All's Fair in Love and Las Vegas

Chapter Two

        Staring into the toilet, I flushed away the vomit. My stomach ached, raw from throwing up on an empty stomach. Oddly enough, my headache had gotten better after losing my dinner. Weary, I slowly went back into the main room. He was on the phone, pacing by the window.

        "Yes, I know, and I know that her clause is legitimate, but trust me, this was an accident," he said anxiously. "I haven't talked to her yet. Yes, that's what I'm planning on doing. Okay, thanks. Bye." He hung up, dragging one hand through his hair.

        "Who was that?" I asked in a small voice.

        He whirled around, not having heard me come back. "My lawyer," he said, sitting on the bed. "He said our best option is to go get it annulled as soon as possible. The office is downtown, we can be there in a half hour at most."

        "Okay, let's go," I said feebly.

        "You don't have shoes," Grayson pointed out. I couldn't tell if it was a reminder or if he was concerned about taking a barefoot girl around Las Vegas.

       I grimaced. "I'm sure the hotel has something."

       He nodded, pushing open the door. I followed him into the hallway, nervously walking in his shadow as we entered the elevator. I was thankful no one was around, because even though I didn't know anyone here, I still would've been much too embarrassed to have anyone see me.

       The hotel gift shop sold flip-flops. Unfortunately, the only ones in my size were construction vest orange. But I kept my mouth shut; a clashing outfit was the least of my worries right now. I was relieved to have my bare feet off the disgusting floors, which were sticky with who knows what. When I got back to Arlington, I would be taking the longest shower of my life.

        Going through the hotel was a nightmare. The flashing lights and constant noise of the slot machines was enough to make anyone go insane. I forged on, stumbling in Grayson's footsteps. He led me to the parking garage, where he promptly stopped on the curb. "Where's your car?" I asked, looking around.

        "In valet," Grayson replied breezily. I think he was having an identity crisis as well, except he was doing a much better job of hiding it.

        So we waited. When his car pulled up to the curb, my jaw dropped. Obviously, Grayson was rich, but I didn't think he was this rich. A gleaming white Porsche rolled to a stop, and the doors gently swung open.

        "Oh," I finally said in a very small voice.

        He chuckled under his breath. "Don't let it intimidate you. Yes, I have money, but other than my car and my house, I typically don't show it off."

        "Right," I said slowly. He opened the door for me, waiting for me to get in before sliding in himself.

        "Where to, Mr. Answell?" the man in the driver's seat asked. With a start, I realized that he was in fact a personal driver.

        "Clark County Marriage License Bureau," Grayson replied, buckling his seatbelt.

        "You have a driver too?" I murmured as the car started moving.

        He sighed. "Okay, other than my house and my car and my driver, I don't show off my money. Better?"

        "Much better, thank you," I said with a small laugh.

        We both fell into an awkward silence as the car wove through the busy streets. I mean, what does one say to a man they have just married and barely know? It wasn't like we were looking to be friends. If anything, we couldn't wait to separate–both physically and legally.