The Perfect Girlfriend(51)

‘I’ve got a confession,’ I say, taking a sip, not quite meeting his eyes.

‘Go on,’ he says.

I look up. Since my experience with Katie I’ve done more research into drugs, and the poison is in the dose. It can take up to half an hour for Rohypnol to kick in, but I now have to monitor his alcohol intake, otherwise this can all go horribly wrong. I feel as responsible as an anaesthetist.

‘Jackson’s coming back shortly. I asked him to take us on a tour. I thought it would be fun to sightsee in comfort. I’m having such a good time, I don’t want this evening to end. I’ve got a four-day Riyadh after this, which means no gym, no pool, probably no socializing – apart from in a curtained-off family area in a coffee shop, from what I’ve heard – and apparently I’ll be stuck in my room with only the BBC World Service for company.’

‘It’s not too bad there; they have other channels.’ He grins. ‘But you’re right about this evening, and I’m having a great time too,’ he says. ‘Let’s go for it.’

I take his response as a sign that he’s up for anything as I watch him sip his drink. I don’t finish mine, as I need to stay in complete control.

‘Can we take the longest possible route, please?’ I say to Jackson as we leave the gold and the brightness of the Venetian behind us.

‘Sure.’

Our champagne bottle has been refreshed; a new one is in its place. Nate doesn’t seem to notice. The surreality of it all is mesmerizing; even I feel a heightened sense of excitement and anticipation. I sit closer to him and point out a tall tower.

‘The Stratosphere Tower,’ he says.

Our thighs touch.

Nate turns to look at me.

I put down my glass, ease his from his hand and place it in the side holder, then I lean towards him.

We kiss.

It is like the first time, only better and even more dream-like, because I’ve wanted this for so long that every single second I’ve been in pain now seems blotted out. The overwhelming smell of his aftershave is intoxicating and I feel giddy.

The limo stops. I pull away from him. I need to get my words right, but all the things I need to say are jumbled up in my mind. I look outside. Relief swamps me. We’re only at some traffic lights, so we’re not there yet. The car moves forward. I am disorientated, I’ve no idea how long we have left until we arrive at our first destination. I hope I didn’t accidentally drug myself. I think back. No, I definitely swapped our drinks around.

Facing Nate, I say, ‘I’ve had an idea. It’s a bit mad, but hear me out.’

‘You’ve arranged a bungee jump off a skyscraper.’

‘Not quite.’

His breathing is heavy, his face is flushed. His eyes are bright. I’ve only ever seen Nate properly drunk a few times and it’s usually been after nights out with his uni mates. He stares at me as though ready to listen. He doesn’t quite look himself, he’s smiling but seems a bit vacant. Nicely compliant. I could tell him anything right now, or do anything at all, and I suspect he’d be none the wiser.

‘Part of this tour is of the Little White Chapel. It’s got a drive-through “Tunnel of Love”. Let’s go all out for the total Vegas experience.’

‘Get married?’

‘Well, yeah. People must get carried away all the time so they must have some sort of cooling-off period or . . .’ I struggle to think of the right word. ‘Safeguards,’ I blurt out. ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Don’t a lot of your colleagues say that? You told me that once.’

‘It’s just a saying.’ He goes quiet.

I give what I hope is an understanding smile before I lean over and speak to Jackson via the intercom. ‘Can we have some music, please?’

‘Sure. What kind?’

‘You choose. Something uplifting. And loud.’

He obliges, not only with the music but by dazzling us with disco lights.

We both burst out laughing and clink glasses again.

‘Probably best to cool it,’ I say as he takes a sip. ‘We’ve drunk quite a lot this evening.’

Nate grins, as though nothing in his life will ever trouble him again. The night-time traffic is slow as we creep along. Nate’s grin becomes soppier. He tries to kiss me, but his mouth lands on my cheek. He then asks Jackson for ‘something different’. I assume it’s going to be something romantic, but he suggests Guns N’ Roses. As he mimes along to ‘Paradise City’ – thank God, without any air guitar actions – I do my best to hide my agitation. I know he’s not himself, and that’s kind of the point, but he’s not taking this seriously enough.

We stop. Jackson opens the door. I step out, as though I’m going to have a word with him. Nate follows me out.

We all stand at the bottom of several steps leading up to a stone building.

‘Thanks for your help,’ I say to Jackson. ‘Hopefully, we won’t be too long.’

‘Take your time,’ he says.

‘What is this place?’ Nate looks at Jackson.

Jackson looks worryingly puzzled. ‘The marriage licence bureau.’

‘You’ll need your passport,’ I say to Nate, leaning over to slide it from his back pocket as I try to distract him.