Page 7 of His Playground (Owning Vegas #2)

Chapter Six

I didn’t have a single thing to do with planning this reception. That said, if I did, it would probably look exactly the same. I don’t know if it was my father or my new husband who told the party planner what to do or if maybe it’s just a coincidence.

I vaguely remember having a conversation with Carlo a long time ago about what my dream wedding would look like.

And this room? It’s very similar to what I described.

There is no way he’d remember that conversation, though.

I think my brain is playing tricks on me, wanting me to believe something that just isn’t there.

I’m not delusional. Just trying to find a way to survive, I guess.

I’ve been putting off leaving this party. I knew Carlo wanted to leave hours ago. He actually did disappear for a while and then came back with some excuse about a work thing.

I don’t care. I don’t need nor do I want him to explain his whereabouts to me. I’m his wife on paper only. That’s how this is going to stay.

When the last person says their goodbyes and the staff starts cleaning up, I’m out of excuses. I know what’s expected of a bride. Like I said, I’m not delusional… just practicing avoidance at its finest.

“You want me to call for some blankets if we’re going to camp out here all night?” Carlo asks.

I don’t look at him, choosing to stare out at the empty room instead. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Your loss. I seem to remember how much you used to love doing a lot more than sleeping with me,” he says, a cocky-ass inflection in his tone.

“I’ve grown. I’m not into pathetic excuses for men anymore,” I fire back at him.

“Right, well, can we go? I’m tired and I don’t fancy sleeping on a cold floor.” He stands and holds out a hand to me.

Ignoring it, I stand and push my way past him, which isn’t easy in this freaking dress. My feet ache as I storm out of the ballroom and head to the bank of elevators. I’ve been to Carlo’s penthouse before. It’s not like I don’t know where I’m going.

The asshole has the nerve to laugh as he follows behind me. When the doors open, I stab the button for the penthouse and instinctively press my thumbprint to the scanner that allows access to the top floor, surprised when it actually lights up green.

“I never took you off the system,” Carlo says as way of explanation.

I lift one shoulder as I stare ahead at the steel doors. “It’s not like I ever would have used the access willingly.”

“I’m not holding you hostage, Antonia. Don’t be so fucking dramatic. I didn’t have to offer myself up for your father’s deal,” he says.

“Then why did you?” I spin around. Well, sort of. My dramatic turn doesn’t really go as planned with all the tulle.

“Would you have preferred to be married off to a stranger? There are a lot of cruel fucking men in this world of ours. You know that,” Carlo says.

“I don’t need or want you to save me. I’m capable of looking after myself.

And how do you know I wasn’t seeing someone?

How do you know I wasn’t in love with someone?

And that now whatever relationship I had is gone.

Because I have to do what I’m told, right?

Be a good daughter, do what my father wants. ”

Carlo’s eyes narrow in on me. “You’re right. Whatever relationship you had is over, Antonia. I might tolerate a lot of things, but don’t push me.”

“Or what?” I goad him.

“If you were in love, I know you… You would have ended it, because you know damn well if you didn’t, the fucker wouldn’t be breathing much longer.”

“Pfft.” I turn back when the doors open and walk through.

“Let me get this straight… It’s perfectly okay for you to go and screw whomever you want whenever you want, but I have to be the dutiful wife?

Screw you, Carlo.” My voice rises. Now that we’re alone, I’m really going to let him have a piece of my damn mind.

I’ve got years of pent-up anger to let out on this man.

“Shhh, keep your voice down,” he says.

“Carlo?”

I turn at the sound of a small voice. Carlo walks past me and towards the hallway.

“It’s okay, Jazzy. Antonia was just excited to finally be home and meet you.

” Then I watch as he bends down and picks up a little girl in pink pajamas, the same little girl who was sitting in the front row of the church.

“Antonia, this is Jazzy, my daughter,” he says, not taking his eyes off mine.

“Your daughter?” What the actual… He has a daughter.

Jazzy. Which means the phone call he took at our engagement party…

He was talking to a kid. His kid. Not another woman.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jazzy.” I smile at the girl.

Because I know—more than most—you can’t blame a child for their DNA. It’s not her fault her father’s an ass.

“Hi, you look like a real princess,” she says.

“Thank you.” I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do now. I was prepared for a fight. I was prepared to do anything I had to do to keep Carlo away from me. I was not prepared to meet his kid. I didn’t even know he had a kid. He never mentioned a daughter when we were seeing each other.

Did he purposely hide the fact he had a little girl from me? Why?

“I’m going to take Jazzy back to bed. I’m sure you remember where the main bedroom is located. Make yourself at home,” he says before disappearing down the hall.

I’m left standing in the foyer, staring after his retreating back. What on earth do I do now?

“Ah, congratulations, Mrs. Bianchi. You look beautiful.”

I turn at the sound of another voice. This I would have been more prepared for. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name?” I hold out a hand to the pretty young woman. I might as well know who my husband is sleeping with, right?

“Lailani. I babysit Jazzy sometimes when Mr. Bianchi needs me,” she says. “I’m going to head out, but can you let Mr. Bianchi know she woke up three times?”

“Uh… sure, thank you.” Again, I’m left speechless.

The whole place is quiet. Eerie. I walk down the hallway, go straight into his bedroom, and stop dead in my tracks. It’s exactly the same. Memories assault me. We had some good times in this room. Carlo was really good at…

Well, it doesn’t matter now because that’s never happening again.

This is harder than I thought it would be. Being back in this space. His space. I wonder if I can convince him that separate apartments are the way of the future. No one would even have to know.

I walk over to the bed and lie down, because I’m really freaking tired. I don’t know what I was expecting, but like I said, this was not it. I would have preferred to spend the night fighting with him.

When I hear the door creak open, I close my eyes and pretend to be out cold. I listen as Carlo walks around the room, opening and closing what I assume is the closet door, and then something soft lands on top of me. A blanket.

Two seconds later, his footsteps become more distant. After a minute of not hearing anything, I open one eye. I’m alone. He left? Where the hell did he go? Also, why do I care? He covered me with a blanket and then just walked out.

This is what I want. To be left alone. The question is why do I feel so lonely? I could call one of the girls…

When I look at the time, I see that it’s after midnight. They’d answer but I don’t want to bother them. I also don’t want all the questions. Questions like: Why are you calling us when you should be in the sack with your husband?

Maybe Carlo isn’t attracted to me anymore. I mean, his tastes could have changed. I’m not the same na?ve eighteen-year-old girl he knew either. Maybe he has a type and I’m too old for him now? Why do I care? That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?

I don’t. I’m glad he left.

I get out of bed, walk into his closet, and pull down a shirt. My hands reach behind me, and that’s when I realize I’m screwed. I can’t undo this dress on my own.

I guess most people wear wedding dresses with the knowledge that their husbands will unwrap them later that night. Then again, most people don’t enter arranged marriages with their secret exes either.

Giving up on all the straps and buttons, I walk back over to the bed and get as comfortable as I possibly can while regret sinks in.

Why did I have to choose such a ridiculous dress?