4. Sabrina
4
Sabrina
L eo lets out a whoop of pure delight. “Holy shit, you guys serious?”
“Deadly,” Rossi replies, pulling Tatiana into another deep kiss right there on the sidewalk.
“They’re actually getting married!” Leo shouts to indifferent passersby. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet like a kid who just got a puppy. “Holy fucking shit! Vegas baby!”
This is not happening. This is a nightmare. My best friend is about to marry a billionaire she just met, fueled by GHB and impulse.
ACTIVATE CRISIS MODE.
But I can’t move. Can’t talk.
Rossi glances at his watch. “Fuck. The Clark County Marriage License Bureau closes soon.”
“What time is it?” Tatiana asks vaguely.
“We have only half an hour,” Rossi replies, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. “We’ll never make it.”
Thank God.
Sanity might prevail, yet .
“Not with that attitude,” Leo declares.
Rossi’s face lights up with determination, and he whips out his phone. “Ricardo! We need your driving skills!”
Great. Thanks, Blondie McTrouble.
While we’re waiting for the ride, I pull Tatiana aside.
“This is insane!” I tell her. “You can’t marry him!”
“Why not?” she asks, blinking at me owlishly. “He’s hot. And rich.” She giggles again. “And he has nice calves.”
“Tatiana!” I try to shake some sense into her, but it’s like talking to a beautifully dressed cloud. “You barely know him! You took that stuff Leo gave you! You’re not thinking straight!”
“I feel great!” she insists happily, pulling her arm free. “It’s romantic!”
“Tell her she can’t do this!” I glance at Jess and Amara for support, but they merely smile like idiots.
A sleek black limousine materializes seemingly out of nowhere. A member of Rossi’s security detail opens the back doors.
Rossi starts pulling her towards the limo.
“No, Tatiana, wait!” I try to grab her arm, but she deftly sidesteps me, giggling.
“Stop being such a stick in the mud, Sabrina!” she tells me.
I stare after them like a blinking idiot.
A stick in the mud...
Leo bundles me into the limo after them, and the rest of the group joins us.
Inside, it’s chaos. As the limo peels away from the curb with a squeal of tires, Tatiana sits in Rossi’s lap, kissing him senseless. Meanwhile, Leo is practically vibrating with excitement beside me. Sam can’t keep his hands off Amara. Meanwhile, Jess and Marco sit with their legs touching, looking like they’re stoned.
Which they are, of course.
“Leo, this is crazy!” I hiss at him. “You have to stop this!”
“Why?” he asks, grinning widely. “It’s Vegas! They’re in love! Or something! Who cares? It’s fun!”
Fun? This is a potential lifetime commitment based on tequila and questionable substances!
I try appealing to Rossi when there’s a pause in the kissing. “Think about this! You just met her!”
He looks at me over Tatiana’s shoulder, his eyes dark and intense but also hazy.
“She feels right,” he says simply, before returning his attention to Tatiana’s mouth.
They’re both certifiable.
Ricardo drives like a stuntman in a Bond movie, weaving the limo through traffic, running yellow lights. Meanwhile Rossi’s head of security sits stone-faced in the front passenger seat, occasionally murmuring into a hidden microphone, presumably alerting the global financial markets to his boss’s impending nuptials.
The limo screeches to a halt in front of a squat, official-looking building just as Ricardo announces, “We’re here.”
Rossi checks his watch. “Five minutes to spare.” He grabs Tatiana’s hand. “Run,” he tells her.
They bolt from the car, sprinting towards the entrance like fugitives. Leo shoves me out after them. “Go, go, go! Witnesses!”
We burst through the doors into the fluorescent-lit purgatory of the Marriage License Bureau. A bored-looking clerk glances up as Rossi and Tatiana skid to a halt in front of her counter.
“Marriage license?” she asks, her voice devoid of all emotion.
“Yes,” they gasp in unison.
She slides the forms across the counter. As they start filling them out, leaning together, whispering and laughing, I feel a wave of helplessness wash over me. I give Amara a horrified glance, but she merely shrugs sheepishly in return. The others are no better. Leo of course beams like the proud, irresponsible father of the bride and groom.
This is really happening. My sensible, organized best friend is marrying Dominic Rossi. Tonight.
The license is issued. There’s a flurry of activity I only vaguely register... finding a 24-hour chapel, bundling back into the limo.
I keep trying to talk to Tatiana, but she’s in her own little bubble with Rossi, oblivious to my frantic warnings.
Meanwhile Leo keeps distracting me, pulling me close, whispering jokes in my ear, his hand warm on my back. Part of me hates him for enabling this madness, but another, defiant part is exhilarated by the attention and the sheer, reckless energy of it all. And I have to wonder, and I mean really wonder, how much of it is the drugs, and how much of it just Leo as he really actually is?
The wedding itself is a blur. Some tiny chapel with plastic flowers and an Elvis impersonator who looks like he died three weeks ago. Looking utterly besotted, Rossi and Tatiana exchange vows they probably won’t remember tomorrow. I stand beside Amara and Jess, feeling like I’m watching a bizarre reality TV show unfold before my very eyes. I catch Leo’s gaze across the small room. He winks.
I want to strangle him.
And kiss him.
Afterward, the energy shifts. The manic high seems to crash, leaving an awkward vacuum. Back in the limo, Rossi and Tatiana are quieter now, leaning against each other, looking dazed. Even Leo seems slightly subdued. Reality, perhaps, is beginning to penetrate the Vegas fog.
We end up back at the Aria, spilling out into the lobby. It feels like days have passed, not hours.
“Well,” Sam says, clearing his throat. “That was… something.” He looks at Amara. “Walk you to your room?” She nods gratefully, and they disappear towards the elevators.
Rossi murmurs something to Tatiana, kisses her gently, and then nods to Leo and me before steering his new wife away. His security detail follows.
Marco lingers near Jess, an awkward tension between them.
“So…” Marco begins, shifting his weight. “Guess I should… you know. Get some sleep. Big day.”
I give Jess a warning look.
He’s getting married tomorrow...
She smiles wistfully, then looks at Marco.
“Yeah,” Jess replies, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You should get some sleep. Congratulations, Marco.”
“Thanks, Jess,” he says, offering a small, almost regretful smile. “It was… fun hanging out.”
“Yeah, it was,” she agrees softly.
They stand there for another beat, the unspoken what if hanging heavy in the air, before Marco gives a final nod and heads off in the opposite direction, shoulders slightly slumped. Jess watches him go for a second, then turns toward the elevators with a sigh.
And then it’s just Leo and me, standing under the excessively bright lights of the casino lobby. The adrenaline has worn off, leaving me feeling drained yet oddly wired at the same time. It’s the strangest feeling. Though not so strange as being high on GHB I imagine.
“So,” Leo says, turning to me. That charming grin is back, but softer now. “That was unexpected.”
“Understatement of the century,” I reply dryly. “I can’t believe you let your friend and Tatiana do this to themselves.”
He shrugs. “If they don’t like it, they can always annul tomorrow.”
“That’s the most likely scenario, actually...” I tell him.
“Well at least they’re happy tonight,” he replies. “Nothing and no one can take that away from them.”
I purse my lips, considering. “I suppose you’re right. In a twisted way.”
He steps closer. “You know, despite the matrimonial chaos… I had fun tonight, Sabrina. I really did.”
“Yeah,” I admit quietly, avoiding his gaze. “Me, too. Mostly.”
Except for the part where my best friend impulsively married a billionaire under the influence.
“But the night’s not over yet,” he says softly. His thumb gently brushes my cheek, sending a jolt through me. “My suite is considerably quieter than this lobby. And probably has better champagne than that chapel did. What do you say?”
My brain is screaming warnings all over again.
Go to your own room.
Alone .
Drink water.
Sleep.
Yes, playtime’s over, Sabrina. Reel it in.
Because ‘better champagne’ sounds fun in theory, but the reality usually involves regret, awkward morning-afters and walks of shame, and potentially needing a burner phone.
I’ve managed PR crises bigger than this guy’s ego, probably, but navigating him feels like trying to defuse a charm bomb.
Still, I came to Vegas for an escape, didn’t I? To do something out of character?
Mission accomplished, I guess.
Maybe one more reckless decision wouldn’t hurt. What’s the worst that could happen?
Famous last words, Sabrina.
Looking up into his green eyes, seeing the genuine warmth there now, mixed with the undeniable attraction… my resolve begins to crumble.
Stop being such a stick in the mud.
Tatiana’s right, even if that was the drug talking and not her. Because I’m always a stick in the mud.
I really am.
A party pooper.
A Debbie Downer.
The boring one.
I want to be the life of the party for once.
The Positive Patty, or whatever it’s called.
If Tatiana’s living a Cinderella fantasy with her billionaire prince for one night, why am I still auditioning for the role of Responsible Background Character #3? When’s the last time someone’s looked at me like I was the answer to a question they didn’t even know they were asking? Sure, he’s on GHB, but so what? Just once, I want to be the plot twist in someone else’s story instead of the predictable chapter everyone always skims through.
“Okay,” I say, meeting his gaze. “Lead the way.”
He smiles, reaching down to take my hand again. When our fingers touch, I have a single, terrifying thought:
Am I about to make an even bigger mistake than Tatiana just did?
Probably.
But I don’t care anymore.