Monster in His Eyes(41)

"Always will, boss," the guy across from us says. Boss. The word sticks  out like a flashing neon sign in the darkness. "As long as Vitale's  around to make sure of it, anyway."

I feel Naz tense, his body turning to stone, his arm around me suddenly  boulder heavy. I glance at him again, seeing he's glaring at the man who  just spoke. Everyone else seems to notice it, too. A few cleared  throats and some awkward silent seconds later, the conversation veers  back away from us.

Naz still glares, though.

He doesn't relax.

I don't know what the man meant by what he said, how Naz effects  Raymond's reputation, but it's clear that Naz didn't like it a bit.

It's a five-hour flight-five long, stuffy hours, as I obsessively look  at Naz's watch, counting the minutes. It isn't until we land that I even  find out where we're going. I ask Naz a few times but he merely shrugs,  leaving me in the dark, until the wheels of the plane touch down again.  Naz's arm is still around me, still just as heavy …  he hasn't spoken in a  while. The others excitedly chatter about this and that, as Naz pulls  me tighter to him. "Welcome to Las Vegas."

I turn my head to face him, raising my eyebrows with surprise. "Vegas?"

He nods.

"What are we doing here?"

"What else do you do in Sin City?" he asks. Before I can respond, his  hand comes up and grasps my chin, holding me there as he leans down. The  tip of his nose brushes against mine before he tilts his head and  kisses me-softly, sweetly, barely touching my lips, as he whispers,  "sin."

I'm blushing from his public display of affection, but no one notices.  They're intentionally not noticing, from the way everyone avoids even  making eye contact with Naz now. It reminds me of the fundraiser, how  even when crammed in with so many others, Naz has a bubble surrounding  him.

He's his own universe.

There are limos anticipating our arrival. I step off of the plane and  stand on the tarmac, my body stiff and head foggy from being up in the  air all afternoon. The sun is just now going down here, bathing the sky  in an orange glow, casting everything around us in shadows. It's warm,  almost stiflingly so, but still I shiver when Naz pauses behind me, his  hand resting on my hip. People flow around us like we're rocks in a  rushing river, unloading bags and taking them to the awaiting cars.

I'm not surprised when Raymond pauses beside us. He seems to be drawn in  our direction, his body language nonchalant, but his voice is serious  when he speaks. "Don't do it."

My brow furrows. I glance at him, seeing he's staring straight ahead, like he hadn't spoken at all.

Naz's hand on my hip tightens. "I won't …  for now."

"That's all I ask," Raymond says.

Their conversation makes no sense to me, over just as quickly as it  started, as Raymond strolls away to where the blonde he's with waits. I  watch as my bag and dress are placed in the last car in line, along with  Naz's luggage. As soon as the trunk is closed, everything situated, the  driver opens the back door to the limo.

Naz gently pushes me. "Come on, sweetheart."                       
       
           



       

I don't resist, walking over and getting in. It's just as pristine as  the last one we rode in, impeccably clean, the smell of leather fresh,  like no one has ever stepped foot inside of it before, like no one has  breathed this air or sat on these seats. Naz slides in beside me and the  driver shuts the door, climbing in up front to drive away once the  others clear out.

I turn to Naz curiously. "Don't do what?"

He raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"Raymond told you not to do something."

"What?"

"That's what I'm asking you."

He stares at me for a moment as we start to drive, like he's  contemplating an answer. Shrugging, he looks away. "It doesn't matter.  I'm not going to do it."

"For now?"

His lips curve into an involuntary smile. "For now."

"Will you tell me if you do it?"

"Do you want me to?"

I hesitate. His question is matter-of-fact, and I'm not sure what to  say. My instinct is to say yes, of course, but do I really? Something  tells me some things are probably better left unknown. "I'm not sure."

His nod is the only response I get.

I've never been to Vegas before, never even thought I'd have the chance.  It's surreal, as I stare out the window, watching as the lights of the  city come into view. The sky is darkening, the sun fading more and more  every second, but the streets show no sign of slowing down. If anything  it seems like the world is just now coming to life, lights flashing as  people swarm the streets.

The limo drives past hotels, names I recognize-Venetian, Caesar's  Palace, Flamingo, and the Bellagio-before pulling straight up to the MGM  Grand. I stare up at the hotel with wide eyes, the vast building  glowing green, the name burning bright yellow in the darkness. I gape at  it as I climb out of the limo. I feel like I've stepped into another  world.

Naz gets out, pausing beside me. He looks less than impressed, like this  is just another place on the map, a stop along the road of life, but to  me it's life altering. Someone carries our bags as we're ushered  straight through a remote entrance, Naz's hand pressed to my back again,  leading me, but not letting me fall behind. The private lobby we're  taken to is elegant, secluded away from the main entrance, the sort of  place I expect Naz to stay-cool on the surface, relaxed, while a world  of turmoil exists just a few steps away.

It moves like the speed of light around me. We're led away from the  lobby, to the elevators, where the man carrying our luggage presses the  button for the very top floor.

The penthouses.

A man-a butler, it turns out-accompanies us upstairs and opens the door  to our suite. As soon as I go inside, my eyes widen. The vast space in  front of me is unlike anything I've ever seen before. I look around in  shock as Naz converses with the man by the door.

The suite rivals even Naz's house in style. There's a dining room, a  little kitchen, a living room, and even a space with a pool table. The  black and white checkered floor stands out against the dim brown and  yellowish tones of everything else as I trudge along, footsteps  faltering when I come upon the wall of glass. I peer out, stunned to see  there's a pool up here.

The butler departs when Naz refuses a guided tour, leaving us alone. I  turn to Naz, leaning back against the cool glass and peering at him as  he strolls forward, taking off his coat. "Like it?"

"Like it? It's amazing."

"It's nice," he agrees, hanging his coat on the back of a chair. "The upstairs is even nicer."

I gape at him. "Upstairs?"

"Of course," he says, motioning toward a set of stairs off the side. "Where do you think the bedroom is?"

I don't wait for him to say anything else, flying right by him and up  the two sets of stairs. I pause when I reach the top, gasping so loud  Naz hears me downstairs, based on the sound of his laughter.

"Told you," he calls out.

The upstairs is elegant, with two bedrooms and the largest bathroom I've  ever seen. I could drown in the massive tub, the shower an immense  glass box that's damn near as big as the dorm room back at NYU. I step  inside of it, spinning in circles, completely baffled. I can see the  lights of the city through the windows from the shower, can see down to  the landing leading to the first floor.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Naz is in the master bedroom, shifting  through his things. I pause in the doorway, shaking my head. "Who else  is staying here?"

"Nobody," he says. "Just us."

"There are three freaking beds. Why do we need three beds?"

"We don't," he says, cutting his eyes at me. "We might try them all out before the weekend's through, though."

I smile. I like that plan.                       
       
           



       

He's pulling clothes out and hanging them up in the closet, putting  things where they go like he's moving in. I leave everything in my bags,  not even sure what I packed, but I'm certain it's not worthy of hanging  in a closet of that caliber. He glances at me as I pick up a little  binder from the bedside stand and flip through it. Room service.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah, a little." I can't remember the last time I ate. "Can we order something?"

"We can," he says, "but how about we go out somewhere instead?"

"Where?"

"Wherever you want to go." He finishes what he's doing as his phone  starts ringing. He pulls it out, barely glancing at the screen before  answering stoically, the conversation short and full of nothing more  than 'yes' and 'no's. Hanging up, he slips it back away and turns to me.  "I need to run an errand …  won't take more than a few minutes. Why don't  you shower and change, and we'll hit the city?"