Page 6 of His Playground (Owning Vegas #2)

Chapter Five

H ow do I tell my daughter I’m getting married today?

I’ve been putting it off. I don’t know why, but it’s just not the easiest thing to bring up to Jazzy.

We’ve been doing really well. She is beginning to trust me, and I don’t want to do anything to impact that.

I really should have thought this through before I volunteered myself.

I wasn’t thinking, though. I heard Antonia being offered up like a prized cow at auction, and I swooped in. She might not see it that way, but I’m doing this for her. Fuck if I’m letting her end up married to some abusive asshole.

“Hey, Jazzy, can we talk?” I knock on her open bedroom door.

“Step into my salon.” She waves her hand around the small table she’s set up to paint her nails.

“Should six-year-olds really be wearing nail polish?” I ask her.

“I’m almost seven, and Mama and me used to paint our nails together all the time before…” Jazzy’s words trail off.

“Before what?” I ask, sitting on the other side of the table.

“Nothing. What color do you want? Pink or purple?” She holds up two bottles of nail polish.

“Ah… pink?” Guess I’m doing this.

“Hands.” Jazzy taps the table, and I lay my palms out flat in front of her.

I watch silently for a moment. I still haven’t been able to get her to talk about her mom at all.

I found out the woman’s name, though. Penelope Eve Morrison, according to school records.

She’s twenty-five, which means she was only seventeen or eighteen when I was with her.

I haven’t been with a woman that young since I was that young myself.

I can’t for the life of me remember her. And I also can’t fucking find her.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jazzy asks.

“I have to do something today, and I wanted to tell you about it.”

“What do you need to do?”

“I have to get married,” I explain, watching for her reaction.

“A real wedding?”

“Yep, a real wedding,” I say.

“Who are you marrying?” she questions.

“Her name is Antonia,” I reply.

“Do you love her?”

I consider my answer. “Very much,” I say honestly, because I won’t ever lie to my daughter.

“More than me? Am I going to have to leave?”

“No, you are never leaving, Jazzy. This is your home. It will always be your home. And I promise I will never love anyone more than I love you. You’ll always be my number one girl,” I tell her.

“Really? What if you have other children with Antonia? That’s what married people do,” she says.

“You’ll still be my number one,” I promise her. “You and me, we are in this together. If it bothers you that much, I can tell everyone I can’t do it.”

“But you love her.”

“I do, but I love you more.”

“Can I come? I’ve never been to a wedding before,” Jazzy asks. “I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m there.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re my guest of honor. I don’t need you to be quiet. Ever. I do need you to sit with Uncle Louie and Aunt Charlotte, though,” I reply.

“Okay.”

“And there’s one more thing: Antonia doesn’t know that you’re my daughter yet, and I want it to be a surprise. We’ll tell her later, when we get home after the party,” I explain.

“Okay, I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you.” I dip my chin towards the table. “Now, you can’t leave me with just one pink nail.”

Jasmine giggles. “That would be bad on your wedding day.”

Standing at the altar, I smile at my daughter, who is sitting in the front row next to Charlotte and Emmanuel. Louie and Sammie are positioned next to me. I wasn’t expecting Emmanuel to be back stateside. He turned up a few minutes ago. I introduced him to Jazzy and asked him to sit with her.

There are few people I trust around my daughter. But Emmanuel? He’d take a bullet for her, despite what Louie might think. Paranoid fucker doesn’t trust anyone. Not even us sometimes.

“You know we can handle it if you want to back out,” Louie says under his breath.

“I’m good,” I tell him.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs.

The organ music starts playing and the doors across from us open.

Antonia’s two friends walk in first, and then she’s coming down with her father.

My eyes stay focused on her face. She looks so fucking beautiful.

Then again, she always does. Even without a speck of makeup on her face, she is breathtaking.

Her lips are smiling, but her eyes are sending daggers my way. I smile back at her. I don’t care how much she hates me right now. I’m doing this for her just as much as I’m doing it for myself and Jazzy.

When they reach me, Marciano kisses her cheek and moves to the pew on the other side.

“Glad you could make it.” I pick up Antonia’s hands and hold them in mine.

“I wasn’t aware it was a choice,” she says between gritted teeth.

Her palms are shaking. I want to pull her into me. I want to hold her and tell her that everything is going to be okay. I can’t do that here. Instead, I nod my head at the priest, urging him to begin. The sooner we get this over with, the better. I want Antonia to be my wife.

Would I prefer her to want it too? Of course. She loved me once. She can love me again.

I don’t pay much attention to the ceremony until it’s time for the vows.

“Antonia, repeat after me,” the priest says. “I, Antonia Marciano, take you, Carlo Bianchi, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold from this day forward. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer. In sickness and health, until death do us part.”

I should be worried about the way her lips tip up at the mention of death. I don’t care. If she really wanted me dead, I’d already be dead.

“Now, Carlo, repeat after me.” The priest looks in my direction. I slip the gold band on to Antonia’s finger. Diamonds sparkle along the surface.

Maintaining eye contact, I repeat the vows to her, meaning every single one—not that she believes them.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the priest announces and cheers erupt from the crowd.

My arm snakes around Antonia’s waist, and I pull her body flush against mine. Well, as flush as I can with the huge-ass dress she’s wearing. “I didn’t tell you, but you look fucking beautiful,” I whisper before slamming my lips down on hers for the first time in years.

When we pull apart, Antonia is breathless and glaring at me. “I hope you enjoyed that, because it’s the last time you will ever touch me.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Mrs. Bianchi.” Taking hold of her hand, I lift both of our arms in the air as we turn to face our guests.

My eyes catch on Jazzy. She’s smiling but looking at my new bride with suspicion.

“Hold on,” I tell Antonia, dropping her hand. I step over to Jazzy, bending down to whisper in her ear. “You’re still my number one girl, remember?” Then I kiss the top of her head. “Charlotte and Emmanuel are going to take you home. Lailani will be there until I get back.”

“Okay, you look really nice, Carlo,” Jazzy says.

“Thanks, sweetheart, so do you.”

I stand up and walk back over to Antonia, who is staring at me with a lot of unspoken questions swimming in her eyes. I grab her hand and lead her down the aisle and out to the waiting limo.

“Who’s the kid?” she asks once we’re closed inside.

“Jazzy.” I draw my phone out of my pocket and pretend to make a call. I know it’s an ass move, but I don’t want to tell Antonia about my daughter before the party. That is a conversation for later, when we’re alone and don’t have to put on fake smiles and pleasantries.

“I want separate bedrooms,” Antonia says when the car pulls up to the Royal Flush, where our reception is being hosted.

“I’m sure you do.” I smirk as I pocket my phone again. Not fucking happening.