the vineyard cast

itsemmyb  asked:

Part four of Vegas, Baby I love it and your work in general of course can't wait for the next part!!!<3

Thank you so much!  I am so glad you are liking it.  Here is Part 4, comin’ ‘atcha!

(Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Epilogue)


Groaning, you lean yourself up as the morning light filters thru the sheer curtains over the glass double doors.  Remembering your encounter with Spencer last night, you sigh as you grab a piece of paper and a pen off of the bedside table, scratching a note onto it.

I’m sorry for yesterday.  I had a little too much to drink on an empty stomach.  I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings too much.  Don’t worry about the venue, it’s beautiful and you will love the grounds.  There’s supposed to be a horse-drawn carriage ride for us tonight…why don’t you invite the front-desk lady to take it with you?

Wrapping your robe around you, you fly up the steps two at a time to get to the 5th floor.  Opening the door, you shuffle between each room, pushing your ear to the door to see if you could hear him in one of the rooms.

Approaching the very last door, room 506, you hear Beethoven playing faintly in the background.  Smiling to yourself, you slip the note underneath his door, hearing the music pause as the paper scrapes the bottom of the door.

You press the elevator button, hearing it ding open as you scurry into it, pressing the 3rd floor button and watching the doors close just as you see the door handle turn.

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You decided to downstairs, order lunch, and take it to go.  You had slept thru breakfast, thankful that Spencer hadn’t bothered to wake you for it.   You grabbed the book you were currently reading, the take-out tray with your sandwich and fruit, filled up your drink cup, and started outside.  It was a beautiful sunny day, a light breeze spraying your Y/C/H hair back and down your shoulders, your full-length white and purple sun-dress whipping in the breeze as you walk around to the side of the building and start for the pond down the hill.

Approaching the weeping willow trees, you spread your blanket, covering yourself with a smaller one, open your lunch tray, and begin to eat as you prop open your book to the page you last remember reading.  It had been quite some time since you took the time to read, and the light sun on your face coupled with the breeze made it the perfect day to read outside.  Diving in to your book, you absent-mindlessly finish your food, not looking up until a shiver starts to cascade over your shoulders.

With the sun beginning to set over the vineyard, casting a red hue across the sky, you turn and prop your back against the tree.  Feeling your stomach growl, you debate on whether or not to pause and get dinner, but you didn’t have time to make your decision, because, off in the distance, you see the same older gentleman that had served you those drinks the day before, walking up to you with a tray of food in his hands.

“Courtesy of the woman at the front desk,” he says with a weak grin on his face.

Furrowing your brow, you look at the chicken and vegetable kabobs over a beautiful plate of wild rice, and as the steam whips around in the cool nighttime breeze, you look over and see her…

Her and Spencer…

Schlepping off into the sunset in a beautiful horse-drawn carriage.

Smiling lightly, you thank the gentleman and take the plate of food from him, sliding the chicken and vegetables off of the kabobs and into the plate of rice you had propped up on your blanketed legs.

Chuckling weakly and shaking your head, you start to take slow and steady bites, gazing up at the sunset in front of you.

The memories of that drunken night slowly started to flood back.  Piece by piece, it was resurfacing in your memory, and you can remember the conversation…or at least part of it…that had taken place as you and Spencer had tried to pick a honeymoon destination.

“Let’s go…here,” you slosh, tipping to the side and giggling.

“But the vineyard would be so beautiful,” Spencer slurs, his fingertips sloppily running up and down your arm.

“But that place sucks,” you spit, making an “ick” face like a 4 year old child not wanting to eat their broccoli.

“I could make it better,” Spencer whispers into your ear, pulling you close and kissing back behind your ear.

“Well, if there was anyone that could do that…” you trail off, pulling back and looking into his drunken, bloodshot eyes.

“Vineyard it is!” you pump your fist into the air, “whooing” like a party girl in the middle of a sweat-raunched club.

“At least I was right about that,” you mumble to yourself, wiping your hands and burping as the rest of the sun sinks below the vineyard lines.

“If Spencer can’t make it beautiful…” you trail off, shaking your head as you push yourself to your feet, gathering your things to head back inside.

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Opening your door, you step on something, crunching it underneath your feet.  Tossing everything to the side, you move your foot to see a crumpled piece of paper laying on your floor.

Picking it up slowly, you unfold it to reveal the scribblings of one Spencer Reid.

I blame the carriage ride on you.  I can’t believe you stuck me with someone who likes Twilight.

Throwing your head back and laughing, you feel slightly vindicated.  Going over to your notepad, you scribble another note down:

That’s what you get for dating on our honeymoon.

Folding the piece of paper up, you grab your door key and head for the stairs, trying with all your might to stop laughing at the note.

If it hadn’t been for you, he would have never even known what Twilight was.  You had never read the books, but you most certainly knew the plot, what for the chittering teenagers in the coffee shop that you frequented in the mornings.  And then he had to go and read it…all of it…in one evening, and had called you to personally spit in your ear about how stupid the series was, spouting the numerous fallacies within the book and how it wouldn’t even be possible for any of this to occur in real life, so there was absolutely no point in reading it.

It was one of your fondest memories of him.

“Some people read things that are fiction, Reid,” you had said to him, you recall as the elevator doors ding, letting you off on the 5th floor.

“And so do I!  I’ve read War and Peace!” he had exclaimed over the phone as you had howled into the receiver.

“This isn’t funny,” he had pouted…and you remembered envisioning him with his bottom lip sticking out, pouting like a kid who was being refused candy.

Stifling your laughing, you slip the note under his door and scurry for the stairs, hearing the door hastily open as you fling yourself around the ballast, running to get out of view before he could fling his head out the door and catch a peek of you dashing down the hallway in your nightgown.