What Happens in Vegas

10. Illusions
and the odd revelation or two

Wednesday, 2:50PM

"Spill."

The long, deadly Flamingo-Pink manicure made contact with the side of the table, their owner's voice brooking no argument. Lizzie winced, opened her mouth – and then closed it as no words came out.

Tap.

Lizzie looked helplessly at Charlotte's unwavering gaze.

Tap.

Then glared at the sparkler on her ring finger – fuck the thing was nothing but trouble.

Tap.

"Okay!" Lizzie exclaimed, unable to bear the clicking of Charlotte's nails against her nightstand any longer. She threw her arms up in surrender. "Fine! I was stupid and tipsy and I married him, okay?"

Charlotte's almond-shaped eyes narrowed. "Married who?"

"Will."

"…Holy motherfucking shit."

It wasn't funny. Not at all. But when confronted with the stupefied gape exhibited so clearly on her best friend's face – an expression that perhaps conveyed the absurdity of the situation better than words ever could – Lizzie could not stop the self-deprecating twitch of her lips.

Then, the pink shape across from her flew into motion, jabbing her hard in the chest with surprising strength. "You. I cannot believe you didn't tell me. You married Will and didn't tell me."

Lizzie winced. "I should have. It was all so overwhelming – I felt like I needed time to deal with it alone – "

"So you went into your hibernating hamster mode on reflex."

She blinked.

"Hibernating hamster mode?"

"You know, that thing of yours where you find a problem and you curl inwards and try to deal alone while silently looking out with big adorable eyes for help." Seeing Lizzie open her mouth, Charlotte shook her head. "Don't deny it. Luckily for you, I'm here to play Robin to your Batman. Got your back, no questions asked."

At that, some of the tension spilled out of Lizzie's shoulders, a tightness she hadn't even noticed until it vanished. The urge to smile became a full-blown grin. "Come on. That you've got my back, I'll always believe – but no questions asked? Char, please. You were the queen of the grapevine in college – and somehow I don't think that's changed."

"Lizzie!"

Lizzie raised a brow, unmoved by Charlotte's dramatic – too dramatic – exclamation of hurt. The latter huffed.

"Fine. You win. So…how was the sex?"

"Good," Lizzie replied, coloring as she reached for two bottles of sparkling lemonade from the minibar. It was their trademark drink, from those summers when they were fifteen and at the pool, barred from alcohol but desperate to impress the hot lifeguards by sipping from a bottle like the adults did and not a can. Lizzie clung desperately to the memory to avoid thoughts of tangled limbs, heated skin, and the deep burn that pooled at the bottom of her stomach as his lips brushed the nape of her neck –

"...From your dreamy expression, it wasn't just good."

The color of her cheeks transitioned from a light flush to siren red as she yanked her mind out of the gutter. "We didn't go all the way. I don't think we did, at least."

"How can you not know?"

"A few too many," Lizzie muttered in the face of her friend's incredulous stare. "And, no, that does not make me a lightweight."

"'Course not. But…wow, Liz."

"What?"

"It's just…so unlike you. I could see myself getting drunk and married in Vegas – hell, I almost did it before – but brilliant let's-make-good-choices Lizzie Bennet? This guy must be something five million shades of special."

"It's – it's not like that," Lizzie said automatically. "Will and I – we don't have – I'm trying to persuade him to get a divorce."

Somehow, the word – one that she'd thought so many times, but hadn't said in the last day or two out loud – felt ugly and awkward on her tongue, leaving a bitter, sticky aftertaste like that of burnt cornmeal.

Her friend's jaw slackened. "A divorce? Why?"

"Charlotte, I barely know him. He's just the semi-neurotic best friend of my sister's fiancé who I had to choose napkin brands with. I don't know his favorite food, or about his sister, or anything, really, other than that we can have a really good time together when we're buzzed."

"It must have been more than a 'good time,'" Charlotte insisted, shaking her head. "Honestly, Lizzie – I love you – but you're not exactly the kind to let loose. You married him, drunk or not. You must have wanted it on some subconscious level."

Lizzie opened her mouth to protest – then closed it. Charlotte was right. It had been her idea, and it would be a blatant lie to pretend she hadn't enjoyed every second of that night.

"I did," she admitted quietly, "but Char, that's the problem. We only get along with alcohol present. That's not sustainable – the majority of my life doesn't look like a worry-free night in Vegas. I just – I don't want to get stuck in something that'll wind up all screwed up."

Charlotte's eyes softened. "Oh, honey. You don't know that it's going to be like that for sure."

"Maybe not for sure, but I can guess."

"Fine. Just – like you said yourself, you don't know him that well yet, okay? Maybe you should give the two of you a chance." Never one to stay serious for long, Charlotte shrugged nonchalantly, a teasing smile slipping onto her pixie-like face. "Besides, you can always divorce him later."

"If he'll even give me one."

"Is he very determined to stay with you?"

"I – I think so. Sometimes, the way he looks at me – " Lizzie bit her lip. "I'm just – "

"Just what?"

"I don't understand him!" Lizzie burst out. She flung her hands up in the air. "He should be thanking me for giving him a divorce and running for the hills! He's smart, he's sensible, he's the most goal-oriented man in the world – he organizes his cash by value, for God's sake – why the hell is he so hung up on some random girl he had a fling with while drunk off his ass?"

Her friend stared pityingly. "Oh, sweetie, you just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what? That he's trying to be responsible? That he's – " Lizzie paused, and when she spoke again, her voice dripped pure sarcasm. "Thoroughly, utterly, completely, in love with me? Tell me, Char, what is it?"

Charlotte shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Sex."

Lizzie choked.

"Sex," Charlotte repeated matter-of-factly, coils of springy black hair bouncing with each enthusiastic nod.

"…"

"Men are thinking about sex all the time, hun. So when you ask them how their day went, they're actually thinking about the sob story would inspire the best cheer-up fuck." Charlotte took another delicate sip of lemonade. "If you're telling them about the most recent amazing chick flick, they're thinking about that porno they found last week. If they compliment you on your yoga, they're wondering if you can really get your leg up there and why you haven't done it before. Like I said, sex."

"So Will…"

"Is thoroughly, utterly, completely in sex with you."

(Struck into speechlessness - what did one say in response to that? - Lizzie promptly buried her face in her hands.)

Wednesday, 8:00PM

Lizzie rushed towards the entrance, pushing her way through the sea of fellow visitors. She and Charlotte had gotten entirely absorbed in catching up, to the extent of losing all track of time – until Lizzie suddenly recalled that she had plans to catch that magic show that night.

"…Lizzie?"

"George!" she exclaimed, hurrying towards him. He grinned, one hand beckoning her towards the side entrance.

"VIP seats," he said smugly as she neared. "Firm privilege."

"Mmm. Seeing David Copperfield. Not too bad for office perks."

George came to a dead stop. "The top illusionist in the world only gets a 'not too bad'?"

"My firm gets tickets to the Cubs," Lizzy said archly, unable to suppress a smile of her own at his mock-offended glare.

"The Chicago Cubs?"

Lizzie's hands found her hips. "Is there something wrong with the Cubs?"

"Nothing," George said. The look he shot her was all innocence.

"Good."

"Except that the Ottoman Empire still existed the last time they won the Series."

"Excuse me?"

"And lollipops hadn't been invented."

"Hey," Lizzie retorted defensively, "don't bash on the Cubs. Age before beauty, pearls before swine, and spirit and character over trophies, always."

He chuckled as he held the door open for her. "Whatever you say. But it's not my fault they haven't been champs since women gained the right to vote in the United States."

"Hey!"

"What can I say? I'm a Sox fan for life."

"That would explain the lack of personality," Lizzie rejoined, amusement dancing in her dark eyes, "considering that Cellular Field has all the mien of a cardboard cutout. Seriously, though, I didn't realize you were a Chicago native."

"Not quite. I grew up right outside the city. Southern suburbs of Chicago. Here, our seats are this way." He grasped her arm and led her towards the second row. It was a prime location, but Lizzie was distracted by his casual touch: it seemed overly familiar, an action between dates rather than professionals. She frowned and gently eased herself out of his grasp.

Attempting to sidestep possible awkwardness as she id so, Lizzie asked him an inane question about the coming show. He launched into effusive description without further encouragement. George, she found, was an illusionist enthusiast. Waxing on about Copperfield's ability to weave impossible scenes for his audience brought a rapt interest to his eyes, a spark of passion that illuminated his entire face. Lizzie couldn't help but smile a little as she listened.

Beep. Her phone vibrated. She peeked at it and frowned.

"Sorry, got to take this – my boss," she apologized, finger touching the green button as she rose to slip out of the theater to a more secluded place to make her call. "Hi Marie, it's Lizzie. How are you?"

"Well," came the short reply before launching straight into business. "The new client you brought in – DeWitt Motors – is concerned about a female employee whose position was recently terminated. Mr. DeWitt would like to speak with you as soon as possible."

"Sure. I can't make it to the office, but I'll call tomorrow morning."

"That's fine. Have a good evening." The line clicked shut.

Lizzie let her arm fall to her side. Her rising irritation proved impossible to quell. She was on break for the first time in two years, for God's sake, and she still had clients making her run in circles.

Besides, she handled mergers and acquisitions for Tom, not employment. This case didn't even sound like it was within her niche.

The device buzzed again. She stared at it blankly, then shook her head as she checked the text. It was from Charlotte: saw Will. mex diner next to hotel – need u here ASAP. where r u?

Lizzie's eyebrows rose to her hairline.

Can't, at MGM show, her thumbs tapped out. She hesitated for a second before her curiosity got the best of her. Why?

No sooner had she sent it off did another message pop up. Getting cozy w/ some blonde – g2g think he saw me ttyl.

Lizzie blinked. She must have made a mistake when converting the individual black letters to words. She read it again.

She hadn't.

There was a faint sting in her chest. Suddenly, she felt very, very hot in the glaring lights of the theater.

He could at least wait until they filed their papers to hook up with other women. It was only basic courtesy – technically, they were still married. Her grip tightened on her phone until the screen was in danger of cracking. But no, of course Will I-will-do-it-my-way-or-no-way Darcy wouldn't bother. Even if he'd been hinting that he wanted them to give it a chance this morning – and she'd been sure he was – but maybe he wasn't. Maybe he'd recognized how insane this whole affair was. Maybe he was moving on.

That's what you wanted, she reminded herself, taking a deep breath to calm herself. It wasn't working. You're being unreasonable – you have no hold on him. It's none of your business.

After mentally repeating the lines twelve times, the urge to hurl the nearest vase at the antique paneling had mostly faded.

She would not let this affect her. It was ridiculous – one message about a man she barely knew could not possibly incite these emotions.

Inhaling deeply, she noticed the changing music, rapid cadenzas and spiraling phrases, sounding faintly through the walls. The show had likely started. Somewhere in the darkness that the entrance revealed, George was waiting for her.

Lizzie straightened and headed back into the theater.

Wednesday, 10:36PM

"That was fantastic," George gushed as he walked her out. Lizzie forced a smile. While she hadn't found the presentation objectionable – in actuality, it was quite well done – she had been unable to concentrate. "Did you see how he was flying? How did he do it? Not strings – but it had to be – "

"Amazing," she interrupted, unwilling to carry on for longer than necessary. Goosebumps formed on her pale skin as the night air blasted into her as they passed the glass doors. Lizzie shivered and crossed her arms. Stupid, she chastised herself for not wearing a jacket."Thanks for taking me, George. I really appreciate it."

His answering smile was dazzling. Lizzie's heart thudded slightly faster in her chest. "My pleasure."

Luckily, a cab came for her right at that moment. She slid into the backseat without further ado, waving goodbye to George as she did so.

She spent the remainder of the ride trying not to think of Will.

A/N: As always, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! I'm terribly sorry for the update lag. I've been a little stuck on this story, but I promise not to give up on it - updates are coming. I also apologize for the lack of Will in this chapter, but rest assured, he will be in the next one.

And, of course, a shameless plug: I started writing a heavier Regency fic as a short character exercise, and it took on a life of its own. Check out Tempest if you're interested :)

Finally, please drop by with a review! Even if I don't have the time to respond to each one, I do read them all and they mean the world to me. Thanks for your support!

-Saelia