2. Cassandra #2
“How could we miss your brother’s wedding?” Jorge Santos asks, clapping Dominic on the shoulder. “It’s the event of the year. Although I hear nuptials are in store for you soon. Perhaps you’ll surpass the grandeur.” He waves his arm to indicate the luxury surrounding us.
“Yes.” Dominic smiles politely before turning to me. “Let me introduce my soon-to-be bride, Cassandra.”
I take my cue, stepping forward for introductions. I follow Dominic’s lead with handshaking and air kisses.
Jorge’s expression shifts, and tension slips into his tone as he addresses Dominic. “So, Tariello, a friend told me you were recently in Miami.”
I don’t miss the slight tick in Dominic’s jaw as his features darken, his persona switching from pleasure to business. “A quick trip. I apologize for not reaching out.”
“Yet you want a meeting tomorrow?”
This isn’t a conversation meant for wives. While Dominic will tell me more later if I ask, right now it’s my turn to be a distraction. “I love your earrings.” I turn to Alegria, touching my own ear to pull her eyes from the men.
“Oh, thank you.” She knows her part and gives me a cordial smile. “They’re Cartier. My favorite.”
“I love their collection this year.” I bullshit. Despite my ability to use Dominic’s black AmEx, I rarely make extravagant purchases. The starving artist in me can’t wrap my mind around having tens of thousands of dollars hanging from my earlobes.
“We can discuss it tomorrow.” Dominic’s cutting words earn a glare from Jorge, but their murmured discussion halts, and with a chorus of “Nice to see you,” we depart.
“You’ll tell me later?” I ask, fitting into my fiancé’s side. His form is rigid as if ready for a fight. I rub my hand along his chest, willing him to relax.
He nods. It’s enough of an answer for now.
From the opposite side of the ballroom, across a dance floor, a group breaks into laughter. Dominic relaxes as we make our way toward them—the safest people in the room.
Vincent and Cecilia Tariello look every bit the proud parents of the groom.
In his tuxedo, with the salt-and-peppered sides of his dark hair, Vincent’s charm radiates.
Still a powerful player in the family, he runs two of the hotels handed down by his father-in-law, Dominic’s grandfather, Roberto Romano.
It was Vincent who took over the Romano family’s Las Vegas arm before passing it to Dominic.
Vincent’s forest-green eyes crinkle at the sides as he laughs.
Unlike Jorge Santos, the years have been good for Vincent.
He has the kind of handsome appeal you would find on the cover of an age-gap romance novel.
Cecilia presses herself into his side. Her caramel-toned curls are pinned with diamond clips, giving off an old-Hollywood vibe.
She’s in a floor-length, gold gown that highlights her hazel eyes.
She’s poised and beautiful, a perfect role model for a Mafia wife.
“Oh, Cassandra, you look beautiful.” Cecilia steps forward, wrapping her arms around me for a quick hug. Her embrace is warm and welcoming. I couldn’t be luckier to be gaining her as my mother-in-law.
“I love your dress,” I gush, motioning to her ensemble. The beads sparkle in warm lighting.
She chuckles and runs a hand over the fabric. “I can’t tell you how many times I asked Marco for his color scheme before I gave up and texted Amanda.”
I lean in close with a grin. “I recommend a pale pink for our wedding.”
“I’ll start shopping tomorrow.” We giggle, our sparkling wine taking effect. “Now, honey, tell me how the show is going? Everyone in Vegas is giving Il Palazzo’s production rave reviews.”
The smile on my face feels forced as I work to come up with an answer.
I love my job as a dancer in Dominic’s luxury hotel’s show. If it weren’t for the position, he and I would never have met. It was a mishap, involving being locked in a restroom together on my first day, that led to his pursuit of more between us.
The problem is that after years of training as a classical ballerina, I imagined more for my career. A devastating injury to my foot took me out of the ballet world, and I meant for my stint as a Las Vegas showgirl to be temporary.
“It’s going well. The theater is packed every night.” I nod, attempting to convince myself that’s all that matters.
“But . . .” Cecilia urges for more.
“I’m starting to wonder what comes next,” I admit.
Her expression softens as she gently squeezes my arm. “Is Dominic still giving you a hard time about performing?”
I can’t hold back an unladylike snort. Dominic has been urging me to quit for months.
A combination of possessiveness and the instinct to provide for me underlies his request. “If it were up to him, I’d spend my days lounging around the Il Palazzo penthouse with nothing to do but cook him dinner at the end of the night. ”
“He means well.”
“He needs to understand I have to have something to do.” I shift in my heels, downing the last sip of my drink. “But maybe that thing isn’t dancing anymore.”
The band, which has been setting up on a stage in front of the dance floor, begins its performance. Amplified music cuts off the end of my sentence, causing Cecilia to point toward her ears and shake her head. I mouth that we can talk later.
Vincent and Dominic turn toward us, offering their arms to escort us away from the speakers.
Dominic and I continue to make rounds, greeting guests, until the faces and names become a blur. The entire time, my admission to Cecilia lingers in the back of my mind.
My world has changed. Maybe it’s time to move on to the next stage.
I just need to figure out what that is.