Sinning in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 2)

“He got me pregnant,” I state.

Daphne’s eyes widen to approximately the size of saucers.

Raising my eyebrows, I ask, “Anything else? Can I be alone now?”

“Do you have this whole secret life I don’t know about? I’m so confused.”

I sigh, burying my face in the pillows and shutting out my roommate. “Go away.”

“Fine,” she says, standing, and now looking at my abdomen as if it might have popped in the last 30 seconds. “What are you gonna do?”

“Ignore you until you go away.”

“I meant about the pregnancy,” she specifies.

Sighing, I say, “Ignore it until it goes away?”

“That won’t work,” she informs me.

“I’m going home tomorrow. I’ll work it all out once I have my sister. Now, I’m tired. Let me sleep.”

When she thought it was just a break-up, she wasn’t willing to let me sleep, but now that she knows a pregnancy is involved, she respects that it’s more serious.

Pushing up off the bed, she says, “I’ll make you some of that tea you like. How about that?”

“That would be perfect,” I say, jumping at an excuse to get her out of my room. “Thank you.”

2

Laurel

The Chicago streets feel grayer today, devoid of the hustle and bustle, devoid of the color and noise. It’s a gray day to match my mood, I guess. I can’t believe I let Daphne talk me into coming out of my mourning fort, but she guilted me, saying since it’s my last night in the city for God knows how long, I needed to come meet her and some friends and actually spend some time with them before they forget who I am.

I already knew it was a terrible, no-good, bad idea to leave the sanctuary of my bed, but it solidifies to a gut-deep certainty when I hear a vaguely familiar voice call out, “Laurel?”

I hate running into people I know even when I’m in a good mood, but after Vegas, I am exhausted. The ache in my heart makes just walking around require more energy from me than it should, and now I have to deal with some girl I have barely even spoken to in class out in the real world. Why do people do this? I didn’t see her, so she could have easily pretended not to see me.

Forcing a more welcoming smile onto my lips, I turn around to greet her.

My smile falls along with my heart, because that is not a girl from one of my classes. The well-dressed, smiling blonde beauty heading my way with a scarred up bodyguard on her heels is Mia Morelli, the woman whose house I went to for Easter. The woman whose diabolical husband ultimately opened the Morelli portal and invited all these awful people into my life.

Why does she look happy to see me? I haven’t seen her since Easter, and to be honest, would not have thought she could pick me out of a line-up. But here she comes, a deep crimson shopping bag dangling from her fingers, a big smile on her face.

God, I’m a mess, too. I didn’t put make-up on. Did I even brush my hair? I want the sidewalk to swallow me whole and save me from this interaction, but it doesn’t happen.

“It’s Mia,” she says, in case I don’t remember her. “My husband and Rafe are cousins.”

“Yes, I remember you,” I say, nodding my head.

“What are you doing in Chicago?” she asks, cocking her head. “I thought you were in Vegas.”

“I was. Just for a few days. Now I’m back.”

Her gaze drops ever so briefly to my stomach, then returns to my face. “Where are you headed? We can give you a ride. It’s hot out here. We were just heading back to the car.” Now she holds up the shopping bag with American Girl printed in white lettering. “We had to make an emergency doll replacement trip. Westley and Rosalie were playing doctor, and he inadvertently decapitated Willa.”

At that, I crack a smile. “Oh, man. That must have been traumatic.”

Mia nods. “Ju was quick on her feet and got the doll to the ‘recovery room’ before Rosalie noticed, but, yeah, real heads were going to roll if she found out.”