picture-perfect romance, was more terrifying than going through with it. She loved him more than she thought she loved herself. And so, as a sign of her love, she took a leap, knowing she might take a terrible fall.
The small bouquet in her hands shook in response to her trembling fingers. Sweat formed on her neck as she walked down the white runner leading to the gazebo. “Here, There and Everywhere,” the Beatles’ song Troy always said reminded him of her, played as she joined him in front of the judge, a tall man with a kind face. She took a deep breath, looked him in the eye, and made a choice. She chose to marry the man she loved.
Their vows were simple. They would love, honor, and cherish for as long as they both should live. They were pronounced man and wife and they kissed under the stars.
“We did it, Rigby,” Troy murmured into her ear. Elle swallowed hard, wrapping her arms around his neck, seeking comfort and solace.
They returned to their suite, where they toasted with two sparkling glasses of champagne. The sweet intoxicating liquid helped ease Elle’s anxiety and she and Troy made love for hours. Troy fell asleep with his arms wrapped around Elle. But she couldn’t sleep. She simply stared at the wall, hoping for answers. Hoping for an epiphany. Hoping she did the right thing.
The next morning, Elle awoke before Troy, and a stiff pain formed in her chest. She slid out of his embrace and eased herself out of the warm bed. When she walked toward the bathroom, she saw it.
The dress. Her beautiful lace dress was draped across the chest at the foot of the bed. But instead of reminiscing in the blissful memories of the night before, she looked at the gorgeous garment with regret.
Regret and an overwhelming sense of panic. Sheer panic. That voice she’d suppressed before walking down the aisle was back. And it was dominating her psyche.
Her lungs felt as if they might collapse within her chest as she stroked the lace of the gown. She closed her eyes tight, withdrawing her hand from the fabric. Her eyes moistened as she dashed to the safety of the bathroom.
She locked the door behind her before grasping her hair with her hand. She lifted the seat of the toilet and waited for sickness to arrive. Her stomach was doing backflips over and over, so much so that nausea pervaded her body. She heaved again and again into the bowl, needing this horrible feeling to flee her. But it only grew worse with each passing minute. She clutched the ceramic bowl, hanging her head as sweat poured from her skin.
A knock at the door startled her. “Rigby, you okay?”
Troy sounded worried. No, more than worried. He sounded terrified.
“Just a minute,” she managed to squeak out. She wiped her slick forehead, attempting to calm herself down. But her stomach continued to tumble within her belly and sweat continued to bead on her forehead, neck, and arms.
“You’re scaring me, Rigby. Are you sick?”
“I don’t know. Just—I need a minute.”
“Okay. I’m here.”
With shaking arms and legs, Elle managed to climb to her feet and pull her robe to the floor. She crumpled herself on top of the fluffy robe, clutching the fabric in her fist. Tears streamed down her cheeks and landed on the soft terry.
It was a mistake. All of it.
She knew it in her gut. The self-saboteur in her was alive and well, and confident she wasn’t ready to be someone’s wife. She was lying on the bathroom floor, suffering from a panic attack because deep within her soul, she knew she was not capable of being joined to someone for the rest of her life. At least not yet. Not at the new age of twenty-five.
I’m too young. Too immature. Not ready. Not settled.
The thoughts swirled in her head, combined with an overwhelming amount of pure guilt.
On the other side of the door was a
man who loved her. Who was ready, mature, settled. A man who would do just about anything for her. And she knew that, by day’s end, she would break his heart. That thought killed her, paralyzed her, and left her lying helpless on a bathrobe in the middle of their bathroom.
When her pulse returned to normal and the sweat had stopped forming on her brow, she was able to catch her breath.
You love him. You want this. You love him. Pull it together.
One hour after she first collapsed onto the bathroom floor, Elle emerged with combed hair, a clean face, and a relaxed demeanor. She was determined to see this through—to push her feelings of regret to the side and enjoy her birthday with Troy.
You love him. He can’t see you this way. You’ll break his heart.
Troy was sitting on the edge of the bed in a white cotton t-shirt and boxer shorts. His elbows dug into his thighs and his hands joined together, his knuckles squeezed tightly, making his skin turn a ghastly shade of white. He jumped to his feet as she left the sanctuary of the bathroom.
“Baby, what’s going on?”
“My stomach,” she lied. “I think it was the champagne. I’m okay now.”
She placed a kiss on his cheek, her hands tucked into the robe, still trembling. He smoothed her hair down, pressing his lips to hers.
“You had me so worried.”
“I’m fine, I promise.”
“I, uh, I’m guessing you’re not hungry?” His eyes were cautious, his shoulders stiff.
“I could eat,” she said with a shrug. Another lie. She wanted nothing to do with food, but was determined to function normally. They had two days left in Las Vegas before leaving Tuesday morning. She had two days to adjust to her new status as a married woman. Two days to push the nagging anguish from her mind and body.
She managed to keep up the facade for one full day. Until it all came tumbling down the following morning. Once again, she found herself crumpled in a ball on the bathroom floor, clutching her abdomen. Only this time, she had forgotten to lock the door behind her.
Troy barreled into the bathroom after his first knock went unanswered. Elle jumped to her knees as he crashed into the room. His face was red, his eyes wide.
“Enough is enough. What the hell is going on with you? Are you sick? You have to tell me.”
The guilt Elle had felt for the past twenty-four hours multiplied in that brief moment. Knowing Troy, he was probably terrified she had some terminal illness or secret disease she’d managed to hide. If only it was something so innocent, so benign. If that were her reality, he would still love her at the end of the conversation. But she knew, despite her every desire to remain with him as an unmarried couple, that Troy was an all-or-nothing man. He’d given her opportunities to say no, to ask for more time, and she hadn’t taken them.
He’d never forgive her for this.
“I . . . I’m just thinking. I can’t stop thinking.”
Troy’s look of concern changed in an instant. It was now a look of suspicion.
“About what?”
Elle’s forehead wrinkled as she held back tears. Her nose scrunched and her lips pursed tightly together. She had no idea what to say.
“About what, Eleanor?”
Eleanor. He never called her Eleanor. Panic rose once again in her chest.
She closed her eyes tight and answered. “Us. About us.”
“I don’t understand. I thought—” He paused, his mouth agape, his hands on his hips. “I thought you wanted this. I thought we were happy, that you were happy.”
“I was.”
“Was? Then what the hell changed?”
“Please don’t yell at me.” Elle walked past him, heading for the bedroom. She needed more air, needed to breathe.
“Don’t walk away from this!” Troy followed behind her. “Eleanor!”
“I—I’m sorry. You told me I could have more time. I should have taken it. I should have thought things through. But you were so . . . so . . .”
“I didn’t pressure you,” he said, his voice low, his features sunken, defeated.
“I know that.” Elle wrapped her arms around her abdomen, clutching hard, attempting to comfort herself.
“I thought you wanted me, wanted this. I can’t believe how stupid I am.” Troy walked to the corner, pressing his fists against the wall, his head lowered.
“I do want you.”
“Stop it. Stop it right now.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Anything.”
“How can you possibly do that? The thought of being my wife is making you sick—physically sick. Do you know how humiliating that is?” Troy’s scarlet cheeks deepened as rage consumed his features. Elle dug her fingernails into her skin as she watched his anger grow.
“I didn’t know . . . I didn’t know I’d feel this way. I was trying! Trying to pull it together . . . for you.”
“For me? How considerate of you.”
Elle walked to Troy, placing her hand on the side of his face. He flinched at her touch. “I mean it. I love you, Troy. I do.”
He averted his eyes, avoiding hers. “Love doesn’t feel like this.”
“I’m sorry. So very sorry.”
“We took vows, Eleanor. And now, what? They’re over? They meant nothing? I meant every word. Every fucking word.”
Tears streamed down Elle’s cheeks. She knew what she wanted was repressible, but she was hanging on by a thread, unsure of how long she could continue a charade with such life-changing consequences. She wanted to convince Troy they could still be happy together, despite their current spiral. Despite the way he looked at her, as if she were a stranger.
“We can fix this and still be together.”
“And how would we do that?” Troy scoffed.
“An annulment. We could get one, and just—just go back to the way things were. To being Troy and Rigby, a happy couple who live in separate apartments but spend every weekend together. Who take walks in Grant Park and order moo shoo pork from China Garden—”
“An annulment? Are you serious?”
Elle nodded, knowing that dissolving the marriage was the only way she could survive.
I’m too young. Too immature. Not ready. Not settled.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe—I gave you so many chances to say no, to say you weren’t ready, that you needed more time. But you didn’t take them. You let me look like a goddamn fool!”
Elle sat on the bed, taking in his wrath, hoping he’d eventually calm down. That they’d be able to speak calmly to one another. She watched as Troy returned to the edge of the bed, his elbows once again digging into his thighs. His head hanging in despair.
“I’m so sorry.” Her cheeks were covered in tears; her voice cracked in anguish. She was hanging on for dear life, terrified of losing Troy forever. She joined him on the bed, running her fingers through his hair as her other arm wrapped around his torso. “This is my fault, all my fault. But please, please don’t give up on me, Troy. Please. I need you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered, his voice guarded, lifeless. “Why can’t you just . . . try? You know, give it a few days—see if your cold feet go away?”
Elle swallowed hard. She knew this was Troy’s final act of forgiveness—the only opportunity he would give her to save the relationship. But she couldn’t do it. She’d drown if she did. And she’d resent him for the rest of her life.
“No. I can’t be married, Troy. I’m sorry. This was . . . it was a mistake.”
And for the first time in the many years she’d known Troy Saladino, she watched as he cried. She watched as his eyes grew misty. And she watched as tears streamed down his blood-red cheeks. His hand clutched his forehead as he sobbed. Elle wrapped her arms around him, clutching him tight, and wishing they could go back to the morning in his apartment when everything was sunshine and roses. When their relationship was euphoric and heavenly. Instead, she clung to the man whose heart she’d destroye
d. Her fingertips dug into his skin as her sobs matched his.
Elle awoke, alone on the bed.
Troy was gone.
She searched the closets, the bathroom, the drawers.
His bags, his clothes, everything was gone.
He’d left her.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest as she pinned her hair up, wrapped herself in a fluffy white robe, and grabbed her key card. With reckless abandon, she ran to the elevator, pressing the button again and again. “C’mon, dammit. C’mon.”
Finally, the elevator arrived. A young couple stood, mouths agape at her disheveled appearance as Elle entered the car, pressing the “L” button, despite the fact that it was already glowing. Her pulse raced as she pondered what to ask the front desk. Somehow no question would hide her mortification. When the elevator reached the lobby, Elle sprinted to the expansive front desk. A woman with short, white hair and wide eyes waved Elle to her station. Her name badge said “Geraldine.”
“Young lady, are you all right? Do you need an ambulance?”
Elle looked down at her disheveled appearance, realizing that a bathrobe and bare feet was not the appropriate dress for the Bellagio Hotel lobby.
“No, I . . .” she began, taking in the onlookers around her. “My boyf—I mean, my husband seems to have left. I need to know if he checked out.”
The crease above Geraldine’s nose deepened as she listened to Elle’s request. “Room number, dear?”
“307,” Elle answered. “The reservation should be under Saladino.”
“Oh, yes.” Geraldine studied the screen and sighed. “He checked out about an hour ago. The room is paid through Tuesday. So, you’re free to stay until then, dear.”
“He’s gone?” Her voice cracked as tears formed in her already sore, red eyes. Her lungs tightened and her hands trembled.
This can’t be happening, she thought, her mind racing. How could he leave me like this?
“Did he get another room?”
“I can check, just one moment.” Geraldine tapped at her keyboard, scrunched her nose, and shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. We have only one reservation under that name, and it’s for the room you’re staying in.”
Red Carpet Kiss Page 14
