Page 65 of Endless Love

The driver pulls up in front of the Wynn, and Ivan hands him a thick wad of cash. Far more than I think the trip warranted, butit’s definitely enough that I bet the driver will forget that he saw us.

I grab the plastic bags, staring up at the huge, curving facade of the casino. I feel a flush of embarrassment at the idea of walking into this ritzy place carrying two Walmart bags, but I forget all about it the moment we step inside.

It’s like no hotel I’ve ever been to. The entrance almost reminds me of a wedding aisle, slick white marble fringed with arches of trees wrapped in ropes of lights, huge, brightly colored balls the size of beach balls hanging from the top branches, also webbed with lights. There’s potted greenery and flowers everywhere, filling the lobby with a thick floral scent as Ivan leads me up to the marble-topped check-in, where I hang back slightly as he gets us a room. I see a bar over to one side, all red with black chairs and glass-topped tables, and I wonder if we could walk over there for a drink with a kind of longing that I know is me yearning for the life I had before this.

A life I’m never going to get back, at least not the way it was.

Two arched staircases lead up to the second floor. Ivan motions towards them, glancing at me, and I follow as he takes the keycards from the receptionist.

“Elevators can be dangerous,” he says quietly, under his breath, as we walk towards the stairs. “Someone can catch us at a stop, get on, and we’re trapped in there with them. This is more open. A little safer.”

My leg muscles, still sore from the wreck, aren’t thrilled at the idea of climbing stairs, but I don’t argue. I distract myself instead by looking around as we walk up, taking in the luxurious, opulent surroundings. We walk past shops and through the main casino floor, the chime of slot machines filling the air. There’s a haze of smoke, too, which surprises me—I’ve never been anywhere that it was possible to smoke inside before.

Ivan guides me through the casino floor to a set of elevators. “These require a keycard to access,” he explains, as he swipes ours. “Safer. They’ll take us to one of the high-roller suites, which are the most secure in the casino. We’ll be safer there than anywhere else.”

Based on the fact that there’s armed security on the floor that we get off on, waiting for Ivan to show his keycard, I believe him. He flashes it, leading me down the hall to a door, where he holds the card up again, and a light flashes green. When he opens the door, we’re in a room that’s like nothing I’ve ever been in before.

“Welcome to one of the high-roller suites in Vegas,” Ivan says with a grin as he steps inside. “Back in the lap of luxury.”

28

CHARLOTTE

It takes me a minute to fully absorb just how beautiful the room that we’re in is. My feet squish into the thick carpet, and I take a few steps forward, looking around. The suite is the size of my apartment back in Chicago, complete with a separate ‘living room’ sort of area, with leather couches and a glass-topped table, lined with gold edging. There’s a mahogany wet bar, a huge television sunken into one wall, and three of the walls in the living area are glass, overlooking the city. It’s breathtaking now, and I can only imagine how beautiful it must look at night.

I try not to look at the king-sized bed that takes up most of the adjoining space, set in the center of that room against one wall. It looks huge and comfortable and soft, and all I can think about is the fact that Ivan will likely be sleeping in it next to me. It’s big enough that we could probably pass an entire night without ever accidentally touching each other, but that doesn’t matter. It’ll be torment for both of us, all the same.

“Why don’t you take a shower?” Ivan suggests. “I’ll go down to one of the stores and get us something to change into. We can shop for more later. But for now, it’ll feel good to clean up.”

I’m tempted to argue, if only because I want to explore. But the thought of a hot, luxurious shower is tempting, and I nod, glancing at the bathroom.

“Okay.”

Ivan smiles. “I’ll be back before too long. If anyone knocks on the door,” he adds, his expression turning serious once again, “don’t open it. I have a keycard. I’ll let myself in. Don’t open up for anyone, no matter what they say.”

“I won’t,” I promise.

After days and days of shitty motels, the bathroom is so luxurious that it makes me want to cry. I kick my shoes off before I walk in, curling my toes against the cold marble floor as I look around. There’s a huge soaking tub, a separate shower that takes up all of one wall, and a long dual-sink counter that has a gilded tray with a number of different toiletries on it. I unscrew the top of the shower gel, and let out a sigh as I smell apple blossoms and honey.

I don’t know whether to take a shower or a bath first. I figure I should start with the shower, so I turn the taps on as hot as I can stand, stepping under the multiple showerheads and letting out a moan as soon as the hot spray hits me. Sex with Ivan is the best thing I’ve ever felt—my emotions about what he’s done aside, but this shower is coming in a very close second.

I stand under the shower until I lose track of time, just soaking in the heat. The water washes away days of grime and tension, and I can feel my muscles slowly unknotting, the stress melting away. I reach for the shampoo bottle, some kind of luxury brand that I bet Jaz would recognize, and lather it up in my hands, breathing in the sweet scent as I massage it into my scalp. I let out another moan, the sensation so pleasurable that I lean into the wall for a moment, soaking up the exhilaration of being clean and scrubbed.

It’s almost intoxicating, how good it feels. I’m starting to feel like a person again, and the luxury of all of this is in stark contrast to the danger we’ve been running from for days on end. A not insignificant part of me wishes we could just stay here, that this luxurious space could be our sanctuary, and we could hide away forever.

And how would that go?I think as I rinse off. None of this changes what Ivan did. None of it changes the fact that he hurt me, that he lied, that my life has been upended because of him. All of the things he’s done to try to make it up to me—theycan’t, because there’s no making up for something like that.

Right?

I shut off the water with some regret, stepping out and wrapping a plush towel around myself, sighing at yet another simple pleasure that I’d forgotten. The mirror has fogged over, and I step up to the counter, wiping my hand in a small circle over the glass. My reflection stares back at me—thinner than the last time I looked, tired, with dark circles under my eyes. I look like I need to sleep for a week.

I hear the door open and jump a little, pressing my hand against my mouth to stifle the yelp that slips out. “It’s just me,” I hear Ivan call from the room just outside, and I bite my lip, embarrassed that I’m so jumpy.

I wrap the towel more tightly around myself, suddenly very aware of how exposed I feel, even with the towel covering me. My heart races as I hear Ivan’s footsteps in the other room, along with the rustling sound of bags. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.

It’s just Ivan. It’s not as if we’ve never seen each other naked before. But somehow, in the luxury of this room, with the privacy and the sudden time that we have available to us, it feels different.

“I got us some clothes,” Ivan calls through the door. “I’ll leave them on the bed. Take your time, there’s no rush.”

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