The Sexy Enemy: A Fake Relationship Romance (Italian Nights Series Book 3)

2. Natalia

Ican’t believe I’m doing the walk of shame from my night with a Conti. You’ve hit rock bottom, Natalia. I’m never drinking again. I don’t understand. How drunk did I need to get to go home with him? Shots, it had to be too many shots.

And a memory knocks loose.

“We’re going to head back,” Gio says, pulling me to the side.

“What? Why?” I moan, the night is only getting started. It’s his and Paige’s joint bachelor and bachelorette party for Christ’s sake.

“We’ve been traveling all day, we’re tired,” he explains.

Traveling on a private plane where they both slept the entire way. “And? This is Vegas. We are supposed to party all night long,” I tell him.

Gio rolls his eyes. “We can do that tomorrow night.”

“Just ’cause you’re engaged doesn’t mean you can’t party,” I tease him.

“Just ’cause we’re in Vegas doesn’t mean we have to party every single night. We have the cabana booked tomorrow to party by the pool,” he reminds me.

“That’s tomorrow.”

“Love you, Nat, but Paige is ready to go,” Gio tells me.

I pout and hug him good night, then watch the couple leave the VIP area.

“They are so boring.” Savannah huffs. We are left with Callie, Savannah’s brother, Owen, and Smith, Paige’s brother, and his friends. At least they know how to have a good time.

“Forget about them, I’m so happy I have you with me,” Savannah says, placing her arms around my shoulders. Thank goodness the Australians know how to party, otherwise, this is going to be one lame weekend.

Savannah and I continue to dance the night away. The drinks are flowing, the music is pumping, and I’m having the best time.

“Holy shit, the hottest men have arrived at the next booth,” Savannah squeals. I turn and follow her line of vision, taking in the group of ten hot men being ushered over. A sign being held up by the near-naked lady with sparklers says, Happy Birthday, Romeo.

Then I still as I watch every single handsome guy walk in behind the girls and take a seat at the booth beside us. I know exactly who they all are.

Fucking Romeo Conti.

What the hell is he doing here, in Vegas, at the same time we are?

“Those men are hot.” Savannah chuckles as she sips her drink.

“I know them,” I tell her.

She whips her head around quickly. “You do? Why are we not over there then?”

“Because they are a bunch of assholes.” Savannah frowns. “The birthday boy is Romeo Conti, the third son born to the Conti family. The Conti and Fiorenzo families go way back, and we hate each other. Always have, always will.”

Savannah’s eyes widen at my explanation. “Wow, okay, I wasn’t expecting that. What did their family do to yours?”

“I don’t actually know for sure as Papà doesn’t talk about it other than that he hates them.”

“Is that some, like, royal thing?” she asks.

“They’re not royal.”

She nods. “But your family knows them?”

I let out a sigh. “Our fathers grew up together, just like their fathers before them and before that and so on. They were once best friends, but then something happened, and now, they are enemies.”

“Right, and that means the kids are, too?” she asks.

“Yep.”

“Such a shame because they are very good-looking Italian men.” Savannah sighs as she sips her drink and looks over one last time at the table of men.

“Babe, this is Vegas, good-looking men with accents are dime a dozen here.”

Savannah chuckles. “Hell, yeah they are.” She lifts her drink up and we clink glasses. “Now let’s have some fun.”

Does Savannah know I went home with Alessandro? If so, why the hell did she let me go home with him? I pull out my phone to check that I don’t have any messages. None. Is she not worried about where I am? Or does she know I went home with someone and thinks I’m safe?

I make my way through the lobby and toward the elevator. I press the button to my floor and watch the numbers count down toward me. I’m almost there, and then I can have a shower and put last night behind me. The doors open, and the elevator is empty, thank goodness, I don’t need any more witnesses to my shame. I swipe my key and the doors close without anyone else entering. I sag against the wall, catch a glimpse of myself, and shiver. I look like a mess. My brown hair is knotted and pulled up into a high messy ponytail, my makeup is smudged, and I look well fucked.

No. No. No.

There is no way in hell a Conti could fuck that good. No way. That man has never given a woman an orgasm, he has selfish written all over his face. His handsome face. Ew, no. Maybe. No. A little. Fine. The man does have aesthetically pleasing qualities that I can see based purely on the fact I have eyes, nothing more. He’s still the enemy, even if he has a nice dick. I kind of wish I could remember what the nice dick did to me.

Wait. No, I don’t.

The elevator doors open on my floor, and I stride out, happy that I’ve almost made it without running into someone I know. It’s just a couple more steps, and my dirty secret will be safe, no one will know what I’ve done.

Made it.

Pushing the door open to my room, I step in and let the door slam behind me. Instantly, I relax back in my own environment. Kicking off my shoes, I walk over to the room service menu—I’m starved. I scan it before calling down and ordering. I’ll have enough time to jump into the shower before it arrives. Getting undressed, I curse remembering that the asshole took my underwear. What kind of psycho does that? Is it a fetish? I have never had any of my boyfriends sniff my underwear like he did. It was hot. No, it was not. There’s nothing in the world that man could do that I would deem hot. Him standing there naked. Well … “No,” I chastise myself before stepping into the hot stream of water. Yes, this feels amazing. I grab the soap and lather myself up before scrubbing every square inch of myself, trying to erase my night with Alessandro Conti.

I feel like a new woman when I step out, wrap myself in the fluffy white hotel robe, and head back into my suite. Moments later, there’s a knock at my door, thank goodness because I’m starving. I walk toward the door, and letting room service in, they roll the breakfast cart into my room and set it up before leaving again. It’s all gone in about two point four seconds. I was ravenous. You worked up an appetite. Ew. No. A shiver slides down my spine. I never want to think about the fact that Alessandro Conti’s dick was inside me. I pour myself another cup of coffee, trying to make myself feel human again.

Suddenly, my phone vibrates and when I look down, the message says,

CALL ME – URGENT.

My stomach sinks as I realize it’s one of my magazine friends. She only messages me things like that when she’s been given a juicy story about me. I press call on my phone.

“Fuck, Nat, don’t tell me it’s true,” Francesca asks.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“You and Alessandro Conti.”

I still.

What did she just say?

“Alessandro Conti?” I ask her, hoping to sound calm and collected.

“Yes. That the two of you got married in Vegas last night.”

“Wait, what?” I scream down the phone. The calmness is completely out the window now. “I thought you said I married Alessandro Conti.”

“I did. That’s exactly what I said. One of our photographers was there and took photos, we are the only ones with these images. He was the only one there,” she explains.

“What the hell are you talking about? There is no way in hell I would have married Alessandro Conti. It’s a lie. They’ve faked the photos, it’s not real,” I tell her.

Silence falls between us as I hear typing on her end and then a beep on my end.

“I just emailed the photos,” she explains.

Pulling the phone from my ear, I open my emails and click on hers. A scream is immediately pulled from my throat.

No. No. No.

This cannot be happening. I stare down at the images of Alessandro and me in front of a chapel with Elvis in the background. I have a bouquet of flowers in my hand and a wide smile on my face. We are looking at each other with genuine affection as if we don’t hate each other. If I saw these images and didn’t know our families hated each other, I would assume this was real. We look happy. Which turns my stomach. Then I flip through, and there are pictures of us kissing, more images of him gripping my ass, him whispering something in my ear and my cheeks are red.

“I don’t know what to say,” I tell Francesca.

“I’m assuming by your reaction they are real?” she asks.

“Yes, I guess they are,” I answer, swallowing hard.

“Shit.”

“I know.” I sigh.

“You two look happy, if that’s any consolation,” she adds.

“No one can know about this, Fran.”

“Babe, I know, but I can’t kill this story,” she tells me honestly. I want to be sick.

“Please,” I plead with her.

She sighs. “I can give you a week before it goes live to get ahead of the story or …”

A week. I’m screwed.

“… you can find me something else,” she adds.

“Juicer than this?” I ask.

“Yeah. Tall order I know.”

Fuck.

“And you promise me I have a week to sort out what I need to or to find you something better than this?” I ask.

“You have my word, Nat. I promise you this is in the vault until the deadline date.”

Guess that’s something. “Thank you, I appreciate the heads-up. If this had gone to press and I had no idea. Fuck.”

“I have to ask, you and Alessandro, you haven’t been secretly dating, have you?”

“Ew. No,” I answer.

Francesca laughs. “Didn’t think so. How much did you have to drink then to marry him?”

“I don’t know. I have no memory of it happening.”

“Got to love the Vegas effect. What happens in Vegas …” she says, teasing me.

“Wish it would stay in Vegas,” I add, which makes her laugh.

“Still can’t believe you married him. I mean, Alessandro is hot, so I get a drunken hookup, but a Vegas wedding? This is so unlike you, Nat. You never get yourself into a pickle like this.”

“I know. I don’t understand what happened. Can someone drug you into marrying them?” I ask her.

Francesca scoffs. “You did not look drugged at all in those photos.” She’s right. I don’t. I wish I was just so I could blame that for my stupidity. “Don’t forget he was there, too, so Alessandro went through with the wedding also. That must mean something.”

“What, that he was secretly in love with me?” I moan.

Francesca laughs. “That would make it easier to believe, but knowing the both of you, it’s doubtful. The man is a playboy, two weeks ago, he left a party in Monaco with a model on his arm. There must be another reason, not that you wouldn’t be a catch to marry,” she adds quickly. “It’s the journalist in me to think of all angles.”

“You think he did it on purpose?”

Francesca falls silent.

Oh, she does.

“Men can be ruthless when it comes to business. The two of you are enemies. If it’s not love then it must be something else,” she explains.

My stomach sinks at the thought of being used like that.

“I’m sorry,” she states.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I put myself in this situation,” I tell her.

“Look, I know Alessandro, and he’s a good guy but he is also ruthless. Yes, he dates models, what rich guy doesn’t? But there have been no real scandals when it comes to him. Unlike his brother,” Francesca explains.

“Romeo?” I ask.

“No. Dario,” she says, which makes me gasp. “I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but the family paid a lot of money over the years to make things concerning him disappear.”

Oh. I had no idea.

“He wasn’t the golden boy he portrayed himself to be,” she adds.

Wow.

“Guessing you know everyone’s secrets.”

“Sure do, but lucky I like you.” She chuckles.

I’m so thankful she likes me, too, otherwise, I’d be waking up to my indiscretion all over the news.

“Thanks again. I’ll be in touch,” I tell her.

“Enjoy Vegas.” She laughs before hanging up.

Yeah.

That’s not going to happen now.

Looks like I’m going to have to pay my husband a visit and get this sham of a marriage annulled before anyone finds out.