by Linda Seed
“Oh. My. God.” Her mouth dropped open and her neck craned back. “I’ve seen pictures, but …”
Daniel watched her as her eyes took in the shapes, the colors, the textures, the light streaming through the field of glass flowers.
“What do you think?” he asked after she’d had a chance to process it.
“It’s …” She seemed to be struggling for a word. “It’s amazing. But you’re the expert. What do you think?”
Her gaze broke from the ceiling and she looked at him. She seemed to really want to hear his answer, and he didn’t want to disappoint her, so he thought carefully before he responded.
Instead of answering directly, he gestured toward a group of five middle-aged men who were standing nearby, gazing up at the ceiling. The guys, in their typical tourist attire of shorts, Tshirts, and ball caps, were transfixed, their jaws slack, their eyes wide, as they looked upward toward that magical field of flowers forged of fire and sand.
“Look at those guys,” Daniel told Lacy.
“What—”
“Just take a moment, and look at them.”
She did, and then she looked back at him in question.
“Right now, they’re not thinking about how much they lost in the casino, or the fights they had with their wives, or the electric bill. They’re not thinking about their crappy jobs or their car that needs to be serviced. They’re not thinking about one damned thing … except that.” He pointed toward the ceiling. “They’re transported.” His voice had taken on an emotion that he hadn’t planned, hadn’t expected. But there it was. “Now, I could talk to you about what it takes to complete a project like that, the supplies you’d need, the techniques for getting the color, the texture. I could talk about the challenge of installing it, with the weight, the square footage, the number of pieces involved. But none of that matters. What matters is those guys, and what they’re feeling right now.” He nodded, and looked skyward. “That … Well. It’s magic. It’s just … magic.”
“And now you’ve done something similar,” Lacy pointed out.
“Similar to this?” Daniel waved a hand to dismiss the idea. “My deal’s nothing like this. I mean, yeah, they said they wanted something inspired by the Chihuly. But mine … it’s smaller, it’s simpler. It’s a whole hell of a lot cheaper.” He rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand.
Lacy cocked her head to one side and regarded him. “Do you always do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Minimize your accomplishments.”
He looked at her in surprise, started to say something, and then stopped. Was that what he was doing?
“I … Kind of. Yeah. I guess I do.” He hadn’t realized it until she’d pointed it out.
“Come on,” she said, nudging him with an elbow. “It’s almost time for the fountains.”
By the time they got outside, a crowd had gathered along the concrete railing lining the water outside the Bellagio. They moved through the throngs of people until they found a spot on the railing where they could get a good view. An announcement over the loudspeaker told them the show was about to begin, and Lacy squirmed in excitement. She wiggled up and down on her toes as she waited for the display to start.
“Have you seen this before?” she asked Daniel, peering over her shoulder to where he was standing behind her.
“I have, yeah.”
“Is it great? Because I really want it to be great.”
He grinned at her in amusement. “Wait and see.”
Under the late afternoon sun, bathed in the glow of neon lights and surrounded by festive crowds of people, Lacy watched the still water, waiting for some sign of something on a surface dancing with reflected light.
A voice over the loudspeaker announced the Fountains of Bellagio, and Lacy leaned in to watch.
The soundtrack was a mix of contemporary and vintage, from Mariah Carey to Frank Sinatra, and Lacy stood there spellbound as the water alternately swayed, pulsed upward in a tap-dance staccato rhythm, arced in graceful patterns, and exploded skyward with the swell of the music’s crescendo.
She didn’t know what she had expected. Fountains, water, music, sure. Maybe some colored lights. But this—this spectacle of excess, this miracle of engineering, this masterpiece of complexity—was pure magic. As the show ended and the fountains retreated, she felt something hot and insistent rise in her chest, and tears filled her eyes. She noticed Daniel watching her, and blinked hard, swiping at her wet cheeks.
“You okay?” He grinned at her.
“Yeah, yeah. Yes. Gah!” Embarrassed, she waved him off. “It’s a thing. I cry when I’m happy.”
“That’s cute,” he said.
“Humiliating. I think the word you’re looking for is humiliating.”
“What? Nah.” He shrugged. “There’s nothing embarrassing about being happy. About feeling joy. I mean, Jesus. How many of us even know what that’s like anymore?”
She cocked her head at him under the glow of the streetlights as dusk began to fall. “Don’t you?”
“Don’t I what?”
“Don’t you know what it’s like? Joy?”
He scowled and took her arm. “Come on. I think it’s time for us to head back.”
They caught the shuttle back to Eden, and as they rode, Daniel thought about Lacy’s question. To say that he didn’t know what it was to feel joy would be a mistake. He felt it when he worked in his studio, using heat of up to 2,400 degrees to bend glass to his will. He felt it when he was held in the grip of an idea, a concept, a vision for a work of art he would create. And he’d felt it when he’d watched Lacy crying over the fountains.
And that, he had to admit, was playing with fire every bit as much as what he did in his studio.
Lacy was engaged. And he and Lacy were friends, part of a larger network of friends who cared about and supported each other. What the hell was he thinking, feeling joy with her? He should have been feeling joy with some other woman, while Lacy was feeling joy with Brandon.
Though he got the feeling that joy wasn’t the dominant emotion in that particular relationship.
He couldn’t help watching her as she looked out the window of the cab, pointing out things of interest, exclaiming over the world of manufactured pleasures that was passing outside.
Had he ever felt that much simple happiness? Not without a blowpipe in his hand.
Her joyful spirit—that was one thing. And then there was the way she looked.
Lacy and all of her friends were attractive, no question. Each of them had a quality, an allure, all her own. But Lacy had the kind of beauty that could strike a man breathless, or mute, or both. Long, golden blond hair, pale blue eyes, a face like a Renaissance painting. And her body. Holy shit. Best not to think too much about that.
He was feeling things he shouldn’t feel, and thinking things he shouldn’t think, and the best thing to do was to excuse himself when they got back to the hotel so he could hide in his room before he did anything stupid.
But somehow, that wasn’t what he did. Because when they arrived at Eden, she charged over to the bar as though she was ready to pick up exactly where she’d left off when he’d first found her there. And he couldn’t just leave her there, drinking alone, so he followed her as she sat down on a barstool and ordered another cocktail.
Chapter Ten
Lacy’s cell phone had rung at least ten times since she’d left Eden with Daniel. One of those calls had been Kate, and one had been Rose. The rest had been Brandon. She had ignored them all, because she didn’t want to talk to him, and she wasn’t ready to admit to her friends that they had been right.
She would deal with all of that later. For now, it was so much simpler just to turn off her ringer and pretend no one was looking for her—that no one wanted to fight with her or belittle her, or even comfort her. It was so much simpler to pretend that she and Daniel were the only ones here, the only ones who mattered.
Lacy had always been t
he responsible one, the one who did the right thing, the one who looked out for everyone else. For once, she didn’t want to do the right thing, the responsible thing. What she wanted was to ignore her cell phone and sit here at this bar, drinking with Daniel.
The main bar at Eden was a big, gleaming, circular affair with an enormous light fixture cascading down from the ceiling; towers of bottles in various colors backlit against a mirror; music pulsing through the sound system; and people—in couples, singular, and in groups—drinking, laughing, and playing the video gaming machines that were always close at hand.
They ordered their drinks—a mojito for her, a gin and tonic for him—and took in the sights and sounds around them.
“I should go,” Lacy told him when she was about halfway through her drink. “You were sweet to babysit me, but I’m okay.”
He waved a hand like he was shooing away a bee. “Ah, hell. It wasn’t babysitting. I’ll admit it started out that way, but I had a good time.” He took a deep drink of his gin.
“Still.”
As they talked, Lacy was aware of a presence on her other side. She looked up when she felt a nudge against her shoulder. A guy, probably in his late thirties, had climbed onto the barstool next to her. He had slicked-back hair and was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. He’d clearly been drinking for a while, and Lacy had to lean back to escape the foul fog of his breath.
“Buy you a drink?” the guy said, leering.
“I have one, thanks.” Lacy turned back toward Daniel. “So, what should—”
“I’ll buy you another one then. Bartender! Get the lady a … ” The guy gestured toward Lacy’s mojito. “A whatever. That thing. Whatever that is.”
“No thank you,” Lacy said to the bartender. “I’m good.”
The bartender, a crisply uniformed woman with her hair in a tidy ponytail, nodded and went back down the bar to attend to another patron.
Lacy kept her back to the drunk guy, facing Daniel, hoping that her body language would dissuade Hawaiian Shirt Man from persisting. But maybe he was too drunk to read body language. Or maybe he was just that socially inept.
“Hey!” the guy said. “I’m Trevor. What’s your name?”
Now Daniel faced Hawaiian Shirt Man and said, “Hey, Trevor? The lady doesn’t want a drink. And she doesn’t want to flirt. She’s here with me, okay?”
“I don’t believe I was talking to you,” Trevor said, his words slightly slurred. “I was talking to … What’s your name? Miss? Are you too stuck up to even tell me your name?”
And here we go, Lacy thought. Looking like she did, she was familiar with the situation. A guy makes a move. She shuts him down. Guy gets more aggressive. Then guy turns insulting, and things get ugly. Usually, it ended with Lacy picking up her purse and leaving. But this time, Daniel was added into the mix. Most of the time, Daniel was a fairly mild-mannered guy. But who knew what might happen when he was defending a woman from an aggressive drunk?
“Let’s move to a booth,” Daniel told Lacy, gesturing to a faux leather-lined booth at the edge of the bar area. “Come on. Bring your drink.”
Lacy grabbed her stuff and they started to move away from the bar.
Trevor wasn’t going to give up that easily.
“You really going with him, honey?” Trevor called after them. “Come upstairs with me and I’ll show you a real man.”
Lacy looked at Daniel and put her hand on his bicep. “Daniel. Don’t. It’s okay.”
There was a set to his jaw, a fire in his eyes. “No. It’s not okay.”
Daniel put himself between Trevor and Lacy, and the two of them started doing that puffed-chest thing men did when they were sizing up which one was going to be the alpha.
“Step away, asshole,” Daniel said.
“What did you call me? What did you call me?” Trevor’s face was turning red.
“Daniel. Trevor. Just … stop. Both of you. Stop.”
Lacy thought Trevor was going to take a swing at Daniel. Instead, he reached around Daniel, grabbed Lacy’s arm, and pulled her toward him.
“Come on, honey. Let’s go. You don’t need him.” He hauled Lacy in his direction, almost pulling her off her feet.
Daniel’s hand clamped down on Trevor’s wrist where he was holding Lacy. “You’re gonna want to take that hand off of her,” he said.
“Or what are you gonna fuckin’ do, you pussy?” Trevor’s words were belligerent enough, but he was starting to look scared.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lacy saw a security guard approaching.
It’s about time, she thought. She just hoped the guard got here before the first blow landed.
Too late.
Daniel set his feet, and without taking his left hand off of Trevor’s arm, he sent his right fist crashing into Trevor’s face hard enough to drop him and his Hawaiian shirt to the floor.
Her arm now free of Trevor’s grip, Lacy jumped back from the heap of drunk guy at her feet. The security guard, now in a hurry, got to them and grabbed Daniel’s forearm.
“Whoa, whoa, take it easy,” the guard said, hauling Daniel a few feet back from Trevor, who was moaning and holding a hand over his eye.
“That’s the guy you want, Neil,” the bartender said to the security guard, pointing to the man on the ground. “He grabbed the lady.”
Neil gave Daniel a skeptical look, let go of his arm, and grabbed Trevor under the arms and helped him to his feet.
“Are you injured, sir?” Neil asked Trevor.
“Hell, yes! I’m fucking injured!”
Neil rolled his eyes. “Would you like me to get the police here so you can press charges?” Trevor started to answer, and Neil interrupted him. “Because I’m sure, while they’re here, they’d like to hear this lady’s story about how you assaulted her.”
Trevor opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it and closed it again. Then he gingerly fingered his eye. “That’s … I … Just fucking forget it.”
“Good choice, sir.” Neil smacked Trevor on the back a little too hard to be friendly. “Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”
Neil led Trevor out of the bar area, and Lacy turned to Daniel. Her eyes were wide, and she was trembling.
“Oh, my God, Daniel. He … You … Holy shit. Are you okay? How’s your hand? Are you …”
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“He scared me.”
“You’re okay,” he told her, rubbing her shoulders with his warm hands. “You’re all right.”
She was still shaking, so he pulled her to his chest, and she let him fold her up in the warmth of his arms.
It felt so good, being here, being held by him, that she began to calm down, began to feel safe and protected. She was still standing there with his arms around her when they heard Brandon’s voice.
“So, what’s going on here, exactly?”
They both looked up to see Brandon standing three feet away, his lips pursed, his arms folded over his chest, his face turning blotchy and red with anger.
“Oh, God. Brandon. This isn’t—”
Lacy had backed away from Daniel like he was on fire, and she was now trying to explain to Brandon that there was nothing going on—that it wasn’t how it looked. Bar patrons were looking on with amusement, and the part of Lacy’s brain that wasn’t in crisis mode heard a guy chuckle and mutter, “Girl is in deep shit!”
“It isn’t what, Lacy?” Brandon demanded. With his crossed arms, his tightly compressed lips, and his neatly combed hair, he resembled an unliked office supervisor about to fire someone for stealing a stapler. “I told you in the car on the way here that he had ulterior motives.” He gestured at Daniel with his chin. “And now I come down here and see the two of you—”
“He was comforting me!” Lacy insisted. “This guy grabbed me, and I was scared, and—”
But before she could finish, Brandon had turned crisply away and was walking purposefully toward the elevators.
�
��Oh, shit,” Lacy said to no one in particular. And then, to Daniel: “I’d better go after him.”
“Do you want me to come with you? I can tell him what happened.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Just … no. I’d better go alone.”
Still shaking with adrenaline from the confrontation with the drunk at the bar, Lacy went to the elevators to catch up with Brandon. He was already gone, so she punched the up button and waited, her arms wrapped around her torso, bouncing a little on her feet with excess nervous energy.
Lacy didn’t feel drunk anymore—that was one benefit, she supposed, of sudden personal upheaval. It tended to cut through the fog. As she waited for the elevator, and then as she got in and rode toward the twelfth floor, she wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted the outcome of all of this to be. She knew what she was supposed to do. She was supposed to convince Brandon that nothing was going on between her and Daniel, so they could reconcile and proceed with their plans together. On the other hand, considering everything he’d said in the car, this could be her opportunity to avert what would likely be a disaster of a marriage.
She surprised herself with the thought. How long, exactly, had she felt this way? How long had she known that she didn’t want to marry Brandon? How long had she been looking for a way out?
None of that mattered, she supposed. What mattered was that she knew now. And that she needed to make it official.
The elevator doors opened on the twelfth floor, and Lacy walked down what seemed like an endless hallway toward her room. When she got there, she found her bag, which she hadn’t taken the time to unpack, sitting outside the door.
She slid her key card into the lock and tried to open the door, but he had locked it from the inside with the security latch, so she could only get it open a couple of inches.
