Sinning in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 2)

“You are welcome,” he assures me. “You’ll have to check out the library and let me know if there are any more unacceptable missing pieces. Make me a wishlist, and maybe you’ll get more.”

“Mm, I like book gifts,” I tell him, leaning my head on his shoulder. “We should start buying baby books. We could go to the bookstore and pick out one every week, that way when the baby is born, we’ll already have a little library going.”

“We could do that.”

I don’t know what kind of parents we’re going to be with our mish-mashed lifestyles. I don’t know what kind of life we’ll have, what kind of love we’ll foster between us. Right now so much is unknown, and as positive as I want to be, I can’t shake the feeling of there being insurmountable barriers between us and happiness.

I tell myself it’s because this is new, and it probably is. I haven’t been in a relationship with Rafe before, so literally everything remains to be seen. We took a few steps forward, a couple giant leaps back, and then—oh, yeah—there’s the minor complication of my falling for someone else.

I swear to myself if I could fall for Sin in four days, I can fall for Rafe…eventually. After I see Sin and I’m okay. After my heart heals and is willing to open up again.

It’s not open right now, and I feel guilty for that. Even though I realize logically I don’t owe Rafe anything, I recognize that he’s making an effort. Not with the books, but by dragging me here in the first place. By wanting a relationship with me when he just told me last night he hasn’t had one since he got his heart broken.

Most of all, I don’t want to be the next person he lets in, and also the next person to ding up his heart. If I could give my heart to him to take care of, maybe I would, but I don’t possess it just yet. The damn thing is still cuffed to a bed across town, and I can only hope I get it back soon.

7

Rafe

It’s going to be a long, probably unpleasant day, so I figured I may as well dive right into the deep end. I’m sitting in my car, looking at the video call I just made as it connects. I called from a blocked number, so I wasn’t sure she would even answer, but my screen suddenly fills up with a giant blonde, messy bun and the pretty face of Carly Price—well, Carly Morelli, I guess, now that she’s married. Her face loses some of the pretty and turns thunderous instead when she see me.

I offer an obnoxiously charming smile. “Hi, Carly.”

Her blue eyes narrow. “Satan.”

My grin widens. She fucking hates me. I love it.

Skipping straight to the point, she asks, “Do you have my sister?”

“I do.”

Slamming her fist down on some hard surface beneath her, she says, “I fucking knew it.”

“That’s why I’m calling, obviously.”

“Oh, it wasn’t for our weekly book club?” she asks sarcastically.

These Price women are not nearly as intimidated by me as they should be. Since there’s no way this goes well anyway, I don’t waste time greasing the wheels. “Laurel is going to call you tomorrow with some news you’re not going to be happy about, and I’m calling ahead to let you know. This way you can process today and adjust your response tomorrow. Regardless of how you feel about it, tomorrow when your sister calls you with this news, you’re going to be happy for her. For us. You’re going to treat it like good news, and offer your support.”

Dread has already transformed her face. “What have you done?”

“Laurel is pregnant.”

Her face goes blank, then fills up with horror. Carly buries her face in her hands, like I’ve delivered news of a death instead of an impending birth. It’s insulting, but I get it. Given who I am, this is sort of a death—the death of whatever life Laurel might have known before. Where once she may have had normalcy, now she will be forever tied to me. Her fate permanently entwined with mine.

I took over the empire Carly’s husband should have inherited, and now Laurel will be at my side. From a traditional standpoint, it’s hard to see it going any other way now that she’s having my kid. Whether ours is a love for the ages or a marriage of convenience remains to be seen, but she is mine, either way. Even without understanding that part, this is a life Carly didn’t want to deal with herself, let alone inflict upon her little sister.

I understand all that from an objective standpoint, but this is all I’ve ever known. It doesn’t seem so bad to me. I think I’m offering Laurel a pretty sweet deal, as a matter of fact. Plenty of women before her have tried—and failed—to earn the position she gets to fall right into.

“This can’t be happening,” Carly says to herself. “This cannot be happening.”

“Now, she’s terrified to tell you,” I add, once I’ve given Carly a minute and she’s verbal again. “On top of everything else that’s stressful for her right now, that’s the big one. She knows you don’t like me. She doesn’t think you’ll be happy that she’s preg

nant by anyone, least of all by me.”

Returning her attention to me, she glares. “Of course I’m not happy she’s pregnant. She is 19-years-old, you son of a bitch. She has her whole life ahead of her—a life that will not include you, I’ll tell you that right now. No fucking way. No way is my sister getting pulled into the torrential downpour of fuckery that is your family. Nope. Fuck this. I’m calling her right now. This ends today.”

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” I advise her. “See, this is why I called ahead of time, so we could iron out these little wrinkles. Today you can vent your anger at me—I can take it. But tomorrow when Laurel calls, you’re going to respond with something more like excitement. You’re going to be surprised, sure, but ultimately happy. Tap into your love for babies. Are hookers wired with that, or…?”