Page 5 of His Playground (Owning Vegas #2)

Chapter Four

I can’t believe this is happening. I could end this. I could go and tell my father that I already know Carlo. I could tell him what he did to me. It would mean Carlo would be dead within minutes, and the streets of Las Vegas would become a war zone. Which is why I can’t.

There’s no way out. I have to marry the only man I’ve ever loved.

The only man who has the power to break me in ways no one else can.

Like he already has. It took a long time for me to get over him, to move on with my life.

I finally got to a place where I didn’t think about him every day. And now I have to marry him.

I don’t know how I can survive this. It’s one thing seeing him in crowds and pretending he doesn’t exist, but even I’m not na?ve enough to believe a wife can pretend her husband doesn’t exist.

“It could be worse,” Georgia says. I’m on my fourth glass of champagne. I’m starting to think there isn’t enough alcohol in the world to make me forget this night.

“How?” I groan.

“I mean, at least he’s hot, and you know he can deliver in the sack.” She laughs.

I glare at my best friend. “I. Am. Not. Sleeping. With. Him. Again,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

I don’t bother telling her about the humiliation of having him answer a call from another woman while I was standing right there.

He’s not even going to hide his wandering ways.

Why would he? It’s not like I can do anything to stop him.

“Well, I, for one, think it’s romantic. And I called it. I knew he’d never let you go marry anyone else. He loves you ,” Luna hums.

“He doesn’t love me,” I tell her. “I don’t know what my father is thinking.

What kind of deal could he possibly have going on with that crew of misfits?

” I lift my chin towards where my fiancé is sitting at a table with his two friends, Louie and Sammie.

I’ve never actually met them, but I’ve heard Carlo talk about them.

“Who knows? But also, who cares? This is your opportunity, Antonia. You are marrying someone you love. Take it,” Georgia tells me.

“ Loved . Past tense,” I correct her.

She’s right, though. It could be worse. As horrible as Carlo is, and as much as I wish I could choke the life out of him with my bare hands, he’s not going to hurt me. At least not physically. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to force me to do anything with him either. He’s not the type.

Or at least, from what I remember, he’s not. I’ve been wrong about him before, though.

The music dims, changing to a lighter tone, and the waiters start piling out with plates of food.

“That’s our signal.” Luna takes my arm in hers and guides me over to the table, where my name is written on a plain white name card next to his . Within seconds of my ass hitting the seat, Carlo is next to me.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He gives me that devilish smirk, the one that used to make my panties wet just seeing it.

My fingers curl around the butter knife in front of me. God, I wish I were a violent person. Someone who wouldn’t mind spilling blood all over this perfectly-dressed table. I wonder whether the party planner chose the color scheme or if this was Carlo’s doing.

I shake my head. Nope, he didn’t do this. He wouldn’t do anything for my benefit.

“What are you getting out of this?” I ask him.

“Out of what?” he says.

“This whole marriage deal? What are you getting out of my father?”

“You,” he tells me.

I laugh. “You did not agree to an arranged marriage for nothing, Carlo. What is the deal?”

“We’re creating an alliance between two organizations. But you didn’t ask that. You asked what I get, and what I get is you,” he says it like it’s something he actually wants.

“And you expect me to believe that you want me?” I almost giggle at the thought.

“I don’t give a fuck if you believe it or not, Antonia. It’s the truth.”

Can you die from anxiety? Because I think I just might right now. I don’t know if I can do this. How can I go through with this wedding?

What other options do I have, though? I could run. But I’d be found before I even hit the state lines.

Death is probably the only way out, and I really don’t want to take that route. I won’t let anyone push me to even consider it. Screw Carlo. And screw my father.

“I want the ugliest dress you have,” I tell the sales woman currently pulling out options for me to try.

“You want… uh…what?” she asks.

“The ugliest thing you have. I want to look as unattractive as possible on my wedding day,” I reply.

“Babe, you could wear a potato sack and still look hot.” Luna laughs before turning to the saleswoman. “Ignore her. She just has prewedding jitters.”

“It’s not prewedding jitters. I don’t want to look nice for him .” I pout.

“You do know there will be pictures of your wedding in every tabloid across the state,” Georgia says.

“I don’t care.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Yes, you do,” she tells me. “And if you don’t, I care enough for both of us. So we are going to make sure you look like a damn knockout, and that fool is going to be tripping over his own drool.”

“Oh, good. Hopefully, he breaks his neck and I become the world’s fastest widow.” The thought makes me smile as I visualize Carlo falling down the steps at the altar.

“You don’t mean that.” Luna sighs.

“No, I don’t. Because knowing my father, he’d sell me off to someone else anyway. What’s the saying? Better the devil you know and all that bullshit.” I shrug.

I walk over to the rack of dresses. Like many other little girls, I used to dream about my wedding day. The dress, the flowers, the prince who would whisk me off to a castle in an enchanted forest.

Okay, I might not get that fairy tale, but I can at least have the dress.

“Have you got anything Cinderella-style? Big skirt? The bigger, the better. Lots of layers?” I ask the saleswoman.

“I have the perfect one. Hold on.” She disappears into the back of the boutique.

“Now we’re talking.” Luna smiles.

“More layers means more protection,” I explain. “He won’t have easy access to my… you know… if I have a ton of fabric on.”

“I bet he just cuts it off you,” Georgia says.

I glare at her. “If he comes near me with a knife, that knife is going to end up in his neck.”

“And stain your wedding dress? Don’t do that,” Luna says. “You’re going to have a daughter one day and you will want to pass it down to her.”

“I’m never having kids, because I’m never having sex with Carlo. This marriage is in name only.”

“How are you going to get him to agree to that?” Georgia asks.

“I’m going to make him hate me enough to agree to separate bedrooms. No, separate houses . Separate countries would be even better. I can see myself living in France.”

“Here you go. Let me help you. Back this way.” The saleswoman returns with a pile of white sparkly fabric in her hands.

Once I have the dress on, I stare at myself in the mirror.

I know I told the girls I wanted a big dress for the extra layers, but that’s not the total truth.

I always dreamed of a dress just like this.

It’s strapless, rhinestones covering a corset before it balloons out into a huge hoop skirt draped in delicate tulle and lace.

“This is the one,” I say. “Help me get it off?”

“You don’t want to go show your friends?” the woman asks.

“Nope, I’m good,” I tell her.

I head back over to where Luna and Georgia are waiting while the saleswoman slips out behind me.

“I said yes to the dress!” I announce to the room. “I need you two to pick your own dresses, something lilac. I have to go. I’m sorry.” I hug each of them and hightail it out of the store before they can stop me.

I only get to my car, when I spot two large figures standing on the sidewalk. “Hey, I was looking for you.” Carlo walks towards me. Brian stays back and watches.

“Why?” My arms fold across my chest.

“I forgot to give you something the other night.” He pulls a small box from his pocket. “If we had more time, I’d do this right. We both know you deserve better, Antonia. But we don’t have time so this is how it’s happening.” He proceeds to show me a ring. A huge— freaking shiny —diamond ring.

I’m still stunned. Even when Carlo reaches out, pries my left hand out from where my arms are folded, and slides the ring on to my finger.

“I’m really glad it’s you that I get to marry,” he says.

“Yeah, if I actually had a choice in this, I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.” My shoulder bumps into his as I pass him. “Take me home, Brian,” I say before climbing into the back of the car and slamming the door shut, the diamond on my finger feeling like a weight.

It might as well be handcuffs and chains.