Fuck.
“I mean,” I stammer.
“I’m sure they’ll understand if we want to stay here and order in,” she says easily like one half of the married couple I’m pretty fucking convinced we are.
“Uhhh… Lemme think about it for a sec.” I make a beeline for the dresser and pick up the papers, then unfold them.
One is a receipt from the Harry Winston boutique that’s located here in the Bellagio, and it’s got my signature on it. Last night, I purchased a men’s platinum wedding band—the one on my finger—and a six-carat diamond solitaire engagement ring—the one on her finger. The total came to a cool five hundred grand.
The other folded-up document is—you guessed it—a marriage certificate. It’s from the little Vegas wedding chapel where I was supposed to meet my sister, Isla, and her ex-husband-slash-fiancé, Malachi, for their remarriage elopement last night.
And Papá is going to kill me.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mumble.
“Something wrong?” she pipes up behind me.
“Uhh…” I frantically skim over the marriage certificate in search of her name.
Natalia Luna Esposito.
My wife.
Fuck. Me.
“Um,” I say again, turning to her with the documents still in my hand. “Natalia… I um…”
She blinks up at me through big, smoky-blue-gray eyes framed by long, fluffy, black lashes. “What’s wrong, cariño? You look pale.”
My jaw opens and closes a few times as I attempt to put together a coherent sentence. “So, you… uh… y’know, remember everything from last night?”
She blinks again, her elegant, black eyebrows lifting. “Of course. Don’t you?”
Now my jaw is just hanging open, and my mouth is as dry as a new sponge, fresh out of the package. “I… uh…”
Her brows draw together as her full lips form a perfect circle. “You don’t?”
“I mean… I…” I gesture at the champagne bottles. “I think I probably drank a lot.”
Her eyes start shifting all over the place, instantly covered with a sheen of tears, and the tip of her nose turns pink. “Dios mio,” she whispers, dropping her phone and clutching the sheet way up to her face as she hides behind it.
“Natalia, I…” I start to say, but the rest of my words are cut off by the sound of a quiet sob.
“¿Por qué soy tan estúpida?” she mumbles almost too quiet for me to hear.
How could I be so stupid?
She’s crying.
And now I just feel like a dick.
“Natalia,” I say gently, setting the papers back on the dresser and approaching her. “You’re not stupid. I think I just—”
“Of course I’m stupid,” she blubbers, still hiding from me. “A magnificent man approaches me in a casino, sweeps me off my feet, and tells me he believes I’m his soulmate after only three hours of conversation? That he wants to save me from my horrible life and take care of me? That he wants to get me out of this hellish town once and for all? That he wants to marry me?” A louder sob explodes out of her. “Of course I’m stupid! Things like that don’t happen in real life!”
That is a hell of a lot to process, but I don’t have time to because she’s leaping out of the bed and fishing through the piles of clothes. The tears are now spilling down her cheeks, and this is a big mistake and misunderstanding, but I am not an asshole, and I can’t just let her run away like it looks like she’s about to.
I catch her wrist just as she stands upright with her hands full of clothes. “Hang on, querida,” I say gently, drawing her to me, and she stiffens in my arms. “Don’t run off, especially not all upset like that. We’ll figure all of this out, and it’ll be okay.”
“There’s nothing to figure out, Joaquin!” she snaps. “You didn’t mean anything you said yesterday. You don’t care about everything I told you, you don’t want to help me, because you don’t even remember any of it!”
“Okay… okay… okay.” I keep a firm hold on her arms. “No, I don’t remember it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.” I shrug. “I mean, if you told me all of this stuff last night and I cared enough to… you know…” I gulp. “Marry you… I’m sure if you explained it all again, I’ll still care, and then I can probably figure out how to help you. Right?”
Natalia’s bottom lip trembles violently, and she sobs again before dropping her head low, shoulders convulsing.
You know… I have three sisters. All of whom I am insanely protective of—evident from eight months ago when I literally killed three mafiosos who came after my older sister, Isla. I do not have any regret over it either. Not even after Papá received a threat that the cartel our family cut ties with was going to come after me for taking out their three top guys.
If you fuck with my sisters, I will fucking kill you. Bottom line. End of story.
Along those same lines, that protective nature for my sisters has a tendency to extend to women in general. I cannot handle when women cry. It just seems wrong. I am admittedly my billionaire father’s playboy son, but all that means is I’ve devoted my entire adult life to making women feel the polar opposite of sad.
And right now, Natalia, who is apparently my wife—Jesus fucking Christ—is sobbing so hard that she’s overcome with hiccups, and it’s my fucking fault.
Based on everything she said moments ago, it’s clear all of it, including the marriage itself, is all my fucking fault. So, I have to do something to rectify this situation.
So—just for now—never mind the fucking accidental Vegas marriage. Never mind the heap of shit I’m in for all of this. I’ll deal with all of that later. Right now, I have to make her stop crying.
“Mírame, querida,” I say, opting for what is obviously both our native tongue in an effort to set her at ease. I sweep my hand across her jaw to brush her hair away and hold her cheek.
Natalia reluctantly slides her teary gaze up to meet mine, her pouty bottom lip still quivering, and I kiss it.
“No llores, cariño.” I draw my thumb below her eye to wipe her tears. “Todo está bien. I’m still gonna help you, and we’ll figure all this out.”
Her fluffy, wet, matted lashes do a slow blink. “Promise?”
I have never seen a Latina with eyes in such a shade of blue. If I were at all poetic, I would compare them to storm clouds or some shit. I’ve never seen eyes so big, and so clear, and so captivating. Knowing me, it’s one hundred percent obvious why I did all the stupid shit I did last night. This woman is the most stunning creature I have ever seen. Beyond that, I’ve also never seen eyes so full of tears other than eight months ago. In that moment of chaos after a firefight when Isla wept over Malachi as his heart went silent for three minutes before paramedics managed to bring him back.
And I have no idea what I drunkenly signed up for last night, but the similarity of Natalia’s eyes and those of my sister is enough to arrest me, and I can’t just chalk this marriage up to a mistake and go file the paperwork to erase it. I’ll obviously have to undo it at some point, but before I do that, I need to get the rundown on what exactly she’s going through that I apparently promised to save her from, and figure out how to help her in a way that doesn’t involve staying married.