Page 30 of Devious Kingpin
“Did I say anything?” I questioned, swallowing the lump in my throat. What if I had admitted my secret to him? I steeled my spine, already working out some ludicrous explanation in the back of my mind. “Last night,” I clarified.
Dante stood up, his tall frame making me crane my neck. God, the man was tall. Too fucking tall. I preferred a man that didn’t tower over me. That didn’t make me feel smaller. This guy made me feel vulnerable and that was the feeling I hated the most.
“Well?” I asked, my tone slightly insolent. I couldn’t help it, he brought out the worst in me.
“Like what?” he questioned, his tone curious.
“Anything,” I gritted. “Why do you make everything so difficult?”
He raised one eyebrow nonchalantly. “I’m simply asking a question, Juliette,” he elaborated. “I’m not your enemy here.”
Jesus Christ, this fucker. Always irritating me. Nobody ever made my temper flare as much as Dante DiLustro. It was the reason for destroying his precious car. When he first approached my father with his ultimatum for destroying his casino—a marriage ultimatum—I’d lost my shit. Truthfully, my girlfriends and I didn’t destroy his casino. We just made it smell a bit better, more… lavender-y.
“What do you think you said last night?” Dante questioned again.
I let out an exasperated breath. “What do you remember?” I asked instead. It wasn’t as if I’d tell him what I hoped Ididn’tsay. He was probably working that reverse psychology on me.
He pushed his hand, with the black band, through his thick dark hair. “The last thing I remember was having drinks with you, and then heading onto the dance floor,” he stated matter-of-factly. I nodded. I remembered that too. “Then we headed out to hit another bar. You insisted on barhopping and seeing at least one chapel in Vegas.”
Wonderful. So it was my idea! What. The. Actual. Fuck.
“Well, that is more than I remember,” I grumbled. “Dancing with you must have been the worst idea I ever had. Clearly it led to a string of bad decisions.”
That smug smile reappeared on his face. “Clearly you find me irresistible.”
I rolled my eyes, annoyed at his self-confidence. My gaze darted to the rumpled sheets, then back to Dante.
“God, I don’t know which is worse,” I muttered. “The idea that we slept together or the idea that we got married.” My eyes lowered down to my finger. “Maybe we played pretend or some shit,” I added hopefully.
Reaching into his breast pocket, Dante removed a piece of paper and held it out to me. I watched it wearily. “Take it,” he demanded.
I shook my head. If I saw an official document with what we’d done, I wouldn’t be able to pretend it was a nightmare. That it didn’t happen.
“I didn’t take you for a coward, Juliette,” he drawled, studying me with a dark expression.
My eyes jumped between Dante and the document, then slowly I reached for it. For a second, I studied it, not wanting to open it but finally, straightening my shoulders, I set the coffee cup down, tightened the towel wrapped around my body, then unfolded the document.
Oh. My. God.
It was a marriage certificate with both of our names on it. My lungs squeezed and I shook my head.
“No, no, no,” I murmured over and over again, as if that would make it all better. I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them hoping I’d find different information on the certificate. Still the same names.
Dante DiLustro and Juliette Brennan—now DiLustro.
“Oh my God.” I gulped as I moved over to sit on the side of the bed. “Oh my fucking God.” My brain cells must have still been drunk because it took a while for the knowledge to sink in and for any ideas to come. There had to be a way to rectify the situation.
In a numb state, I watched my sparkling blue toes press against the wooden floor of the hotel.
“How much did we drink, exactly?” I asked.
“Apparently a lot,” he replied, his voice slightly hoarse.
Closing my eyes, I tried to recall a single detail of last night. Yet, nothing came forward. Not a single image. It made no sense. I could hold my liquor. The girls and I drank bottles and bottles of vodka and other hard liquor. I had never blacked out.
“Are you okay?” Dante asked, concern in his voice evident.
“Okay? No, I’m not okay”—I waved the marriage certificate in front of his nose—“I got married. This is the most unoriginal thing I have ever done. Getting married in Vegas.”
