His 7-Day Fianc?e
Шрифт:
“Yes, I know, but—”
“But nothing. That dress is fabulous—although I still say you should have lost that ugly purse. Now, come on,” she continued when Amanda opened her mouth to defend the huge, battered bag. “Lighten up. This is your lucky night out, remember?”
“Luck. Right.” She latched on to Kendall’s arm, turned toward the arched entrance to the famed Janus casino. “But walk slowly. I’m not used to these skyscraper heels.”
“You’re not used to having fun. Which is exactly why we’re here. You’re going to let loose for once—gamble, meet some hot men, have a ball.”
Amanda grimaced. She had no intention of meeting men, hot or otherwise. She knew her limits too well. But Kendall was determined to light up the town, and the least she could do was try.
“Wait until you see this lobby,” Kendall added as they walked by a gleaming Bentley, then climbed the marble steps. “You’re going to love it. It’s right up your alley.”
“My alley? Since when is gambling my thing?” She’d never placed a bet in her life.
“You’ll see.” The uniformed doorman swung the door open, and Kendall shot Amanda a knowing smile.
Amanda dutifully followed her inside. She gave herself a mental pep talk, tried to resist that constant urge to scan the crowds and monitor her surroundings for Wayne—a habit born of the need to survive. But she didn’t need to worry about Wayne anymore. And she was not going to let him ruin this night.
She stepped past the doorway into the lobby, looked up and abruptly stopped. A huge, vaulted ceiling soared above her. Beneath it towered an enormous stone aqueduct, its trilevel arcades a marvel of ancient times.
“Oh, my,” she murmured, and every thought of Wayne fled her mind. Captivated, she twirled in a circle, ignoring the people streaming around her, intent on absorbing every detail—the statues of Roman emperors, the decorative medallions and columns, the chariot perched on a marble dais.
“I told you,” Kendall said while Amanda still gaped, trying to take it all in.
“You were right.” This place was amazing. Fabulous. She felt as if she’d been dropped into ancient Rome.
Her gaze lingered on the colorful murals, the display of early black-glazed pottery, and the closet archaeologist in her thrilled. Whoever designed this place deserved an award. She couldn’t believe how authentic it looked.
A woman brushed past, jostling her, and Amanda staggered to stay on her feet. She knew that she needed to move, that she was blocking the entrance, but she couldn’t seem to budge. She wanted to absorb every-thing—the gurgling fountains, the flickering torches on the walls, the lions pacing restlessly behind glass. Lions. She shook her head, incredulous. This place was unreal.
Then her eyes settled on a plaster relief of Janus, and the tight ball knotting her belly began to slide loose. Janus, the Roman god of doorways and gates, endings and beginnings—the perfect symbol for her new life.
And for the first time in ages a sliver of optimism surged inside her, a longburied glimmer of hope. She really was going to be all right here. She’d find a new job. Her daughter would thrive. She’d finally find the peace she deserved.
She smiled then, inhaling the soothing scent of moisture from the splashing fountains, the heavenly aroma of roses and gladioli brimming from urns. Still smiling, she turned to join her sister. The tang of a man’s aftershave teased her nose.
Wayne’s aftershave.
Her heart tripped. She stumbled, anxiety drumming through her. She glanced around, frantic to find the source of the scent, but a crowd formed around her, blocking her view.
Calm. Stay calm, she urged herself sternly. Wayne wasn’t here. This had nothing to do with him.
She hauled in air, struggled to swallow around the tension gripping her throat, determined not to overreact. She stepped to the side, tried to work her way through the noisy throng to find where her sister had gone. But the people shifted and trapped her in.
“Get out of my way,” a man in a white shirt shouted beside her, and his rough, raised voice agitated her nerves.
“The hell I will,” another man answered.
Amanda glanced up, caught the first man’s glowering face and took another step back. They were too close. Too close. Trying to beat back the onrush of panic, she cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”
They ignored her. Her anxiety building, she prodded the nearest man with her elbow, intent on getting past. But another whiff of aftershave curled through her senses, and her heart made a frenzied throb.
Stop it, she lectured herself. She had no reason to be afraid. This man had nothing to do with Wayne.
And these people were not going to hurt her. She had to get over the irrational fear, this wrenching need to escape.
She pivoted, wobbled on her too-high heels, determined to get free of this mess. But then a fistfight broke out. Someone shoved. The white-shirted man pushed back, sending the beefy man into her side. Thrown off balance, she gasped, dropped her purse, and nearly fell. The contents of her handbag spilled over the floor.
Great.
Her hands trembling, urgency making her head light, she knelt, scooped up her cell phone and keys. The man in the white shirt squatted beside her. “Sorry,” he muttered, his voice gruff. His aftershave assailed her, setting off a spurt of panic, unleashing a bone-deep reaction she couldn’t control.
“Just leave it. Please. It doesn’t matter,” she pleaded, needing him to move far away. But he snatched up her wallet and tissues with his thick, stubby fingers, and stuffed them into her bag. Desperate now, unable to meet his eyes, she grabbed her purse, clutched it to her chest and rose.