There’s a scuffle outside, and I find myself in motion, moving closer to the door, compelled to see what’s going on. I know it’s a mistake, but I’m in a panic, full fight-or-flight mode—are they going to throw that poor man over the balcony? Could I stop them if they tried?
Peering around the doorframe, I spy Clayton restraining the third man and turning him to face Armani. I finally get a clear view of the mystery man—he has a tattoo of branches or thorns or antlers on the side of his neck, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. His lip is bloodied, and blood runs down the side of his face and onto his shoulder. Armani pulls back to punch the man square in the nose, and I can almost feel the crunch of bone as if it’s happening to me.
Bile rises in my throat. What the hell was I thinking? I can’t save anybody. I have to get out of here.
I’m through the lounge area in a flash, and halfway through the second lounge with the fireplace when I hear the unmistakable sound of the glass balcony door sliding open. Fuck. I’ll never make it out of the suite without getting seen fleeing. All I can do is hide.
Dropping to all fours, I shuffled into the kitchenette and huddle against the island that separates the kitchen from the seating area. Everything goes silent and still. Four. Five potent beats of my heart, my pulse beating in the base of my throat. And then, the shuffle of feet on carpet gives me a fresh flood of panic.
I slowly look up and find Armani looking straight down at me.
My stomach bottoms out. He’s caught me red-handed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks coolly, grabbing me by the forearm and dragging me to my feet.
I open my mouth, but words won’t come.
“I booked you spa appointments all afternoon,” he says. “Why are you here?”
Shaking my head, I try desperately to think of a way to talk myself out of this.
“It’s not what it looks like—I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I didn’t know you’d be here, I swear.”
Footsteps come up behind me. It has to be Clayton coming into the room now, but I don’t get a chance to look over my shoulder before everything goes black.
23
CANDI
I wakeup the next morning with a pounding headache, eyes squinched shut against the morning light pouring through windows. At first, I’m disoriented. I have no idea where I am.
Sitting up with a jolt, the hotel room I’m in seeming at least vaguely familiar, I try to remember how I ended up here. Everything is fuzzy, and my stomach feels hollow and nauseous. But then it hits me—I’m in Vegas. I flew here with Armani. That was just yesterday, wasn’t it?
Slowly, my itinerary from the day prior flashes through my mind in a murky montage. French toast, Prada shoes, the scent of eucalyptus at the hotel spa. And then I came back up to the room, and then…and then nothing. I don’t remember.
I look around for my cellphone, eyes aching from this godawful migraine, but it’s gone. My purse isn’t in the room either. Vertigo hits me, and I stumble to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face and rinse out my mouth. I’ve just eased myself back onto the bed when I hear the sound of footsteps on the carpet outside the door.
My stomach drops as I look over to find Armani walking into the bedroom.
I’d planned to come clean to him yesterday. Tell him the truth about what I was sent to Bellanti Vineyards to do. But…did I? Or does he still not know? Because fuck if I can recall a damn thing about what we did last night. Or how I ended up so hungover.
He pauses in front of me, his sharp gaze locking onto my bleary-eyed one. His expression doesn’t tell me anything I need to know.
But then he leans down to kiss my temple, and as I try to fight back the panic spiking in my veins, that’s when I see it.
The new gold wedding band on his finger.
My jaw drops. Armani seems to know exactly what I’m staring at.
“Good morning, wife,” he says.
Then he picks up my hand, the one that has a matching gold band on the ring finger, and kisses my knuckles with a brush of his lips. I don’t reply, still shocked speechless.
Armani and I got married last night?
Holy fucking shit.
“We’re…we’re married?” I choke out, my voice still husky with sleep.
