Page 35 of The Ruin
She crosses her arms and pointedly turns her head away from me, flashing all the attitude she can muster even with a huge pair of sunglasses disguising her expression. I hate to judge, but she looks like hell. Last night’s makeup is still visible on her sallow skin, and she’s in a ratty tank top and sweatpants, giving me the impression that she literally just rolled out of bed. Honestly, I feel bad for her.
“Late night?” I ask gently.
“You don’t want to know.”
This is not how I imagined our confrontation playing out. Here I am, fresh as a daisy and glowing, while my nemesis is slouching sullenly and looking like something the cat dragged in. It makes me feel a little braver that she’s not ignoring me or spitting insults my way per usual.
I clear my throat and say, “You know, I probably should have told you this earlier, but congratulations on the campaign. You really earned it, and I know it’s going to be great.”
Monica says nothing for a moment, and then smirks. “Wow. I almost believe you.”
The line is moving again, and there’s a couple in front of me ordering their eggs now. Time is running out to make peace with Monica, and I don’t want to leave things like this.
“Look,” I say, “I get where you’re coming from. And yeah, I was really upset at first. I wanted the traction that Maxilene would give my career. I wanted to be the most valuable asset at Danica Rose for my husband. But having to spend all that time away from him, and being forced to play the sex kitten for the entire campaign? I actually don’t want that. I’ve started to realize that a life on the road is only fun if you don’t have someone waiting for you at home.”
Before she can respond, Luka walks up behind me, wrapping his free arm around my shoulders and kissing the side of my face. “I can’t wait to get home,” he says. I can feel the huge grin lighting up my face. “Rough night?” he asks Monica.
A booming voice calls out, “Miss? What can I get you?”
I ask the chef to please make me an order of eggs benedict with tomato instead of ham and sliced avocado on the side. When I turn back to Luka and Monica, she’s already gone.
There was a time I would have been offended by her disdain, her constant dismissal of me. But now that I’ve decided to make peace with her, what I feel most is pity. Despite her looks, fame, and money, at the end of the day, she’s all alone. Whatever she’s hungry for in life, I genuinely want her to get it. As long as it’s not my husband.
“Where’d she go?” I ask.
“Smoothie bar.” Luka gestures in the direction Monica must have gone and bobs his fork. “Hair and makeup are going to have a hell of time getting her ready for the shoot today.”
“I’m sure she’ll look fabulous,” I say, and I mean it. That woman can’t take a bad photograph if she tries, and a good concealer and soft lighting can do wonders.
“Order up!” the omelet chef announces.
Flashing him a grateful smile, I scoop up my plate and head back to the table with Luka. We’re both in ecstasy over the shrimp and grits, the coffee is excellent, and my eggs benedict might be the best I’ve ever had. When Luka’s watch goes off, we know it’s time to get going.
With his call time approaching for the Maxilene shoot, we head back upstairs to pack up the room. It doesn’t take long to stack our bags at the door, and then Luka calls the bell desk and asks them to send a porter up. We’ll collect the bags later, when we check out after the shoot.
Luka strolls over to the windows and looks out at the view of the Vegas strip below. During the day, it’s a totally different vibe. Almost like a kitschy theme park, rather than a glittering city built for gambling, partying, and booze.
“Let’s play hooky,” he says, turning toward me.
“Are you serious?” I’m a bit taken aback.
This is very unlike my husband. He’s not the type to call out of work. For anything.
“I’ve been here half a week and I’ve had nothing but tedious fourteen-hour days standing around at shoots, and then I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow. Let’s see the sights.”
I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his neck, searching his gaze as his own arms go tight around my waist.
“What’s going on between us?” I ask quietly.
“I’m not sure.” He takes a moment before speaking again. “But I’d like to find out.”
With that, he lowers his head to press a kiss to my lips. It’s soft, searching, but still searing hot. When we finally part, I nod. “Let’s go.”
“Yes!” Luka shouts, sounding almost like a kid.
Before we embark on our Super Fun Vegas Romp, Luka calls in sick from the shoot, blaming the pile of seafood he scarfed down at the buffet this morning. Then we’re off, grabbing tacky tourist sunglasses and iced coffees from the shop in the lobby before heading out for a stroll down Las Vegas Blvd. The desert heat has us ducking into a casino soon enough, and once we recover from the blast of icy air conditioning, we make a beeline for the dealer tables.
“I’ve always wanted to do this, but I’m no good at cards,” I confess to Luka.
