Page 3 of The Girlfriend Card (Vegas Sin #4)

A Passion for Theater

Ottavia

T he sleek black car glided to a smooth stop, its engine a soft purr. The vibrant lights of the Grand Royale flickered outside my back seat window, casting a kaleidoscope of neon that danced through the interior of the car.

With a spark of mischief, I swung the door open and let myself out a split-second ahead of my driver, Florin.

“You know I always insist on opening the door for you, Miss Ottavia,” he protested. His slight Romanian accent always came on a little thicker when he was irritated. “Your comfort and security are my job.”

Little did poor Florin know, it was actually these small acts of rebellion that gave me comfort.

“You haven’t missed me at all, have you, Florin?” I teased.

He sighed and a fondness softened his face. “Things are a lot less lively since you’ve been gone, I have to admit.”

“I’ll take it.”

I bade Florin farewell and passed through the grand entrance of the casino hotel, my heels clicking on the polished marble floors. I stepped into the waiting elevator and watched the numbers on the panel climb higher, my pulse quickening with each passing floor.

With a soft chime, the elevator doors opened.

I headed for the double doors of the Grand Royale ballroom, the din of conversation and forced laughter, ha ha ha, growing louder with each step.

An electrical charge crackled in the air, intensifying as I approached and making my heart flutter.

I knew exactly what that energy was composed of—power, ambition, and influence.

That was the world I was born into; the only world I’d known for most my life.

An attendant posted just outside the doors to the event intercepted my path. “Can I help you?” he asked curtly.

“Yes, I’m here for the fundraiser.”

He sighed and consulted his list. “Name?”

“Ottavia Capuano.”

With a small cough, he swiftly cast the list aside, and a warmth suddenly infused his voice. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Miss Capuano. Please, right this way.”

“It’s totally fine,” I assured him.

A banner proclaiming “William Lancaster for President” was draped across the twin marble pillars, catching the attention of all who entered the opulent ballroom.

Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, bathing the ballroom in golden light.

The room teemed with distinguished guests, who mingled and chatted in clusters, filling the air with a palpable buzz.

Every breath I drew carried the scent of expensive and competing perfumes, a sensory overload that made me nearly gag.

I shimmied through the sea of bodies. The impeccably-dressed guests sipped cocktails, their eyes discreetly curious as they caught sight of me.

“Who’s she?”

Whispers followed me as I slipped through the crowd.

“That’s Sal’s daughter.”

“Isn’t she dating Lancaster’s boy?”

I shrugged off the rumors swirling around me and scanned the room for my dad. I have a foolproof method for finding him: just look for the biggest crowd of suits, all laughing uproariously. Dad, towering over the rest, will be found in the center of it.

Sure enough, I spotted his commanding presence among a crowd of influential men who hung on his every word. I approached him hesitantly, not wanting to disrupt whatever yarn he was spinning. But when Dad’s eyes locked onto mine, he stopped his story and excitedly waved me to join his side.

“Ciao, Ottavia! Bellissima!” he bellowed, hands gesticulating as he spoke the extent of the Italian he knew. He took me by the hand, twirled me around, and proudly showcased me to the crowd. “The princess! Isn’t she gorgeous?”

I smiled graciously, but the stares of countless strangers had me eager to escape the spotlight. Thankfully, Dad sensed my discomfort and excused us so we could talk in private.

“My God. Look at you. You’re more and more beautiful every time I see you.” He gently cupped my cheek, but the look of discontent on my face didn’t change. “What’s wrong, princess?”

“I can’t believe you dragged me into this,” I groused. “I just got home.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Chuckling, he held up his hands in surrender. “What’s this about? Spend a few years up at Stanford, and suddenly you’re too good for the family business?”

“I’ve always hated these things.” I cast a weary glance at the stuffy crowd. “Why am I even needed here?”

“The people need to see the future President’s beautiful family.” He wagged a finger at me before I could protest. “And yes, as Leopold’s captivating companion, that includes you, Ottavia.”

“I’m not his ‘companion,’ Dad.”

Once upon a time, maybe, but those puppy love days were long gone.

He ignored my remark and tried a different tact instead. “Well, what else were you going to do tonight, anyway?”

“Unpack my things and get settled in? See what my friends are up to? Start looking for a summer job?”

“What? A summer job? Why?” He laughed, the idea apparently preposterous. “Look, if you really wanna work, I can set you up with an easy office job.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know I don’t want an office job.”

Much less one where I don’t actually do anything because of who my dad is.

“Right, right. You want to be an actress.” He snickered. “So what are you gonna do? Find a summer acting job in the wanted ads?”

Of course I wasn’t going to find an acting job this summer; I knew that. I just wanted a job, any job, that a normal twenty-one-year-old girl might have. Plus, it’d help with my acting if I had at least a touch of real-life experience to draw from.

“Face it, hon. Your best bet of becoming an actress is rubbing elbows with the right people,” Dad said, his hands gripping my shoulder as he spun me around to face the crowd. “Look around; they’re all out there. There’s incredible power in people, Ottavia. You just have to know how to use it.”

“That’s not me,” I said and slipped out of his grasp.

“Listen, I know you’re not thrilled to be here,” Dad said, trying to maintain a smile. “But I am glad you came. It’s important for you to be here. If not for me, then for William and Leopold.”

I fluttered my eyes at him. “So … for you, Dad.”

“This is going to be huge for both our families, Ottavia,” he said. “By the way, I got something to show you.” He patted his pockets, searching for something in his suit jacket. He handed me a photograph. “It’s from the very first day you two met.”

With a sigh, I reluctantly glanced at the photo.

I’ll admit, I was expecting to remain annoyed at this fleeting glimpse at the past—but it was impossible not to be sucked into a portal to the past. In the ancient photo, Leo and I are just cute-as-a-button toddlers, standing outside by the shimmering pool at the Capuano residence, with our smiling dads watching over us in the background.

Leo and I are both wearing precious onesie swimsuits with orange floaties hugging our tiny arms. My face is full and round with cherubic delight as I plant a big ol’ kiss on Leo’s bright red cheek.

But little Leo, with his curly mop of blonde hair, isn’t so sure about me.

His terrified reaction is comically frozen in time—with a crestfallen face and a mouth forming a perfect square, Leo appears to be letting out what I can only imagine was a piercing scream that could be heard for miles .

I couldn’t help but giggle when I saw it.

“Is that cute or what?” Dad asked, snickering.

“It is cute,” I had to admit.

“That little boy had no clue how stunning you’d become.”

I scanned the crowd. “Where is he, anyway? Shouldn’t he be here?”

“He’s around here somewhere. I’ve seen him working the room all night, shaking hands, making connections.

The kid’s got the gift of gab. He’s a natural, Ottavia.

You’d almost think he was running for President instead of his old man.

Someday, though. Someday.” He winked. “Trust me. He’s a safe investment. ”

“Well, I don’t see him,” I replied.

“Maybe he ran up to your suite?”

“ My suite?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I arranged for you and Leo to have the penthouse luxury suite all week.” With a flick of his wrist, Dad produced a hotel key card and handed it to me. He leaned in and sang, “That way you two can catch up and make up for lost time.”

“Your kindness knows no bounds, Father,” I said, dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, my talented little actress,” he gushed, equally ironically, and pinched my cheek.

Dad’s attention shifted to his trilling cell phone, which he quickly fished out of his trousers pocket. He held the phone to one ear and plugged the other. “Hello? . . . Yeah. Uh-huh . . . And what’d he say? . . . Oh, that little rat piece of shit. . . . ”

Somebody in the crowd caught Dad’s attention while he was still on the phone. Snapping his fingers, he grabbed me and pointed.

It was Leo.

Dad mouthed the word, Go.

With a sigh, I reluctantly made my way through the crowd and over to Leo.

It wasn’t Leo I had a problem with. Actually, I don’t have anything against Leo at all. He’s one of my only friends who actually knows me and can somewhat relate to me …

No, it was the other thing that bothered me.

The concept.

The arrangement .

I don’t know when, precisely, it started.

I know that it felt like it was our idea at first, because I can vividly recall Leo and I playing as little kids, and innocently discussing how our lives would be when were husband and wife someday—is that a normal thing for little kids to talk about?

I’m honestly asking because I don’t know. Nothing about my life has been normal.

As I got older, though, I began to realize it wasn’t just us talking about it. Our parents talked about our future marriage, too, and seemed personally invested in it happening.

That, I’m pretty sure, isn’t normal.

But when you’re told who your future husband will be from an early enough age, I guess arranged marriage isn’t such a scary thing.

It helps when he grows up to be a tall, dashingly handsome young man, and all the other girls pine for him, too.

And when he’s your first crush, first kiss, first love, first almost everything?

Well, it feels less like “arranged marriage” and more like “fate.”

But the thing is, we’re not kids anymore. And we’re not in love anymore, either. And I’ve started to think that somebody put this idea in our heads from the very beginning.

All I can wonder now is … when do I get a say in any of this?

I sidled next to Leo, who was deeply engaged in conversation with a group of powerful-looking men.

He turned, surprised to see me. “Oh! Tavi! You’re here!”

Fully aware that important people were watching us, I offered a warm and radiant smile. “Hi, Leo!”

He pressed a kiss to my cheek, and we embraced in a swift, affectionate hug.

Without missing a beat, Leo smoothly transitioned into introductions.

“Allow me to introduce my lovely companion, Ottavia Capuano. If I seem surprised to see her, it’s because I honestly didn’t think she’d make it tonight.

Just today, Ottavia completed her third year at Stanford, where she’s pursuing her passion for theater. ”

The group responded with impressed murmurs.

“Oh, Leo!” Ever the supportive ‘companion,’ I hooked my arm through his. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

One of the men remarked, “A passion for theater, you say? You must feel right at home among us snakes!”

Raucous laughter filled the air.

If you only knew, I thought, my polite laughter joining the chorus.