4. Bianca
Chapter 4
Bianca
T he neon glow of Las Vegas streams through the sheer curtains of my penthouse suite at The Blake South Strip, radiating a glimmer across my luxurious cream and gold living room.
I’m sprawled on my velvet couch, a headache pulsing at the base of my skull—a cruel souvenir from last night’s escapades with Zack Wolfe.
But as I slip off the sofa, I can’t forget the image of his seductive eyes. He’s a gorgeous man. The memory of his touch ignites a familiar warmth in my belly.
I should have known he’d be trouble. Why did he have to sweep me up in a whirlwind of impulsive promises and reckless desire? And was last night’s wedding kiss real, or was it another one of his games?
The brass ring on my finger is a shackle, even though it’s only a sparkly prop to remind me of our drunken folly. And the fake marriage certificate… thank goodness for small mercies.
I stand and pace the penthouse while the plush carpet mutes my footsteps.
My phone buzzes on the side table, shattering the silence. It’s Olivia.
“Hey, sis,” I greet.
“Marriage, Bianca? Really?” Her light, carefree laughter rings through the speaker, making my stomach clench.
“Olivia, it’s not—” I start, weaving the lie as I speak. “It’s not real. It’s just some ridiculous Elvis impersonation ceremony at the Oasis. We thought it’d be funny.”
“Oh, I know, sis. It’s an ingenious publicity stunt, and the media is really eating it up. Enemies become lovers, and so damn fast. It’s hilarious! Was this Zack’s crazy idea?”
From enemies to accidental bride isn’t a headline anyone would have predicted for us. Not even me. “Yes…. I mean, no. It was kind of … mutual.”
“Well, Vegas loves the drama, and you two are serving it up on a silver platter.” She howls more through the receiver, but it gradually trails to an end. “Why is it just me laughing here?”
I sigh, clawing at the tangles in my mane. “Olivia, it’s complicated.”
She clears her throat. “Why?”
“Uh. I’m not sure. It started out as fun, but then it went sideways on us.”
She says nothing for a few beats.
“Are you there?” I ask.
“Yes,” she finally responds. “Hold on. Something just caught my eye.”
I tap my nails on the marble kitchen countertop. “Well, what is it?”
“It’s just that … I’m looking online right now, and …”
I sigh. “Tell me, Olivia.”
“Why is there talk of a filed marriage license?” she asks.
Ice forms in my veins. “What?”
My heart hammers against my ribcage while a cold sensation moves down my shoulders. Filed? No, that can’t be right. This was all supposed to be pretend—a complex joke.
“Uh, I’d check the county records if I were you, sis. Your stunt might be more official than you thought.”
Panic claws at my insides. “No, you’re wrong. There’s no way.” I force assurance into each syllable, as if I’m negotiating a business deal instead of discussing a potential life-altering mistake. “It’s a mix-up.”
“Oh, I see,” Olivia replies. “Hope you’re right, sis.”
I stand frozen, my breath shallow. My lush penthouse presses in on me, and the golden light filtering through the room is too bright.
I swallow hard. Deep breaths, Bianca. Keep it together.
“I gotta go,” I announce, the panic rising in my voice. “Call you later.”
With a tap, I end the call and drop the phone on the counter. It falls down to the floor with a couple of thuds that echo too loudly in the silent suite.
Get a grip, Bianca . I brace myself against the smooth marble countertop, my hands gripping its cool surface. After heading into the other room, I open my laptop.
My pulse slams in my wrist while my shaky fingers fly over the keyboard, tapping into the county records, and waiting for the document to load.
And there it is. A page with our names on the glowing screen—as real as the dress hanging over the bedroom chair.
“Shit.”
The certificate is ornate and official, containing both of our signatures. Mine in elegant script, Zack’s in bold capital letters. It’s a union of opposites—not just on paper, but in every way imaginable.
I close my eyes, pushing away thoughts of him—the heat of his skin against mine, the intensity in his glowing eyes, and the taste of tequila on his lips.
Stop it. This isn’t about attraction. It’s about damage control.
I steady myself, taking a deep breath as I silence the mayhem in my mind while ignoring the sinking sensation in my gut. I need a plan, a strategy. Until then, no rash decisions—just calculated moves.
Would an annulment work? Yes—just a simple, quiet cancelation of the marriage.
No, what am I thinking? Marriage today, annulment tomorrow?
The media would eat it up. And my club, my Fitzgerald’s, would be at the center of the controversy. No, I won’t give them that satisfaction.
Shaking my head, I catch a glance at my panicked reflection in the mirror. It shows the determination in my eyes, but it also displays the fear—the rampant fear of falling into a trap with the one man who could make me forget all my rules.
Zack Wolfe, what have you done to me?