Submitting in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 3)

She nods her head solemnly. “My secret shame. What’s yours?”

“Well… I have an illegitimate child. And I’m a mob boss, guilty of unspeakable crimes. I’ve murdered before.”

As if none of this is relevant or horrifying, she says, “I meant your secret shame show. What have you watched that you don’t want anyone to know about?”

“Cassandra used to make me watch The Bachelor with her,” I admit. “After a while, I started to find it mildly amusing.”

Nodding sympathetically, she says, “That’s when the brain-melting set in.”

“Exactly.”

“‘I’m not here to make friends,’” she mocks. “I only watched two seasons, but I got the impression they’re all the same. Dumbass bachelor, parade of desperate women with one dropped into the fray that makes you wonder, ‘what the hell is she doing on this show?’ and then the evil bitch character that the dumb-as-dryer-lint bachelor can’t see through, no matter how many women warn him about her. That show is a circus.”

“Spoken like a secret fan,” I tell her.

“I actually don’t watch much TV. Normally, I will watch a pilot to determine whether or not it’s worth potentially reliving, and the answer is almost always no. There are a few shows I’ve watched to completion, but not many.”

“And Smallville wasn’t on that elite list?” I ask, feigning surprise.

Virginia smirks and grabs a few pieces of popcorn. “Weirdly, no.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Veronica Mars. I’m a die-hard marshmallow. I’ll watch anything Kristen Bell is in, appliance commercials included. She’s a treasure.”

Carly joins the fray. “Listen, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but my ears perk up when I hear things I vehemently agree with. Logan or Piz?”

As if disgusted, Virginia scrunches her face up. “Is that even a question? Logan.”

Resting a hand against her heart in relief, Carly says, “Oh, good. I didn’t want to have to throw down on Christmas Eve.”

“Kristen Bell is pretty amazing,” Laurel agrees.

“A little blonde ray of sunshine,” Virginia states, passing the popcorn bowl over Vince’s head—without hitting him, this time.

Carly takes the bowl and nods her head at me. “He’s never seen Frozen.”

Virginia shakes her head in mock disappointment. “What does he even do with his time?”

Laurel chimes in with a solution. “Now that we have Nicholas, we have an excuse to force him to watch it.”

“Nicholas does not want me to watch Frozen,” I state.

“He does,” Laurel replies, nodding her head. “He told me.”

“You probably won’t agree with me on this,” Carly begins to Virginia, “but Rafe is totally Hans.”

“Rafe is not—” Virginia pauses in her defense of my character. “All right, depending upon the perspective, I could see how Rafe could maybe come off as Hans.”

Carly harrumphs with satisfaction. “See, she gets it.”

“If I ever do watch this damned movie, it’ll only be because I want to know why people keep calling me that,” I mutter.

“Because you’re definitely Hans,” Virginia whispers.

“We can watch it tomorrow,” Laurel announces cheerfully. “Skylar loves that movie. We got her an Elsa and Anna jewelry box for Christmas. It sings the snowman song.”

“Good God.” I lean forward and look around. “Is there a box we’re supposed to drop our man cards into when we step through the front door, or…?”