by Shari Low
Zoe’s gaze went from one side of the panoramic view to the other. They were on the roof of the Kemp, Vegas, a spectacular building on the strip, that had the mountains on one side, the neon lights of the city on the other, and was close enough for the guests to get a spectacular view of the Bellagio Fountains from the viewing deck they were standing on now. That would be enough of a selling point, but the hotel’s unique feature was right in front of them, in the shape of a platform that stretched from the roof out into the sky, six hundred feet above the scorching earth. On it, was a podium for the marriage celebrant, and space for the happy couple and two witnesses.
It had been Roger’s brainchild. The Leap. The perfect wedding venue for thrill seekers and adrenaline junkies. The idea was that the couple got married on the edge of the platform, hundreds of feet in the air, with just glass beneath their feet, and then after they said ‘I do’, they could leap from the platform wearing harnesses and abseil down the building. It was completely terrifying but utterly unforgettable.
The first wedding was taking place in ten minutes, and representatives from the world’s travel press already had their cameras and their iPads out, furiously taking notes and ready to film it. The actual event had been planned and organised by the hotel’s own marketing department, but Zoe had engaged her own film crew too and they were waiting, set up in the best viewing spot. This footage would form an integral part of the marketing campaign for the hotel in the UK, and Zoe wanted it filmed to her own direction.
The hotel team had chosen 6 p.m. because the sun was low in the sky, and the temperature had dropped to make it bearable enough to cover an outdoor event. The last thing Roger wanted was sweaty, sunburnt, pissed-off writers saying anything negative about such a spectacular stunt. Although, even in just a white shirt and cream dress trousers, Zoe was already feeling uncomfortably hot.
Roger grinned. ‘Is the metaphor too much?’
‘What the whole “marriage is a leap of faith” thing? No. I think it’s wonderfully romantic actually,’ Zoe replied, realising, to her surprise, that it was absolutely true. She’d never really thought about getting hitched before. Well, only once. And only for five minutes when she and Tom had walked past a beautiful old church in the West End of Glasgow and she had a sudden mental picture of the two of them running down the steps, her in a white dress, him in a kilt, both of them laughing as he picked her up, spun her around…
She blocked the thought. So much for that. About two weeks later, he’d broken her heart and now Chrissie would be the one running down the steps with him.
‘I’m just going to go find out where the happy couple are,’ Roger said as he stepped away to speak to the head of his hotel marketing team.
Shoddy work, Zoe decided. Although, of course, she’d never say that. But if she were running the event, she’d have made absolutely sure that everyone who needed to be here was present and correct long before the owner and the press arrived.
‘Fancy it?’ Ned asked, coming up behind her and slipping his arms around her waist. She’d noticed he often got a bit territorial around Roger. It was sweet. Endearing. As long as it didn’t escalate into some weird jealousy thing. Not that it would – if he had some troubling psycho streak, she was pretty sure she’d have sussed it by now. And anyway, he was looking so incredibly handsome in his loose fitting white linen shirt and navy blue chino shorts that she was only capable of positive thoughts when it came to Ned Merton.
‘Fancy what?’ she asked, remembering his question.
He gestured to the platform. ‘Dropping off there after you’ve tied the knot?’
Zoe didn’t even need to think about it. ‘Oh, dear God, no. I’m more of a beach in Bali kind of chick. Verity would be more the abseiling down a building kind of girl.’
Ned’s gaze flicked around him.
‘Where are your sisters? I thought they’d be here by now?’
Zoe shook her head. ‘No room. We had to turn press away, so there definitely wasn’t space for civvie bystanders. They only let Felice in because she doesn’t take up much room,’ she gestured with her head to the corner of the terrace, where Roger’s model wife was wearing a characteristically bored expression but looking incredible in a red, Bardot-style dress and huge dark glasses.
‘Nope, she certainly doesn’t.’
Zoe thought she detected an overtone of appreciation in his comment and gave him a swift but playful dig in the ribs. ‘Hey! Eyes off the supermodel,’ she ordered, laughing. Who was the jealous one now? Back to the conversation… ‘Anyway, the girls were all meeting at six and they were going for cocktails and then for dinner. I said we’d catch them tomorrow and spend the whole day together. Thought we could have a night on our own tonight since we’ll be with them for the rest of the weekend. And I also thought we could have a romantic dinner in the restaurant here – just the two of us. If we ever get done, that is.’
They’d arrived early that morning and her sisters were determined to banish any hint of jet lag and party into the night, stopping at some of Vegas’s landmarks on the way. Naturally, Marina had made a list and organised it all. Zoe was glad for them. Christmas Day at Marina’s had been a corker, and not in a good way, but strangely it had perhaps been the kind of explosion they needed to clear the air and make them all a little more tolerant of each other. They were four strong characters, but sometimes they forgot they had to be gentle with each other too.
As that thought dawned, she realised that she wished they were here to see this. Maybe they could go catch up with them later, after all, and she could tell them all about it. If they ever got this show on the road.
Her eyes sought out Roger, and when she spotted him, she could see it wasn’t good news. For a man who didn’t often get flustered, his face was a picture of exasperation.
She watched as he gesticulated to the person he was talking to, then walked purposefully back towards her, shaking his head.
‘What’s up?’ she asked, concerned. Roger wasn’t just a client, he was a friend and something was clearly sending him off the deep end – metaphorically, given they were standing on top of a building.
‘The couple haven’t turned up. Bloody unbelievable. We’ve got the world’s travel press here to cover the first wedding and there isn’t a bloody wedding to see. How the hell can our people here be so incompetent? How? How does something like this even happen?’
Zoe knew better than to vocalise her earlier thought that this wouldn’t have happened if the event had been on her watch. This wasn’t a time for unhelpful smugness or self-promotion. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ve got no bloody idea. You?’
This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good. It was so important that the launch went off perfectly because mud stuck. If something like this damaged the image of the property on opening night, it could have far-reaching consequences for the hotel and, most importantly, for Roger. All it took was one person to write a scathing piece – and some people loved to make a name for themselves by stirring up trouble – and a ball of negativity could start to roll, gathering more fodder as it went. It would be a PR and image disaster.
‘We could do it.’
At first Zoe thought it came from Roger, but then she realised that the voice came from the other side. Roger was already striding off to talk to his hotel manager, no doubt trying to come up with a back-up plan. It was Ned who had spoken and now she wasn’t entirely sure what he was talking about. ‘What?’
‘We could do it,’ Ned was beaming with the most mischievous grin as he repeated it.
‘We could do what?’ she asked, needing to make sure she was picking this up correctly.
‘Get married.’
Yup, that’s what she’d thought he meant. Wow. ‘You want to marry me?’ she asked, feeling incredibly stupid, like she was still having problems translating some foreign language.
Ned was full-on laughing now. ‘Of course I do!’
‘You mean fake it, for th
e launch?’ This wasn’t computing and quite frankly she had other things to worry about right now, like finding Roger and the bride and… Oh.
Ned slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. ‘I mean do it here, for the launch. I love you, Zoe Danton, and I’d be absolutely thrilled if you’d just hurry up and say that you’ll marry me and then jump off a building with me.’
Great big cackles of laughter were coming from her now too. He was bonkers. Crazy. But… oh, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that there was something wildly exciting and romantic about this. The spontaneous marriage bit. Not so much the hurling herself off a building. Did she want to marry Ned? Maybe she actually did. Hadn’t he picked her up after Tom had broken her heart and restored her faith in love and relationships? They’d had a brilliant time together and he was gorgeous, he was funny, he was romantic and kind and he understood her workaholic tendencies, but more importantly he loved her. And she loved him back. And right now she couldn’t think of one good reason not to do this. Again, apart from the abseiling bit. But then, what a story they’d have to tell the grandchildren!
‘Okay!’ she blurted, completely shell-shocked that she was actually saying it.
‘Okay?’
‘Okay!’
‘Yassssss!’ he yelled, punching the air.
The journos around them began to take notice and she was pretty sure that some of them thought this was all part of the script for the launch. If only they knew.
‘Roger!’ Zoe shouted him back over. ‘We’re going to do it. Ned and I – we’ll be your couple and get married.’
He seemed to think it was a joke. ‘Look, I appreciate how far you’ll go in the line of duty and all that, but even I wouldn’t ask you to do this.’
‘You’re not asking us,’ Ned fired back. ‘We’re doing it because we want to get married and, well… this isn’t exactly what I’d planned…’
He’s been planning it, Zoe realised, and the thought made her laugh even more.
‘… But it makes some story and I can’t think of a better way to do it. Although, we’ll have to go to the courthouse and make it official tomorrow, because you can’t actually marry properly without a licence. I’ve eh, been looking into it,’ he added, and Zoe wasn’t sure if his face was flushing due to bashfulness, excitement or the heat.
It didn’t matter. What counted was that he really had researched it. He really had been thinking about how they’d get married. This was incredible.
‘Are you sure, Zoe?’ Roger was asking her now.
‘Yes! But I just need to go and find my sisters because… Bugger, it’s after six! They were going out for a drink. I’ve no idea where they even are. I could call them, but…’ She glanced around again. The journos were hot, they were getting impatient, many of them were staring at her expectantly now, wondering what was going on. Even Felice was staring at her with undisguised impatience. Although, that was how she looked most of the time.
‘Sod it, let’s go. Let’s just do it now.’
‘Zoe, I think…’ Roger began, and she could hear from his tone that he was about to argue. She had no time for it.
‘Roger Kemp, move your fine self out of my way so that I can go and get married to the man I love, please.’
Defeated, but incredulous too, Roger took a step back and summoned his PR manager, who immediately went into recovery mode, sorting out the celebrant, the witnesses and the ceremony.
‘Have you abseiled before?’ he asked.
Zoe almost choked. She’d been attempting not to think about that minor detail. ‘Yes, but not from this bloody high.’
‘Babe, if you’re too scared we can forget it. Do it tomorrow somewhere on land.’
Zoe thought about it for about a second and a half. ‘Sod it, let’s go.’
And that’s how, at approximately 7 p.m. on a sweltering night in Vegas, Zoe Danton, wearing multiple safety harnesses, took several steps on to and along a precipice so high it almost gave her a nose bleed, holding hands with the man who’d proposed only moments before.
‘Do you, Zoe…’ the celebrant checked his notes. ‘… Danton, take Edward…’ checked again, ‘Merton, to be your lawfully wedded husband?’
‘I do.’ Oh God, she was doing this. She was really doing this. Marina would kick her arse for not letting her organise it.
‘And do you, Edward…’ a pause while his memory kicked in. ‘Merton, take Zoe Danton to be your lawfully wedded wife?’
‘I do.’
‘Then, by the power invested in me by the state of Nevada, I hereby pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.’
Ned leaned towards her, kissed her, while cheers went up and dozens of camera flashes went off all around them.
They took another small step forward, turned around so they were facing the building, then reached out and took each other’s hands, barely cognisant of the men who were adjusting their harnesses for the next step in proceedings.
Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe saw her bloke gesture to the one attending to Ned. ‘Good to go when you’re ready,’ her guy told her.
Three.
Two.
One.
Zoe closed her eyes, and sent up a message to the person she realised she wished was there more than any other.
‘Watch me fly, Dad,’ she whispered.
Then, to cheers and screams of delight from the crowd, she leaned backwards and took the biggest leap of faith she’d ever taken.
She just hoped she would find a soft place to land.
33
Verity – Las Vegas, One Month Ago
No matter how many times she looked at it, it was still there and the words didn’t change.
Hey Veronica. Fancy meeting up for a drink sometime? Or more? No strings attached, just a bit of fun. I promise you’ll enjoy it.
Yep, still the same. Veronica from Glasgow’s Your Next Date profile had lain dormant for months with just the notifications from strangers she had no interest in contacting. At Christmas, when she’d got the notification that Ned had swiped right on her profile making them a match, she’d sent him a message, trying to instigate a conversation, testing his fidelity and curious to see how far she could take it, but there had been no reply. That is, until two days ago, when this offer of a drink had come through. She checked it yet again. Yes, it was still there, and no, she still didn’t know what she was going to do with it.
Things had changed. Most importantly, her feelings for Ned Merton had become something different.
She wasn’t sure if all the running had finally cleared her mind, or if it was the support of her doctor, a lovely woman she’d gone to see after she fainted at Christmas. ‘I just need some iron, or something,’ Verity had said brusquely. A lesser doctor would just have handed over a prescription, but this one took the time to understand exactly what was going on. When Verity finally gave her the bullet points – her family background, her previous history of obsessive exercise, her current emotional state, her romantic quandary, the doctor had exhaled deeply. ‘That’s a whole lot you have on your plate there.’
That was all it took. A stranger that she could unload to. Someone who listened. The opportunity to be vulnerable. It was a small step, but it caused a bigger shift. The doctor had suggested Cognitive Behavioural Therapy – CBT, she called it – and after researching it for hours, putting it off for days, and then going to see a therapist once a week for the last month, Verity found that she was letting go. Uncoiling the strains. Looking at things through a new lens. Finding new ways to cope with the compulsions that made her run.
When it came to Ned, her feelings were changing too. He’d stopped being the first thing she thought about in the morning and the last thing at night. She’d stopped imagining what he would feel like to touch, how he’d propose to her, what their children would look like. Perhaps it was the blow out with her sisters, maybe it was a gradual realisation that, no matter what, there was now no future in which she and Ned
could reasonably be together. He’d been with Zoe too long. He was hers. And, no matter who saw him first, he’d always be thought of as Zoe’s ex.
They still spent time together, still hung out, went climbing, had a drink after work, but she was aware enough to realise that another reason for the shift in her feelings was blatantly obvious – he was still on dating apps and she thought so much less of him because of it.
She’d thought about telling Zoe, but still, she had no credible story to give to her. What would she say?
Would she tell her that she’d got a notification from some dating app that Ned wanted to match with a fictional woman called Veronica, so she’d sent him a message and he hadn’t replied? It wasn’t enough. He could just claim it was an old profile he’d forgotten about and that the notification of a match had been a blip in their system.
He could, that is, until this latest message came through.
Every hour of the last two days, she’d thought about going over to Zoe’s flat to tell her, but she’d backed out every time. How could she do that to her right before their trip to Vegas, a jaunt Zoe had been beyond excited about for months? The Kemp Group was so important to her and the last thing she needed was some kind of personal distraction that could derail everything she’d worked so hard for. So Verity had kept her mouth shut, resolved to tell her when they got back to Glasgow. It could wait another couple of days. She’d waited this long – what harm would another forty-eight hours do?
The phone over by her bedside rang and Verity threw herself across the gorgeous, plush, quilted satin of the duvet cover to reach it. Roger Kemp had once again designed a spectacular hotel. This place was gorgeous. Sumptuous. Absolute luxury. And she may never be able to afford it on a teacher’s wages, so she was going to take advantage of every single moment of this trip. She’d already been down to the gym just after they arrived and did five miles in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, with mesmerising views over the desert to the mountains. She’d cut her running to three times a week now, and it was no longer an obsessive challenge. Now, it left her calm. Centred. Although, her serenity was about to be interrupted by Marina barking in her ear.
