Page 59 of All Bets Are Off

She grew into a strong woman, with opinions and beliefs all her own. She wasn’t afraid to go toe to toe with her parents. She absolutely loved giving Rex a hard time. She learned to make her way in the world all on her own, which gave her the sort of strength my sisters didn’t possess. They could take care of themselves, but they always had my father’s money fueling them.

That only made what I felt for her even stronger.

I buried those feelings because I had no choice. I’d developed a reputation as a playboy by then, and I didn’t hate it. I got a charge out of people looking at me and seeing power. My father saw weakness but others saw strength, and I fed on that. I couldn’t risk chasing what I felt for Olivia because losing Rex and his parents wasn’t an option. I just couldn’t deal with that possibility.

I needed them.

So, I pretended I didn’t feel anything when I looked at her. I joined in when Rex was giving her a hard time. Then, as she graduated college and went to work, I saw her less and less. She was no longer in her parents’ house, and even though I still went there for dinner occasionally, I only saw her once or twice a month. I convinced myself that momentary attraction I’d felt was gone. It had been a fluke. That’s all it was.

Then Rex suggested I marry his sister. It was a bad idea from the start. I didn’t grasp that at the time, though. I’d convinced myself there was nothing to worry about. It had just been a childhood … something. Okay, I was an adult at the time. It wasn’t as if I was mature, though.

Being in close proximity to Olivia had sparked something inside of me. Even when we were arguing—something I enjoyed—there was always a feeling simmering under the surface. It wasn’t until I saw her in the dress that I realized what that feeling was.

I was attracted to her. That was the easy answer. Just attraction could be dealt with, though. This was something more. It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. Even if we had the foundation for that, it was too soon. That didn’t change the fact that I felt more for her than I’d ever felt for anybody else in my life.

Before her, all the women I’d been with were temporary. I somehow knew that going in. Being with Olivia felt somehow inevitable, though. It was as if my soul had sighed with relief when I married her. I was just now realizing it.

What did that mean for us, though? Rex would not take kindly to us developing real feelings for each other. All of the angst I’d felt when dealing with Olivia was starting to make sense to me. I wanted her. So much.

I still couldn’t lose Rex.

The beat changed to something low and sultry, and I pulled her tighter against me, my hand wandering over her hip, stroking and teasing. It wanted to roam elsewhere, but I managed to keep my wits about me enough to make sure that didn’t happen.

A small gasp escaped her mouth when I dipped her low and brought her back up, our eyes laser focused on each other. That gasp reminded me of the dance performance we’d seen together, and my body reacted.

“What’s the goal here?” she asked, her voice a husky whisper. “What are you doing?”

I went with the truth. “I have no idea.”

“You still haven’t told me how you even found us,” she pressed.

“Ruby posted a photo on Instagram. I saw it when I was scrolling.”

“You have an Instagram account?” Olivia looked confused. “Do you post on it?”

“No.”

“You just scroll?”

“I…” How could I tell her that I’d taken to looking at her Instagram account so I would know where she was? Olivia was one of those people who took artistic photographs of her drinks. She liked pretty things. She was pure, and beautiful, and enjoyed the simple things in life. To her, a sugar-rimmed cocktail was extravagant.

I liked that about her. She hadn’t lost sight of normal life. Somewhere along the way, I had.

“I scroll,” I said finally. “I wondered where you were going in that dress.”

“What is it with you and this dress?” She looked legitimately curious. “It’s Vegas. I got this dress at a consignment shop. There are a hundred women here in better dresses.”

It wasn’t actually the dress. Instinctively, I knew that. It was her in the dress. I managed to keep my wits about me and didn’t say that.

“I guess I like the color,” I lied.

“Okay.” She made an exaggerated face. “Why are you acting so weird?”

I shrugged. “I’m not acting weird. I’m just dancing with my wife.”

“Your fake wife.”

Hearing her say it—even though it was the truth—was an arrow to the heart. “People will see us together. Word will spread about who you are. Doors will open for you.”

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