Page 2 of The Tourist

“Two shots of xtra Añejo tequila, please,” I order.

Even though this particular brand is expensive, we always drink it when we’re out.

The waiter lines our drinks up, and without a momentary pause, Serena takes the first shot down in one then sucks on a piece of lime.

“It’s so smooth,” Serena purrs as she pops the chewed lime into one of the empty glasses.

“It’s because the agave plants are grown in the fertile, rich soil of the Mexican highlands and lowlands.” I recite the facts she’s told me so many times before. “It’s the land your ancestors are from, and they always age their tequila for at least three years.”

Rolling her eyes, she waves at the waiter. “Another one just to shut her up,” she orders with a groan.

“Not for me, thank you. Maybe later.” I chuckle.

Serena leans into me, and we cuddle together on the plush leather sofa.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Chloe. I’ve missed you,” she tells me. “I know we talk every day, but it’s not the same. I was wondering about asking Diego if I could move to London for a while and maybe help some of the homeless people there. I know London has a big problem as well.”

“I would love that!” I exclaim excitedly, tucking a stray strand of my blonde hair behind my ear. “We could get an apartment together. I could move out of my parents’ house.”

I’m so sick of being told at twenty-four years old to clean my room and ensure my washing is put away.

“That’s a must, then. I’ll ask Diego to get us a place somewhere fashionable. Where are the best stores? We’ll need to live near them. Maybe I could find myself a handsome prince to marry. Where do they hang out in London?”

I know Serena isn’t joking about this. She would love to marry into the royal family. She’s always dreamed of being a princess.

“I think you’ll find they have even more security than you do. I don’t think you’ll get anywhere near them.”

She pouts at me. “What is it with the British royalty and Americans, anyway? At least I’m not a divorcee.”

I throw my head back and let out a booming laugh. The guard behind us shuffles forward to check that nothing is wrong with me.

I grab Serena’s hand. “Come on, let’s dance. We can hit the slot machines afterward. It feels like forever since I played on one.”

“You are such a geek. I don’t know how you can be bothered to spend hours and hours pulling on a lever when you never win anything.”

“I win the occasional dollar.” I pout sulkily.

We both get to our feet, but Henri, the head of the security detail, blocks our path.

“Where are you two going?” he asks, his voice stern and brows furrowed, as if we’re naughty schoolgirls who need to be supervised.

“We’re going to dance and then play on the slot machines. Ifthat’sall right withyou?” Serena responds with an eye roll.

Henri motions for a couple of guards, Joe and Sal, to accompany us.

“You two stay with the girls. Don’t let them out of your sight,” he instructs.

They both nod their acceptance of the assigned task and follow Serena and me as we make our way onto the dance floor. We lose ourselves in the music for the next half an hour, dancing madly to cheesy classics such as ‘Walk like an Egyptian’, ‘Barbie Girl’, and ‘Livin’ la Vida Loca’.

We perform all the moves and shout out the words in all the right places. We’ve always been crazy like this. It’s what drew us to each other on the first day of kindergarten. We performed ‘I’m a little teapot’ and were the only two who would do it. The rest, as they say, is history.

“I need to use the restroom,” Serena whispers in my ear at the end of ‘Macarena’.

I nod. “Let’s go.”

As the opening bars of ‘Dancing Queen’ start up, we make our way off the dance floor, and after telling our two male guards to wait outside, we head into the opulent restroom of the casino.

We use the facilities and then come out to wash our hands.

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