Page 3 of Dice & Dekes

“Boo.” Knova gives her a thumbs-down. “Party pooper.” She swivels toward me. “You’ll stay though, right? It’s not even midnight, and neither of us has to work in the morning.”

“I’ll stay,” I say.I’ll do anything for you.

“Good.” Knova reaches over to grab my arm. “That’s the only thing I don’t hate about you, Vik. I can always count on you for a party.”

The words shouldn’t sting. But they do.

I want her to count on me for more than shots and bad decisions. I want her to count on me when it matters—when things fall apart, when the world tilts sideways and everything feels like too much.

But I blew that once. Left her standing in a dress she probably spent months choosing, waiting for a boy who never showed. And our classmates laughed until graduation.

They should’ve mocked me. I’m the one who wrecked the fairytale before it ever got off the ground. When they should have been mockingme.

She doesn’t know why. She thinks I didn’t care.

Truth is, I cared too much. Still do.

And that one mistake that wasn’t even mine to begin with?

It’s been rewriting the entire story of us ever since.

I let her down one time, and that wasn’t my fault, although I can never tell her why—

* * *

—someone shoves a pen into my hand. “Sign here.”

“What?” I squint at the paper, then at the guy who spoke. He looks kind of familiar, but since my eyes aren’t interested in focusing, I can’t place him. I think he’s one of Dante’s guys who works for the hotel.

Knova elbows me in the ribcage, hard enough that it startles a grunt out of me. “You know how Dante is with the NDA shit. How many papers have you signed for him?”

“Oh.” I look from the paper back to the guy, who’s still waiting. “Dante wants me to sign this?”

“That’s what he said, Mr. Hale.”

I wrinkle my nose. Is this some kind of joke? My last name is Abbott. Knova and Knight are Hales. I open my mouth to argue, but I’m too drunk for this. If Dante wants me to sign another NDA, cool, I’m on board. He’s my boss, he practically owns me.

I don’t read it, because A) I can’t focus, and B) I never read the shit Dante asks me to sign. That’s why I have an agent, but it’s too late to consult him now. My boss is always worried about people suing him or making us sign some non-compete clause or other, and it’s always written in the least coherent legal jargon imaginable.

The vaguely familiar guy asks for our signatures a few more times. When we’re finished, he produces a bottle of champagne. “A drink for the happy couple!”

Knova laughs so hard that she has to grab my arm to keep herself upright. I have no idea what’s going on, but if Dante’s offering champagne, it’s not going to be some bottom-shelf crap, that’s for sure. I giggle along with Knova and accept the champagne flutes—

* * *

“—dumbest publicity stuntever,” Knova says.

She’s holding my hands. Both of them. When did that happen? To my right, an Elvis impersonator croons and gyrates his hips. To my left are about a hundred cameras.

We’re in a wine cellar. I think. We had to walk down a short flight of stairs. That part I remember. I think I’ve had this dream before, the one where I’m marrying Knova because she finally realized that I’m the perfect guy for her.

The Elvis, however, is new.

“Just say ‘I do,’” one of the people hanging around the camera says. Do I know him? Oh, yeah, it’s Pen Guy. The one who made us sign the NDAs.

Knova’s fingers tighten around mine. Her lip curls back. Shit, I’ve hadthisdream, too. The one where she realizes I’m not good enough for her and leaves me at the altar.

“Just to be clear. I’m doing this for Dante’s photo op,” she tells Pen Guy. “Because no way would I marry him in real life. No offense, Viktor, but I hate you.”

---