Aesthetic Credits: Viktoria – FC Joanna Prus
/ Istvan – FC Rob Evans
/ Both images borrowed from their Instagram
/ I own none of these images, all used with love and respect <3
/ Rings – enoirvado / Vegas view – Instagram sin1city / Quotes – all taken from Pinterest and none had credit for where they came from.[/caption]
Istvan looked at Drake like he was speaking a foreign language when the words tripped off his tongue, he screwed up his face and muttered,
“I could have sworn you just said Vegas, now clearly I’m hearing things…” Drake shifted in his seat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he peered at his friend,
“Heh. That’s exactly what I said…”
He followed up by pumping his fist half-way in the air in a somewhat futile, ironic-sounding gesture,
“Vegas baby – woooo…”
Istvan’s mouth fell open,
“Drake, no. We are not going to Vegas. No! Absolutely not. I agreed to a few days away to get you off my back, I thought you were going to organise a camping trip to the lake or something? I could have relaxed. Took some time to think things through…”
Drake shook his head,
“And that, my friend, is exactly the reason we’re not going to the lake, or the woods, or anywhere else that you can sit around ‘thinking’. You need a distraction, not to depress yourself even further moping over- uh, things.”
Istvan shot him a look,
“Viktoria. You can say her name you know? She left me. I’m not going to collapse in a heap on the floor.”
Drake rose from the sofa, putting his hand on Istvan’s shoulder,
“Good to know, brother. Good to know. Now, go and pack.”
—
Istvan stood looking at all of the clothes in his closet in the bedroom, he pulled out a few sharp looking shirts, a steel grey Armani suit, a couple of pairs of dark blue jeans, a wine-coloured pullover, some shorts and a couple of white t-shirts. He laid them out on the bed. Their bed. Where they’d so often spent all night talking or making love or laughing and snuggling together. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, trying to shake the image of her. His wife’s beautiful face. Her masses of dark hair that he so adored running his fingers through. Those pale blue eyes like the Caribbean Sea, so clear that he could drown in them. Her smiling lips, supple and always shimmering with strawberry gloss. Viktoria was his world and he always thought he had everything once he had her. His breath hitched as he stifled a sob. His whole life was upside down and now Drake wanted to take him to Las Vegas? ‘Why the hell not? It’s not like things could get more messed up that they are just now.’
—
Istvan and Drake got out the Bentley at Cordonia’s international airport together with a young security agent called Andreas, who would be accompanying them from a distance. Drake had managed to convince Bastien that minimum security was needed, and that he would personally look after all Istvan’s security needs during the trip after they arrived in Nevada. Bastien reluctantly agreed after clearing their itinerary – the hotel, the floor and room details, how they would get from the airport to their accommodation and back again. The rest was on Drake and Andreas. He knew Drake was trying to do a good thing for the young King, and God knows, he needed a bit of light relief after the past week, Bastien had witnessed the fallout first-hand at the palace; Istvan’s uncharacteristic fits of rage had all the staff talking, he’d even thrown an antique vase at a wall, shattering it into a million pieces. His sobs echoed through the halls in the still of the night, Bastien had stationed himself outside, fearing for the King’s health and state of mind in the first few days. Meetings had been missed, rescheduled and cancelled, either because Istvan didn’t feel up to it, or was simply too hungover to function. He had even sacked a kitchen hand over a stupid error, later regretting it and retracting his harsh words, apologising personally to the young woman…
As the car pulled away and they walked in the main door of the airport, pulling their cases behind them, they heard it.
“Ow-ow-ow-owwwwwwwwwww!!!!”
Istvan looked worriedly at Drake, who had his head in his hands already.
“Ow-owww-owwwwwwwwwwww!!!”
Drake muttered,
“God help us!”
before addressing Maxwell,
“Beaumont, what-”
Maxwell hurried to cross the rest of the distance between them, shouting,
“Wolfpack!! Ammi right??”
Drake cursed under his breath,
“Maxwell we are not doing ‘The Hangover’. Like, we’re really not!”
Maxwell leaned one arm around Drake and one around Istvan,
“Ah come on fellas, ‘The Hangover’ was amazing!! What’s not to like?! We go to Vegas, we have a wild night, remember nothing, wake up with Mike Tyson’s tiger…”
Istvan started to laugh. It was the first time he’d really laughed since she walked out, it started as a silent shudder, turning into a wheeze, as the tears started to roll down his cheeks, he ruffled Maxwell’s hair playfully,
“Tiger aside Maxwell, maybe this isn’t actually as terrible an idea as I initially thought it was…”
Maxwell shot Drake a triumphant grin and yelled,
“To the bar, Wolfpack!!”
—
As the landing gear dropped down approaching McCarran, Drake had a quick debriefing with Andreas. Scooting back over next to Istvan he quietly asked his friend,
“You doin’ ok buddy?”
Istvan nodded,
“Yes, this should be… Quite the experience. Drake, thank you. You’ve really been there since…”
Drake clapped his friends arm, smiling,
“Always. Looks like we’ll be on the ground in about fifteen minutes, let the boys’ weekend begin…”
Half an hour later they were in a limo, headed towards The Strip, it was only a ten minute ride, Maxwell was pretty drunk from the plane and was wolf-pack-howling out the window at tourists as they passed the Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas sign. Drake rolled his eyes. Istvan sat quietly watching the built up landscape fly past, the flashing neon signs, the elaborate facades of the hotels and casinos, there was electricity in the air. Arriving at the hotel, Drake sent Istvan and Maxwell to the bar, saying he would handle the check-in and the bellboy. When he called them back to the elevator he pressed a button, grinning at them both,
“I think you’re going to like this, it’s a treat from Regina, Istvan, she though you deserved to let off some steam too…”
They exited the elevator and entered the Penthouse Suite. Drake let a low whistle escape as he looked around the suite. It was the ultimate in modern luxurious interiors, leather, marble, sumptuous fabrics, but the most impressive things about it was the floor to ceiling windows that covered a least two-thirds of the outside walls. It felt like they were on a viewing platform overlooking The Strip below. The three of them walked towards the window, all visibly impressed. Istvan swallowed hard; he could see the New York, New York hotel, it’s Lady Liberty standing proud. His mind flashed back, the statue symbolised and meant so much to him… That first night when he fell hopelessly in love with a waitress he never thought he’d see again, their first kiss… Then later, his proposal, Viktoria’s arms around him as he spun her around, and their private trip to the top… How things got hot and heavy in the Crown, the feeling of her lithe body under his as he whispered what he was going to do to her… He blinked a few times, turning away from the window, noticing the bottles on the countertop,
“I see Regina’s had some drinks left for us too… A bottle of malt, for you Drake I assume? Oh this looks like tequila for you Max, and some good gin for me… I could use a drink. Let’s get started then shall we?”
—
Several hours later, their dinner reservation had fallen by the wayside, room service had been ordered and their drinking continued. Music blasted from the Penthouse sound system as Maxwell popped and locked in the middle of the lounge area like a man possessed. Once they’d lined their stomachs with some food, Maxwell was rearing for them to get dressed up and get going to Hakkasan, he’d got them on the VIP list as soon as they confirmed their travel dates. Drake hadn’t known about the club being booked, he hadn’t did any sort of security homework on the place, and now he was pretty buzzed. He was going to have to leave the background work to Andreas now. When the three sharply dressed Cordonians arrived at the Hakkasan they were escorted straight to the VIP booth and the bottle service commenced. Maxwell barely sat his backside at the booth before he was off making shapes on the dancefloor, lost in the sea of partygoers, the baseline pulsing and lights flashing around him.
Drake pulled a face at Istvan, shouting
“It’s really loud in here. This place isn’t really my thing…”
Istvan laughed,
“I knew it wouldn’t be.”
Drake frowned and shouted,
“What?? I can’t hear you. It’s really loud in here. I’m just going to get some smokes.”
Istvan extended his hand as if to signal, ‘yes that’s fine, please do’ and Drake took his leave. Istvan closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat, his foot tapping in time to the rhythm. When he reopened them, a scandalously attractive blonde woman was standing in front of him, smirking. His mouth opened to enquire who she was, when she took a step towards him, six-inch heels and slender, tanned legs. Her upper thigh flashed at him through the slit in her shimmering skin-tight dress, his eyes travelled from her thigh, up over her slim waist, pausing on her generous cleavage, before reaching her face. She was heavily made-up but stunningly beautiful. She leaned into his ear to be heard over the music,
“My name’s Jasmine, what’s a good looking guy like you doing sitting here all alone?”
Istvan felt something stir within him, her breath hot against his ear. He leaned towards her ear,
“I’ve lost one of my friends to the dancefloor, he may never come back… The other one has gone of to get some cigarettes… I’m Istvan, by the way.”
She extended her hand to shake his, leaned in and placed a slow kiss on his cheek,
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Istvan…”
His eyes locked on hers and suddenly his trousers felt slightly less comfortable than they had before,
“No, it’s all my pleasure…”
—
TBC – VP 💖
