Page 46 of All Bets Are Off
I read about the Venetian gondolas during my research for this trip, but ultimately ruled them out, because they seemed . . . Well, they seemed romantic. An activity for two.
“Please can I take you around the streets of Venice and then on a gondola ride, Hails?” Theo asks sweetly, his blue eyes bright with anticipation. “It would be the gentlemanly thing to do after that incredible fucking kiss last night.”
My gaze dips to the ground, trying to hide the way I blush at his words. It kind of was incredible, despite being so unexpected. In the moment, it just felt right to me.
“Paris and Venice all in the space of twenty-four hours? You’re spoiling me, Theodore.”
“So that’s a yes?”
I nod, letting my smile spread. “That’s a yes.”
Theo’s hand immediately finds its way back to mine and we head on inside the resort. He may be in swim shorts and a T-shirt, and I may be in a bikini top and jean shorts, but we aren’t that out of place. There are all sorts of people wearing all sorts of things wandering through the Venetian’s casino floor. It’s Vegas, after all. Anything goes.
Checking out these resorts is so much better than getting boozed up on liquor at a pool party. The theming is just so immersive, we’re instantly transported to a world of European charm. I tilt my head back to admire the stunning hand-painted frescoes on the high ceilings above us, and then exchange an appreciative glance with Theo. The commentary between us as we traverse the sprawling casino is, “Wow,” “Damn,” “Look at that!” and not much else.
We head up an escalator to the second floor that brings us out into the Grand Canal Shoppes, an upscale mall inside the hotel. It’s still so unfathomable to me, the size of these resorts. I’ve never seen anything like it in my entire life, and it pains me that the others are missing out on this. We follow signs (we’d get ourselves lost in here without them, honestly) for the gondolas and eventually find the launch station.
“We’d like a private one,” Theo tells the attendant working the ticket booth.
I skim over the pricing board and tug on his T-shirt. “Wait, Theo, that’s expensive. We can just do the shared one.”
“It’s not a date if we’re staring across the gondola at two random strangers,” he says, then sets his credit card down on the counter with a smile. “A private one, please.”
“Can I get us some food after this? You paid for the Eiffel Tower thing last night, too.”
“Because I’m trying to charm you, Hails. Keep up,” he says, taking our two tickets from the attendant.
It’s starting to feel like maybe I’m taking advantage of him. I’m enjoying all of these rare Vegas experiences at his expense, and they aren’t cheap. I want to contribute something, otherwise maybe this is actually a real date, and that makes my stomach churn with fear of the unknown. What could a date with Theodore Sinclair lead to? What if it leads to . . . nothing?
Oh gosh.
What if this is just one of those “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!”-type things? What if when we get back to Florida, it’ll be as though that kiss last night never happened? That would be humiliating, and I’d never be able to be in the same room as Theo ever again.
As we line up at the loading station, I eye him nervously.
A gondolier in a striped shirt and straw hat greets us at the end of the line and helps us step into the gondola, where Theo and I sit down side by side on cushioned seats. It feels intimate and romantic, and soon we are drifting gently down the shimmering waters of the canals as the gondolier works his oar through the water.
We glide through the Grand Canal Shoppes, alongside the cobblestone walkways and passing beneath stone bridges, and all of the boutiques and cafes are designed with Venetian flair and style. Above us, the false ceiling creates the illusion of blue skies and fluffy clouds, and for a brief moment in time, I truly feel like I’m in Venice.
The gondolier begins to sing. Something Italian and authentic. His voice echoes through the charming Venetian streets around us, and it takes me by surprise just how immersive and real it all feels rather than sickeningly theatrical.
“The only thing I don’t like,” Theo murmurs, leaning in closer, “is everyone watching.”
I laugh. Visitors to the Grand Canal Shoppes lean over bridges, snapping photos of us as we float by, because it’s not every day you see people being serenaded on a gondola in the middle of Las Vegas. I ignore the attention and angle my body slightly more toward Theo.
“This is incredible,” I say, and I really mean it, as we listen to the gondolier and embrace the experience. “I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to Italy, so this is the closest I’ll get to Venice.”
“When you’re a famous New York Times bestselling author and you’re jetting off to Europe on your book tour, I’m going to remind you of this exact conversation,” Theo says. His hand naturally falls to my knee, resting against my bare skin, and I try to focus on anything else.
“Ha, we’ll see,” I say with a smirk. “Are you coming with me to hold my purse with all my Sharpies?”
“I’ll happily quit my grueling work in construction to be your personal assistant.” Rubbing his free hand over his freshly shaven jaw, his gaze thoughtfully wanders off. “Yeah, that’s the plan. You’ll become famous, I’ll be a stay-at-home dad to our kids. I’ll take care of everything so you can live your author dream.”
I scoff and repeat, “Our kids? Let’s slow things down, Theodore.”
As our ten-minute journey through the canals of Venice draws to an end, the gondolier’s voice swells as he serenades us with a heartfelt, dramatic finale. When the gondola comes to rest at the station, he bids us farewell with a bow and an “Arrivederci!” I tip him generously, and Theo helps me step out of the gondola and back up onto the cobblestone walkway.
“What’s next on our tour of Vegas?” I ask.
