You have a few drinks, you sit in his lap, you let his hand wander, and you slap it back. He has to ache for you and believe there is only one way to have you. If he doesn’t want you enough, if he believes he can get you another way, it’s all over. You’ve lost.
When the plane lands and he asks if the two of you should book a room at the Sands, you must demur. You must be shocked. You must tell him, in a voice that makes it clear you assumed he already knew, that you don’t have sex outside of marriage.
You must seem both steadfast and heartbroken about this. He must think, She wants me. And the only way we can make it happen is to get married.
For a moment, you consider the idea that what you’re doing is unkind. But then you remember that this man is going to bed you and then divorce you once he’s gotten what he wants. So no one is a saint here.
You’re going to give him what he’s asking for. So it’s a fair trade.
You go to the craps table and play a couple of rounds. You keep losing at first, as does he, and you worry that this is sobering both of you. You know the key to impulsivity is believing you are invincible. No one goes around throwing caution to the wind unless the wind is blowing their way.
You drink champagne, because it makes everything seem celebratory. It makes tonight seem like an event.
When people recognize the two of you, you happily agree to get your picture taken with them. Every time it happens, you hang on to him. You are telling him, in no small way, This is what it could be like if I belonged to you.
You hit a winning streak at the roulette table. You cheer so ebulliently that you jump up and down. You do this because you know where his eyes are going to go. You let him catch you catching him.
You let him put his hand on your ass as the wheel spins again.
This time, when you win, you push your ass against him.
You let him lean into you and say, “Do you want to get out of here?”
You say, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t trust myself with you.”
You cannot bring up marriage first. You already said the word earlier. You have to wait for him to say it. He said it in the papers. He will say it again. But you have to wait. You cannot rush it.
He has one more drink.
The two of you win three more times.
You let his hand graze your upper thigh, and then you push it away. It is two A.M., and you are tired. You miss the love of your life. You want to go home. You would rather be with her, in bed, hearing the light buzz of her snoring, watching her sleep, than be here. There is nothing about here that you love.
Except what being here will afford you.
You imagine a world where the two of you can go out to dinner together on a Saturday night and no one thinks twice about it. It makes you want to cry, the simplicity of it, the smallness of it. You have worked so hard for a life so grand. And now all you want are the smallest freedoms. The daily peace of loving plainly.
Tonight feels like both a small and a high price to pay for that life.
“Baby, I can’t take it,” he says. “I have to be with you. I have to see you. I have to love you.”
This is your chance. You have a fish on the line, and you have to gently reel him in.
“Oh, Mick,” you say. “We can’t.
We can’t.”
“I think I love you, baby,” he says. There are tears in his eyes, and you realize he’s probably more complex than you have given him credit for.
You’re more complex than he’s given you credit for, too.
“Do you mean it?” you ask him, as if you desperately hope it’s true.
“I think I do, baby. I do. I love everything about you. We only just met, but I feel like I can’t live without you.” What he means is that he thinks he can’t live without screwing you. And that, you believe.
“Oh, Mick,” you say, and then you say nothing more. Silence is your best friend.
He nuzzles your neck. It’s sloppy, and it feels akin to meeting a Newfoundland. But you pretend you love it. You two are in the bright lights of a Vegas casino. People can see you. You have to pretend that you do not notice them. That way, tomorrow, when they talk to the papers, they will say that the two of you were carrying on like a couple of teenagers.