The morning light is bright, much too bright. She groans and tugs the covers over her head. Just another minute or so. That's all she needs.
Another groan and then a half-muffled curse. Only it didn't come from her mouth. She freezes, suddenly and intensely awake. Heat radiates through the sheets as the figure turns over, burying a sleepy mumble in the pillows. She leaps from the bed, yanking the sheets around her. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" she screams.
The man in the bed, now bare except for a pair of red boxers, blinks up at her through sleep-bleared eyes. "Sleeping," he moans. "At least I was before some crazy bitch woke me up."
She slaps him. Actually, she delivers a knife hand strike to his face. She meant to slap him—much more effective to a hard area like his cheekbones, and much less painful to her hand—but kung fu has become second nature to her and sometimes it slips out all on its own.
He rubs his face while she rubs her hand. "Well, that was uncalled for," he mutters. He reaches up to sweep his long black hair out of his face. His features are fine and angular, almost feminine—and familiar.
"Inviting men you don't know back to your room a common thing for you?" He arches a thin black eyebrow.
She blinks. "I…invited you?" she echoes stupidly. What happened last night? She struggles to remember through the haze of morning grogginess and the blinding pain in her head.
"As far as I remember," he shrugs. "Which, granted, isn't very much." He smiles then, an utterly charming grin that sends a familiar frisson of heat down her spine. She still doesn't know who he is, but she has a definite feeling that something happened between them last night. She glances down at her skimpy red lingerie. Okay, more than something, most likely.
She folds her arms over her chest. "So, what's your name," she demands.
He smirks. "Can't even remember that, can you?"
"Can you?"
"Duke Devlin." He extends a languid hand. The incongruity of the situation doesn't escape either of them.
"Nice to meet you," she says reluctantly, shaking his hand as though she was picking up a piece of dirty laundry.
"Likewise. Or, it would be if I actually knew your name."
She can't help the smug look that crosses her lips. "Vivian Wong."
A spark of recognition lights in his eyes. Her smirk grows just a touch wider. So he's heard of her. Maybe even a fan. A tiny bubble of laughter wells up inside her and she has to swallow hard to keep it from escaping. A groupie. That's what he is. It was the perfect explanation for how she wound up tumbling into bed with a near stranger. She'd finally gotten a real groupie and he was hot, and that was that.
"You're that annoying Asian girl who kept bugging Yugi at Kaiba's tournament thing."
She blinks. Pretty much every single word that had just come out of his mouth was the last thing in the world she had expected to hear. Still, as the gears in her head start turning, the pieces start falling in place. The KC Grand Championship. She squints, shaking her head just slightly as if that could clear away the pain pounding through her temples. Yugi, he'd said. She remembered him easily—spiky hair almost half his height, enormous violet eyes and a soft smile that seemed so out of place on the world's greatest duelist. Harder to remember was his group of friends that followed him. There was that pigtailed blonde brat who'd beaten her in the third round, the boy with the dishwater blond mop who'd lost to the German creep in the second round, the brunette who'd glared at her whenever she stepped within a five yard radius of Yugi, the kid with the shark-fin 'do, and…yes, a tall, black-haired boy with smirking green eyes. The same green eyes looking back at hers.
"Y-you!' she splutters. "You're that friend of Yugi's. The one with the dice earrings."
He reaches up and touches the tiny holes in his earlobes. "You remembered," he says with a smile. He reaches over to the bedstand. Clear red dice glint in the lamplight as he picks up the long, dangling strand. "Ladies love the dice."
"They look like they belong on a rear view mirror."
"That's not what you said last night."
"Look, you don't have any more idea of happened last night than I do, do you?" she demands, tossing her head.
He folds his arms over his bare chest. "Maybe not," he admits. That grin is back and she knows she shouldn't let it send her heart thumping wildly, but it does. Ugh, this whole thing would be so much easier to just purge from her memories if the guy wasn't actually ridiculously hot.
She runs her hands through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts. "Look, I have to take a shower."
He arches an eyebrow. "Is that an invitation?"
"No!" Her fingers itch to slap him, but she simply stalks off to the bathroom and slams the door behind her. Right after the tiny click of the lock turning, she hears a muffled noise. Laughter.
She takes her time in the shower and by the time she emerges, wrapped in a bathrobe, he's dressed, in a red silk dress shirt and black trousers she can only assume he was wearing the night before.
She wrinkles her nose at him. "Aren't you going to take a shower?"
"Oh, so now you want the shower."
She rolls her eyes. "You stink, you moron."
"I do have my own hotel room, you know," he says. "I'll freshen up there."
"Then why are you still here?"
"It's rude to run out on a lady the morning after without even saying goodbye." He flicks a long strand of hair out of his face, raised his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss. "Goodbye."
She rubs her forehead. "Good riddance."
A sudden rap at the door silences any repartee. She yanks the door open. A bellboy stands in the doorway, holding a manila envelope. "Delivery for Mrs. Devlin."
"I think you mean Mister Devlin," she tells him acidly. She throws a glare over her shoulder at the person in question. "And why are your deliveries coming to my hotel room?"
"Pardon me, but it's definitely labeled 'Mrs.'" The bellboy reads off the envelope. "Mrs. Vivian Devlin. That you or not?"
She snatches the envelope from his hands. "Let me see that." But it's there, in bold black letters that her eyes can't deny. She rips the envelope open. Photographs tumble out—pictures of her and Duke…and Elvis. "What the he…?" the curse fades from her lips as she stares at a close-up of the two of them cutting a large white tiered cake. Her hands shake and the envelope falls from her grasp.
Duke stoops and picks it up. "What is thi…" he starts, and then, "Oh. Oh, damn."
It's a half hour later, and the bellboy is gone, but Duke is still here. He's pacing the room while she stirs listlessly at her coffee, watching the last of the steam evaporate from its surface.
"Married?" he mutters to himself for what has to be the fiftieth time. "How could I have gotten married? You would think I would remember something as significant as getting married."
"Apparently not."
He doesn't respond. She doesn't think he's even heard her. She doesn't care. Her head is aching, her mouth is dry, and the only clear thought in her head is that her mother must be rolling in her grave.
Married. How could she have gotten married to a near stranger?
A few memories of the night before had begun to trickle back, but mostly it was still all a blur. Little things stand out—silk flowers stuck up in her hair, dancing to a techno remix of "Viva Las Vegas," the taste of buttercream frosting, and those damned green eyes smirking at her. Her wedding. She buries her face in her hands.
"Pull it together. We've got things to do."
She looks up to see Duke standing over her, the wild pacing replaced with a look of grim determination. "What are you talking about?" she asks wearily.
"Courthouse," he says impatiently. "For an annulment." He flicks the hair out of his face again, and he looks much more like his old self. "This is Vegas. Nobody stays married here unless they want to."
That's not what the clerk at the courthouse tells them. "Hmm," he mutters, peering at their marriage certificate. "I see the groom is a resident of California."
"Yes," Duke says impatiently. She has to fight a giggle at hearing him described as "the groom."
"And the bride…oh, I see she is a Chinese national. I assume you have a visa."
"Of course," Vivian tells him, annoyed. She digs through the packet of papers she's brought and waves her type-P visa at him.
"Very good. Well, hmmm, you see there is quite a difficulty."
"Difficulty?" Duke echoes. "What kind of difficulty?"
"Well, neither you nor the bride is a resident of Clark County, Nevada. You can certainly marry in Las Vegas, but providing an annulment is completely outside our jurisdiction. You would have to apply to your county of residence in California for that. Or to the appropriate body in the bride's country of origin, of course."
They blink at each other.
"But that could take days," Duke moans.
"Weeks, more likely," the clerk puts in. "Most of the country does not share our expedited process." He gives them a rather dry smile. "So sorry not to be of more help."
"This is not the end," Duke fumes as they leave the office. "I'll call my lawyer down in L.A.; he'll straighten things up."
Vivian says nothing. She just twists the ring on her finger, trying to ignore the nervous patter-pounding of her heart.
They head back to the Palazzo in silence. This time, they go to Duke's room. It's just down the hall and is pristinely clean, free from the debris of last night's events and this morning's revelations. Duke quickly showers and changes into clean clothes, then gets on the phone. Vivian sits silently on the couch, listening as he tries to explain the situation to the lawyer.
When he closes the phone, his charming grin is nowhere to be seen. Still, he offers her his arm with a bow and a flourish. "Shall we?"
She rises to her feet and accepts his arm, matching his over-the-top formality with her own. But as soon as he grandly escorts her out the door, she turns on him and demands, "And just where are we going?"
"The casino, of course," he replies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
She rolls her eyes. "I just lost my last name. I don't really feel like losing my money too."
"Not to gamble. To retrace our steps. Find out what happened last night."
"Oh." She shrugs. "Okay, then."
The casino isn't empty, clusters of patrons at the tables and slot machines, but it's nothing compared to the crowds of the night before. In the morning light, the bright lights and colors look garish and loud; it's hard to believe how glamorous it all looked last night. That is, in the dim memories she still has of last night.
They pass the bar and the bartender asks them if they'd like anything. She shakes her head hastily as a wave of nausea shoots through her. It'll be days before she wants to even look at alcohol, let alone consume it.
But Duke pauses. "I'll take a club soda with a twist of lime." He takes a seat at the bar and Vivian reluctantly follows suit.
"Same for me," she mutters glumly. Just looking at the rows of wine and whiskey makes her head ache all over again.
"So," Duke begins as the bartender slides the two glasses over, "You wouldn't have happened to be around last night, would you?"
The bartender chuckles. "Sure would. And I remember you and your lady friend."
Vivian straightens. "You do?" she asks eagerly.
"Sure. Had a few too many, didn't you? Wasn't sure if it was Chinese or Portuguese coming out of your mouth, but it sure wasn't English."
She glowers silently into her drink as Duke chuckles. "That sounds about right."
The bartender gives him a look. "You weren't exactly stone cold sober yourself. Probably why you started hitting on that German gentleman."
Vivian looks at him. "Gentleman? What, are you bi or something?"
Duke blinks in confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I believe you addressed him as 'babe,' sir. That was when he called his security detail."
"Wait…that pink-haired chick? That was a dude?"
"'Fraid so. And his guards might have roughed you up pretty good before our people stepped in if it wasn't for your lady friend here."
"Really? What'd she do, talk at them into they ran away screaming?"
"Wanna look at the security tapes?" The bartender grins as he flags down a passing security guards. "Hey, Kenny. Think you can take Xena and her boyfriend to see her little stunt show in action?"
Vivian looks at him, expecting a dour glare of reproof. Instead, the guard laughs a little, nods, and leads them through a set of thick double doors to a room full of security monitors. The guy at the monitors glances over his shoulder at them. "Whoa, it's you," he says to Vivian.
"Yeah," she says, planting her hands on her hips and trying to look impressive. "It's me." She was afraid to ask why everyone here seemed to know her by sight.
"They want to check out her handiwork last night," the guard says, nodding at her and Duke. "Mind if I show them the tape."
"Be my guest."
In a few minutes, she is watching black and white security footage of tall, lovely Asian woman walking towards the bar. Her. The woman in the video smiles at the burly thugs clustered round a man who's unmistakably Duke. Her lips move, but there's no audio. It's an eerie feeling, seeing herself doing things she doesn't remember, speaking words she can't recall saying. Is it really her, or a doppelganger, just some trick?
And then the woman springs into action and she doubts no more.
That's her meteor punch landing in the first thug's gut, her butterfly kick propelling her over his head and straight into thug number two, and her side somersault out of the reach of the third thug's punch. She watches, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face, as the woman in the video tosses her hair just the way she always does when fighting in pigtails, just before delivering a whirlwind kick straight to thug number three's face.
Duke expels a long whistle. "Wow."
"I know, right?" the security guard is grinning from ear to ear. "Most entertaining thing I've seen in the five years I've had this job. And I work in Vegas."
The Vivian onscreen smiles as the last thug falls at her feet. She offers a hand to the onscreen Duke, whose jaw is agape and whose eyes are slightly bugged. They walk out of the casino, hand in hand.
"And that was the last we saw of you," the guard tells them, stopping the tape and starting to shepherd them back into the casino proper. "Kept a lookout, hoping you'd come back, but you never did. I expect you had other adventures to pursue."
"You could say that," Duke says, sounding dazed. He looks over at Vivian, wearing the exact expression from the video. "How did you do that?"
She shrugs. "Kung fu. Long Fist style. I've been learning ever since I was a kid." She knows she sounds smug, but she can't help it, anymore than she can help her self-satisfied grin.
He goggles at her a little longer. Finally, he shakes his head. "That was amazing. More than amazing, really. It was…well, I know now why I married you."
She laughs. "Now there's a compliment I haven't heard before."
They step through the double doors and the laughter dies on her lips.
"Ah. I vas wondering vhen Herr Devlin and Fraulin Vong vould grace us vith their presence." The cold lavender eyes of Zigfried von Schroeder dig into hers as he stands a less than two yards away, surrounded by nearly twenty Arnold Schwarzenegger clones.
There is a heavy silence, and then Duke mutters, "Yeah, in the light of day, he's definitely a guy. Still what with the hair, and the eyes, and whole rose fetish thing…well, I've made worse mistakes."
"I zeriouzly doubt zat, Herr Devlin." He takes a menacing step forward.
Vivian rolls her eyes. "Oh, get over yourself. He was drunk, it happens. No harm done."
"Oh yez? And my guardz, there was no harm done to zhem, eizer, I zuppoze, Fraulein Vong?"
Instinctively, she shifts into a horse stance. "It's Frau Devlin, actually."
His eyes flicker from her to Duke. "Really? Congratulations. Allow my men to extend zhier best wishes to zhe happy couple." He gestures to his thugs.
Vivian inhales deeply. Tiger strike to the first one's throat, whirlwind kick to the next one's right temple…there were too many. She'd never incapitate enough of them before they overwhelmed her.
"You sure you want to settle things this way, Herr Schroeder?" Duke says suddenly.
"It's von Schroeder," the German sniffs, adjusting the drape of his lacy cuff. "And yez, I am very zure."
"Really? Because I can only see two ways this is going down and neither of them end very pretty for you."
He hesitates just a second. "Vat do you mean?"
"Well, most likely scenario, my lovely bride kicks the butts of your security guards again and sends them packing. Not only do you completely fail at getting your revenge, but you'll be the laughingstock of the whole city by sundown." Vivian glances over at him. Is he bluffing? He has to be bluffing. She glares back at Zigfried, trying not to betray with her eyes how unlikely that scenario was.
He hides the tiniest of yawns with a well-manicured hand. "I hope zhe other scenario iz a little more convinzing."
Duke gives him a thin-lipped smile. "If by some miracle your goons actually manage to beat us, you don't think that's going to go unnoticed, do you? There are security cameras watching us right now and armed guards just waiting to come break things up. You're a famous businessman –and a rather distinctive individual. I'm sure you're not going to be hard to identify. And how is that going to look for your precious Schroeder Corp? Setting a bunch of thugs on two unarmed civilians, one of them a woman? And a just-married couple at that? As one businessman to another, I'd say that can't be good for the stocks."
The last sentence stops the German dead in his tracks. "Hmm. You may have a point." Duke smirks at Vivian. "But, I cannot allow last night's 'incident' to pass, eizer." He shakes his head sadly. "A matter of honor, you zee."
"Then how about a duel?"
Both Vivian and Zigfried stare at Duke as if he had grown another head. He shrugs. "You know, Duel Monsters? Little brown cards with monsters on them? Ringing any bells here? Look, we play a game, loser…apologizes profusely, nobody gets hurt."
"Except that vhile you may have insulted my honor, it is Fraulein Vo—er, Frau Devlin who disgraced my guards. I vill duel her."
Duke glances at her and catches her wide-eyed look. He shakes his head. "No."
"Excuze me?"
"You'll duel me, not her."
"But—"
"It's okay, Duke." Vivian takes a deep breath. "I'll duel him." She can kiss her standings goodbye once this gets out, she thinks with an inward sigh. They were just starting to reach their pre-Grand Championship levels too.
Duke smiles. "How about we duel him together?" He turns to Zigfried. "What do you say, Ziggy? Not too afraid to take on me and the missus, are you?"
"Getting really comfortable with the whole 'married' thing, aren't you?" Vivian hisses under her breath. "And you don't have to fight my battles for me. I can take care of myself."
"Obviously. And who was fighting who's battles last night? I'm just trying to even things up a little."
Zigfried seems to ignore their whispered conversation. He simply smiles. "Very well. Meet me in zhe private duel room in ten minutes. I'll be waiting." He stalks off, his Terminator wannabes at his heels.
They watch him go.
"You know he's going to wipe the floor with us," Vivian says. "Even Kaiba barely pulled out a win against him and his valkyries."
"Yeah, but there are two of us."
"Did you see his duel against Rex Raptor and Weevil Underwood. It was over in one turn."
Now Duke looks annoyed. "We're not Rex and Weevil."
"I can't believe it!" she exults, leaping three feet into the air and landing with her hands pressed against Duke's chest. "I can't believe we did it!" She can't stop laughing like a maniac, even as Zigfried glares daggers at them and skulks from the room, leaving behind a strong fragrance of roses. For his part, Duke has a gleeful smirk permanently plastered to his face.
"Told you so," he tells her. "Didn't I sa—"
She silences him with a kiss. When they break apart, they're both breathless and no longer thinking about the duel.
"Wow."
"That's the second time today you've said that to me," Vivian points out.
"Wanna go for three?"
"Y'know, we are still married…"
"Have I mentioned that I love Las Vegas?"
The lights are still too bright the next morning when she discovers the man in her bed. But this time, she can remember exactly what happened.
"Well, good morning, sunshine," she whispers, dropping a kiss on his forehead.
He mumbles something that's probably "good morning" back. She rubs his back and is just starting to get him up when his cell phone rings. He swears, but his curses stop short when he sees the number. The lawyer, he mouths to Vivian as he opens the phone.
Reluctantly, she slides off the bed and go to put a pot of coffee on. Even in the kitchenette, she can hear Duke's outraged, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN INTOXICATION ISN'T CONSIDERED CAUSE FOR ANNULMENT IN CALIFORNIA?"
She hurries back to the bedroom just in time to see Duke snap the phone closed. "It seems California has somewhat stricter definitions of what constitutes 'unsound mind.' Long and short of it: we're still hitched."
She looks at him and lets her eyes travel down his deliciously bare chest. "Well, it could be worse."
He looks up from his own perusal to meet her eyes. "Yeah, it could be."
Neither is sure who goes in for the kiss first. Just before they tumble onto the pillows, Vivian mutters, "After all, there's always divorce."