I don’t think any man has ever gotten under my skin this quickly. Usually, I’m the queen of keeping people at arm's length, but he’s a force, bypassing my defenses as if they never stood a chance. He quiets every frantic thought, every lingering doubt, and every suffocating judgment from the people in my life who have spent years suffocating me with their high expectations.
My family raised me in the heart of the Bible Belt, praying I’d settle down and marry a respectable pastor. My mother probably would have settled for a soccer player if it meant a ring and a predictable life, but she has no idea what’s coming. I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes she didn't get a saint or a sportsman—she got a Killmonger.
“Okay, then. Line is the safeword,” I say, keeping my tone measured. “Because this is all new and weird, and I don’t just jump into bed with strangers.”
“But honey, we’re married,” he counters, one brow lifted.
“And you barely know my name,” I shoot back. “It’s already bad enough that I have to explain to my mother that she missed my first wedding. Can you imagine how scandalized she’d be if I told her I slept with you without even knowing how you hang your toilet paper?”
That earns me a lazy, sexy grin. “Fair enough, Ms. Mysterious. Let’s take a walk, shall we? Get to know each other properly. And for the record, my nanny always hung the roll with the paper coming over the top. Under is just uncivilized.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, your nanny? Did I accidentally marry into money?” I laugh. “And we didn’t sign a prenup? Hashtag winning!”
He chuckles. “I’m not rich. My family is…comfortable. Well-off, perhaps, but nothing mental. They just funneled everything into our upbringing and education. My siblings and me. We were the investment.”
I nod slowly, taking that in. A man raised with a nanny, educated, and groomed like a future somebody. Getting to know him might not be the worst idea in the world.
It’s late May, and the Vegas air carries that specific desert heat that tells you Summer is on its way. It’s thick, but vibrating with the glow of neon and a restless energy. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, or maybe it’s the four Cosmos and two tequila shots still fueling my system, but everything feels cinematic. When Luca suggests we walk the Strip, I agree.
I said, “I do,” in a chapel that smelled of incense, weed, and watered-down cologne, yet walking beside this man right now, we fall into a rhythm so effortless it feels stolen from a future we haven't earned.
Like new lovers. Or old friends.
I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but I find I don’t mind the mystery. There’s a thrill in the adventure of us, a slow unfolding of whatever this is.
Then I hear the brittle, unmistakable clack of heels and a burst of laughter that shatters the private haze surrounding us. Between him and me.
“Oh my God, Aspen!”
I turn just in time to see Liberty and Mylene making a beeline toward us. They are decked out in peak revenge attire. Plunging necklines, thigh-high slits, and expressions that suggest they didn’t come to Vegas to play nice.
Tatum is the only one missing. Her interviews with the Atlanta Strikers were fast-tracked, derailing her travel plans at the last second. I wish she was here. I’d been texting her a play-by-play right up until the wedding part, so there is going to be some serious explaining to do later.
Both women slow as they get a proper look at Luca. Their expressions shift in slow motion from curiosity, to intrigue, to blatant, shimmering hunger.
“Wow,” Mylene breathes, her eyes dragging over him like he’s the first meal after a Beyoncé cleanse. “Who’s your hottie?”
Luca smirks, hands tucked casually in his pockets, before offering a polite nod. “Ladies.”
Then, like a scene from an old-school film, he reaches out and kisses each of their hands—slowly, with a devastating charm. “I’m Luca. Aspen’s husband.”
I whip my head toward him, shooting him a murderous glare. “Subtle much?”
He winks at me like I’m in on the joke.
Liberty grabs my wrist and pulls me aside, Mylene follows along.
“You really did that stupid reality show thing?” Liberty hisses.
“To be fair,” I start, internally cringing at how defensive I sound, “I was more than a little tipsy when I wandered in. I didn’t think it would actually lead to anything. But, we agreed it was just for the night.”
A throat clears behind me, dry and pointed. “Excuse me. Wife?”
I shake my head. “Okay, you can definitely stop calling me that, now.”
“Fine, Ms. Mysterious,” Luca says, his tone laced with a smirk I can practically hear. “I’m going to change out of my work clothes and give you ladies some space to talk.”
I feel the heat rise to my cheeks, and I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips as I turn to face him. “Whatever. I’ll see you in a few.”
