Page 25 of Vengeful Vows
“Welcome, Signor Donati. Shall I inform Signor Carrington of your arrival?”
“Please.”
With the number of security cameras I’ve noticed everywhere, I’d be surprised if he didn’t already know we were on the property.
Sergio rejoins us. “We’re clear, boss. Anything else?”
“Cocktails at six. The Rose Martini Bar. Dinner on site at seven.”
“I’ll be on standby.” Without another word, he leaves us alone in silence.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Marse encourages. “Our luggage will be up shortly.”
Proving him right, a doorbell rings, and a well-dressed bellhop arrives.
“The lady is staying in there.” He points to a door.
“Yes, sir.”
I have my own room?
Softly I exhale. Though Marse has promised to keep his hands to himself, I wondered how that would happen if we were forced to share a bed.
“Champagne?” Marse offers.
“Did you mention martinis?”
“At six. Yes.”
“In that case, I need to pace myself. Maybe a water?”
The place is amazing. In addition to a living space with an enormous television, we also have a dining room, a kitchen with full-size appliances and marble countertops and an island to sit at, along with a fully stocked bar. “Still or sparkling?”
“Mineral if possible?”
Marse opens a refrigerator and shows me two green bottles, one from France, the other from Italy. “Do you have a preference?”
In all the places I’ve been, no one has stocked both of the premium brands. “Has to be the Italian, right, to fit the theme of the resort?”
“Naturally.” He grins. “Lime? Lemon?”
This man has already spoiled me so much that I’m not sure I can ever return to my previous life. “Lime, please.”
The fruit, it turns out, has already been sliced, waiting for us.
After a few minutes, the bellhop emerges and silently walks out with his cart, then crosses to the other side of the suite. Marcello’s room, I presume.
Unable to help myself, I’m drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows, but I can’t find a switch to raise the blinds.
“Ask Sir Percival,” Marse advises.
With stilted awkwardness, I look up and speak. “Sir Percival? Can you please open the blinds?”
“Certainly, Miss Bella.”
With the softest hum, the almost-transparent film is lifted, revealing a stunning view of the city.
From one of the highest points around, I survey the river of neon beneath us. Then as I continue to gaze, I make out other shapes: the Sphinx at the neighboring Luxor, the medieval fantasyland of Excalibur, then the dimming sun reflecting off the golden windows of the Mandalay Bay. I could stare at this view for hours.