Soleil glanced at herself in the mirror one more time. She wished she could be like Lana. Tall. Gorgeous. Perfectly in control. She wore her jeans and vest like royalty. No one would dare lay their hands on her unless she wanted them to. Soleil shoved her phone into the little pocket of the sundress she wore and kept her hand there, holding on for just a minute to the stranger who had shown her kindness.
She had tried to get Winston to be adventurous, at least in bed. Something other than his roll on top of her and roll off again while she lay staring at the ceiling wondering if that was all there was to love and living together. How would she know? She’d never witnessed a real relationship. Neither aunt had been married, and Kevin had talked to her via text most of the time.
She straightened her shoulders and imagined herself to be Lana. Lana wasn’t about to put up with a man who didn’t satisfy her or listen to her in bed. She would never let him scare her into marriage. She’d tell him it was over. That was exactly what Soleil was going to do.
Soleil glanced at the woman who held out a small, immaculate towel for her to dry her hands for the third time. “She’s right, isn’t she?” she asked her.
The attendant glanced around the large gold and ivory bathroom, making certain no one could see or hear her give advice, and then she nodded.
Feeling empowered, Soleil smiled at her and left. She had to ask the outside attendant the way to the elevators, but she found them. Then she had to talk to another attendant there, and he escorted her to the proper one. She was in a suite at the top of the tower. She slid her flat gold key into the elevator and took the ride up to her rooms. There were only four suites at the top of the tower. Her room was directly across from the elevator access.
She was used to the best hotels and often had a suite, but this luxury suite was so over the top and ridiculous for the two of them when they planned on being in Vegas just for a couple of nights. Winston had insisted, and she’d found herself going along with his plans, just as she had ever since Kevin Bennet had died.
The suite was nearly two thousand square feet with a gleaming grand piano in the middle of the marble floor. Glass walls gave them a view of Las Vegas that was unparalleled. A fireplace and wet bar added to the ambience in the room. The balcony stretched out for what seemed forever, curving around the building so they could enjoy the sun and breeze. Winston had told her she deserved the best and he wanted her to have it. It was too much.
He’d been rude to the staff at the hotel, complaining about everything. That was the only way to get people to come up to the right standards, he’d told her, and she’d have to learn to deal with those in menial labor positions. They’d argued over that as well until he’d just shut her down by telling her she was too young and naïve to understand how the world worked. In business and politics, one had to assert themselves at all times. Eventually, he planned to go into politics, and he needed a wife trained to handle anything.
Most of this mess was her fault and she had to place the blame directly on her own shoulders. She had let Winston run her life when she’d been without direction. She still had no idea what she wanted to do, but it wasn’t marrying a man she wasn’t happy with. She was tense all the time and found she was getting headaches when she’d never been prone to them.
When had he changed? He’d been funny and attentive, listening to everything she said in the art gallery and on the plane. She’d thought they had so much in common, but once he’d actually managed to get her to go out with him, the changes had started. At first, they were subtle. He didn’t like a certain outfit, and would she mind changing? He didn’t like her boots, they made her look too young. Why would she wear that short denim jacket when she had some really beautiful jackets? She should have noticed sooner instead of trying to please him.
Winston was pacing across the long, wide floor as she entered. He looked up quickly as she closed the door, that flat, golden key clutched in her hand as if it were a good luck talisman. He skirted around the piano and rushed to her.
“I was so worried, Soleil. I must have texted you a hundred times. Come in and sit down, darling.” Not waiting for a reply, he took her wrist and pulled her across the room to the low-slung couch.
The couch was nearest the door and guest bathroom, but still too far into the enormous room for her to be entirely comfortable. The room made her feel as if it were going to swallow her whole. Still, she sat down, clutching the golden key to the elevator, feeling as if it would see her through the discussion she needed to have with him.
“I’ll get us both a drink and we can talk.”
Why did she hate the sound of his voice? He always said the right thing, but his tone was condescending, or, like now, when he tried to convey worry and sympathy, he sounded as if he were acting—and he wasn’t all that good of an actor. Still, a drink sounded good. She hadn’t eaten anything, but a drink might be just the thing to help her explain that she was going to call off their wedding for good.
“I don’t know why I lost my temper, but I really am sorry. I was so afraid I’d lose you and I reacted like a madman.”
He poured her a small glass of whiskey. She preferred whiskey, and she really needed it, especially as he was giving her his sweetest, most boyish look designed to make her feel bad for him.
“Here, darling, drink that and we’ll talk.”
He drank half the glass he’d poured for himself in one gulp, so without thinking, Soleil tossed back a good portion of the whiskey and nearly choked. Tears burned and for a moment her throat felt like it was on fire. She could barely catch her breath.
Winston regarded her over the top of his crystal glass, amusement on his face. He did that a lot—laughed at her. Not overtly, but definitely he found her amusing and not in a good way. It was as if she was so young and naïve, and he was worldly, and she couldn’t quite catch up. She supposed she deserved his estimation of her. It didn’t matter that she knew she could drink him under the table, she shouldn’t have tried to throw back half a glass.
“Winston, I—”
He held up his hand. “I know what you’re going to say. You’re such a sweet, compassionate woman and I know you’re going to just dismiss my bad behavior, but it was terrible, and I need to give you my word nothing like that will ever happen again. I feel sick about my behavior. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Over the course of the last couple of months, there had been numerous promises. She couldn’t even remember what they were, but thinking back, he’d never come through. She nodded and cautiously crossed the room to get a bottle of water. The whiskey was doing what she needed though, making her feel as if she could tell him what she needed to.
“Winston,” she began again after taking a soothing sip of water and reseating herself. “This isn’t going to work between us. I think you know that.”