Vegas Knot (✔️) | Love Travels #1

Thirteen

The room Divya leads us into leaves nothing out. Lavish textured wallpaper lines the room and a big screen television takes up almost a whole wall, lighting up with lyrics as the song selections play over invisible surround speakers. The large dark wood coffee table in the center of the leather couches is covered in appetizers of all kinds and a bottle of champagne.

"I had no idea karaoke bars came this fancy," Enrique comments. "All the ones I've been to were a much more communally drunk experience that you'd like to forget. And much more public." His eyes drift over to the door separating us from the rest of the bar.

"I like it," I say once I manage to swallow the triangular fried thing I stuffed into my mouth. "You did good, Divya. Now, what are we singing first?"

I lead the way into the room and wait for everyone to sit down before trying to sandwich myself between Divya and Lorena. They shoot together faster than I can blink and Lorena looks over at Enrique, gesturing with her head. I can take a hint.

"You know we're hitting the Backstreet Boys." Divya answers, organizing the microphones onto the edge of the table.

I really should have known that. "It's 'I Want it That Way', isn't it?"

"Of course it is. Now here, take the microphone and sing, my pretties."

There's three microphones and five of us, so I could have gotten away without taking one if it weren't for the fact that Divya picked up a second one off the table and put it straight into my hands.

I guess I'll sing, then. I smile at Enrique and try to keep my confidence up as I sit down beside him, turning to face the television.

The second the words begin flashing across the neon screen, Divya and Lorena both stop singing into the microphones so there is no way for me to hide my voice.

I don't know what they expect from me, but if it is some kind of profession of undying love to my husband, they are sorely mistaken. He is maybe, at best, a friend, and even that feels tenuous.

But no one is going to get in the way of a good Backstreet Boys song, so I hold the microphone like I'm Celine Dion and throw my shoes off to stand on the couch, directing all of my singing energy to Divya.

Once I get to the part of the song where the other boys are singing backup, Enrique shoots up beside me and sings the backup vocals before sitting back down like nothing happened, slowly picking away at a pig in a blanket he's been nursing since we got here.

The marathon of turn of the millennium music continues with some more neon coloured screens and singing as we laugh and consume our weight in food. Enrique doesn't eat as much as I'd expect him to, but maybe I just misjudged him.

When we finally pause, we put the track for a Whitney balad on in the background. It's a beautiful song, but ain't a single person in this room who has the pipes to pull it off, so it's excellent relaxing music.

"So, Enrique. Tell us about yourself." Divya sounds like she's interviewing a candidate to be her assistant, not casually talking with a new friend.

"Div—" I start to defend him. If he gets raked across the coals, he is definitely going to rethink this whole arrangement. The food might be exquisite, but there is only so much one man can take.

"What do you want to know?" Enrique relaxes back into the corner of the couch and wipes his fingers off on a napkin. "Bianca seems lovely and I'm sure you have questions. I'll answer what I can, but unfortunately Bianca and I seem to share the problem of not remembering what happened the night we got married."

"Drat!" Carla exclaimed with her mouth full. "I really want to know."

"You don't think Bianca would have told us if she'd figured it out?"