All's Fair in Love and Las Vegas

Chapter Sixty

        I softly knocked on the door. His rough voice called, "Who is it?"

        "Your beautiful wife," I said with a smile.

        For a second, I only heard a brief shuffling. Then the door opened to reveal Grayson, dressed in sweats and his hair rumpled. The redness of his eyes didn't help his appearance either. He stared at me for a second before dropping his gaze to the enormous tray in my hands, loaded up with the most horrendous snacks in the world.

        Specifically, American snacks.

        I smiled and asked, "How do you feel about going on a date?"

        "A date?" he asked, tilting his head.

        "Yeah. With a stupid, bumbling American, who eats red dye 40 and processed foods," I said with a grin.

        Grayson's lips twitched. "It...doesn't sound horrible."

        "Can I come in?" I asked.

        "I mean, it's your room too," he said, stepping aside and granting me entry.

        I slipped off my shoes and set the tray down on the dresser. Grayson had clearly taken a nap at some point in the day, the blankets rumpled and tossed aside. His laptop was charging, tucked away in the corner. On his nightstand, which was normally bare, there were two things. One was an empty bottle of Mountain Dew. The other was a picture frame. Without thinking, I went over and picked it up.

        It's The Picture.

        The one of our first kiss.

        The one from our wedding.

        The one I just can't remember happening no matter how hard I try.

        My throat closed up. Why had he printed this one? If I printed this picture, I would just get angry whenever I saw it. But he clearly had some sort of attachment to it; he's even put it in a frame.

        I cleared my throat, turning around and leaving the photo on the nightstand. Those are his feelings and emotions–something I don't know if I have the right to knowing. Or asking about. Instead I asked, "How are you doing?"

        "Oh, fine," Grayson said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

        "Really? You're happy and not mad and your stomach feels fine?" I asked, suspicious.

        A look of alarm crossed his face. "Why wouldn't my stomach feel fine?"

        "I don't know," I admitted. "My stomach sometimes hurts when I'm upset."

        Grayson sighed, pulling his fingers through his hair. "I'm fine, just a little unraveled. I keep saying only a little bit longer, that we're so close to surviving this nightmare, yet I feel like the days just get longer and longer."

        "You know how you were saying that I'm sweet and kind and loving?" I asked.

        He bit his lip, trying not to laugh. "Yeah?"

        "Well, you also said that I should get mad sometimes," I said, sitting down on the bed and patting the space next to me. "And I know you just got mad, but you've been scarily good at holding back all the anger and sadness. People see you and think you're so lucky for living the life of luxury, but you're not happy, Grayson."

        He hung his head, his voice rough as he said, "I'm sick of not being happy."

        "I know we're still living this nightmare, but what makes you happy?"