Page 9 of His Playground (Owning Vegas #2)

Chapter Eight

H e’s changed. Carlo. I don’t know if it’s just for the benefit of the little girl in the room, but he is not the same asshole whose heart I envisioned ripping out of his chest with my bare hands.

Vampire style. Obviously, I know that would be physically impossible.

I’d have to use some knives or something.

“You’re right. I should apologize.” I smile at Jazzy, because I don’t want to start this whole thing on the wrong foot.

Whatever feelings I have towards her father are not her problem.

“I’m sorry I was mean,” I tell Carlo, while picturing him bleeding out, my heel stomping on his heart just like he stomped all over mine.

“Like I said, nothing I don’t deserve. Sit down. I’m making pancakes.” He waves a spatula at the open kitchen stool next to his daughter.

“Carlo makes the best pancakes,” Jazzy tells me. “Banana is my favorite. What’s your favorite?”

“Blueberry,” Carlo and I answer her at the same time. It shouldn’t piss me off that he knows me so damn well. It does, though.

“Why don’t I flip the pancakes while you go and put on a shirt?” I stand and walk around the counter.

“Why? Is my being shirtless bothering you?” The asshole smirks. He knows damn well it’s bothering me.

“Carlo has your name on him,” Jazzy says, pointing to her father’s bare torso.

“No, he doesn’t,” I’m quick to reply, raking my eyes over his body. And then I see it. Antonia . Written in script. It’s small and mixed in with the rest of the black-and-white ink that covers his skin. But it is my name. “Why?” I ask him.

“Lots of people tattoo the names of people they love onto their bodies. It’s not a big deal,” he says.

“Are you going to put me on you somewhere? Can I get a tattoo of your name, Carlo?” Jazzy asks.

“Yes, I’m getting your name, sweetheart. Huge, the biggest I can get. And, no, you’re not allowed to have tattoos.” He points at her.

“Why not? You have them everywhere.” She pouts.

“Because they’re an adult thing to do, and they hurt. I’m not letting anyone hurt you,” he says.

“Shirt?” I repeat, because either he covers up or I need to get out of this room and away from his nakedness and his kindness to his daughter. Because I have ovaries and apparently they’re screaming right now.

“Fine. I’ll be back. Don’t burn them.” He hands me the spatula.

When he walks out, a silence falls over the kitchen. And then, out of nowhere, I get hit with the interrogation. “Do you love my daddy?” Jazzy asks.

“It’s complicated,” I tell her.

“But you married him. So that means you have to love him, right?”

“I married him because my father wanted me to,” I try to explain.

“Huh? Do you think Carlo will want me to marry someone someday?” She seems to consider the idea.

“No, I don’t think he will. He’s… different.” The Carlo I know was always against arranged marriages. Why he agreed to ours, I still haven’t figured out. “Why do you call him Carlo?” I ask her.

“Because we just met. Not that long ago. It’s just… I don’t know.” Her brows furrow in the middle. “Are you going to be like Cinderella’s evil stepmother?”

Her question slaps me in the face. Stepmother. Holy shit, I’m someone’s stepmother. I don’t know anything about being a mother. I didn’t even have one of my own. What am I supposed to do? Shit. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to be a wife, let alone a mother.

Carlo walks back into the kitchen. “What happened?” he asks, looking from where I’m still frozen to the spot and then over to Jazzy.

“I… I need a minute.” The spatula falls from my hand as I run out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom. My feet pace up and down the length of the room. My heart races.

I don’t know what I’m doing here. What the hell did I get myself into? Did my father know he was signing me up for an insta-family? Did he even care?

“What’s going on in your head?”

My neck snaps up at the sound of Carlo’s voice. “I can’t be a mother. I don’t know how. I’m twenty-one years old. I can’t be someone’s mother,” I tell him.

He lifts a questioning brow. “Are you pregnant?”

“What? No.” I shake my head.

“Then why the fuck are you worried about being a mother?”

“You have a child, Carlo. She just asked if I was going to be an evil stepmother.”

“That’s right. I have a child. Jazzy is mine. No one else’s. You are not her mother, Antonia. She has a mother. She doesn’t need another one,” he says calmly.

“Who is she?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Who?” he says.

“Her mother? Who is she?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs.

“I might not be the brightest, Carlo, but even I’m not stupid enough to believe you don’t know who your daughter’s mother is.”

“Jazzy was dropped off at the reception desk downstairs a few weeks ago. I’ve been looking for her mother ever since,” he tells me.

“She…” I shake my head. “Why would someone do that?”

“Fuck if I know. But like I said, we might be married, but Jazzy is mine. She doesn’t need another parent.” With that, he turns and walks out.

He doesn’t want me to parent his child. I’m not sure if I’m offended or relieved. Don’t get me wrong… she seems like a great kid. But surely if I had anything to do with raising her, she’d turn out with more issues than a shrink could fix. I don’t know anything about kids.

I sit down on the bed, pick up my phone, and scroll through my socials. I don’t know what to do. Should I go back out there? Pretend I didn’t just have the freakout of the century over becoming someone’s stepmother? Or hide out in here all day?

I need to go back home and pack some of my things.

I avoided doing it all week, but now that I’m here, I want my own stuff.

I borrowed one of Carlo’s shirts this morning, and all I can smell is him.

I wish I could say I hated it, but I don’t.

Which is the problem. I cannot afford to let him worm his way back into my heart. It won’t survive being crushed again.

After a few minutes, my growling stomach gets the better of me and I walk back out to the kitchen.

“Sit down. They’re almost done,” Carlo says.

“Thanks.” I lower myself next to Jazzy, who is already digging into a stack of pancakes covered in syrup. “I have to go home and pack some things today,” I say, trying to break the silence.

“I’ve put Hunter and Greg on your detail,” Carlo tells me.

“I don’t need a detail.” I argue. “And I have Brian.”

“Not anymore, you don’t. And yes, you need a detail.

You’re not to go anywhere without them.” He uses that don’t try to argue with me tone.

Honestly, if I didn’t have a child sitting next to me right now, I’d tell him to fuck off.

“Eat,” he says, dropping a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of me.

“I… am not hungry anymore.” I push the plate away. Maybe a hunger strike will… Actually I don’t think a hunger strike will affect anyone but me. I pull the plate back towards me, changing my mind. “Now I am.” I pick up my fork.

“They’re the best,” Jazzy mumbles, her cheeks puffing out with chewed-up pancake.

I look to Carlo, waiting for him to lecture her about talking with her mouth full. My father slapped me across my face once for doing the same thing. Not Carlo, though. He smiles and starts cleaning up the mess he made cooking.

“They are really good,” I agree.

“Do you want to know the secret? Carlo says it’s love. You have to cook them with love for people you love,” Jazzy informs me.

“Really?” I don’t have the heart to tell her that her father might love her, but I do not fall into that category.

“I’m coming with you when you go back to your father’s,” Carlo says.

“Why?” I ask him.

“Because I don’t trust him.” He picks up his phone before turning to Jazzy. “How would you like to go visit Uncle Louie?”

“Can I swim with Aunt Charlotte?” she says excitedly.

“We can ask her,” Carlo replies. “Go get your swimsuit ready and bring me your hairbrush. I’ll do something with that bird’s nest on top of your head.”

“Okay.” Jazzy jumps down off the stool and disappears around the corner.

“I can brush her hair if you want,” I offer.

“I can do my daughter’s hair,” he grunts.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. Forget I mentioned it.” I take another bite of the pancakes, because they really are too good not to eat.