Page 17 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

I bite my lip. “I’m sorry. That’s not... I didn’t mean to complicate your business.”

Dom waves a dismissive hand. “Not your fault. Well, not entirely.”

We fall silent again, both lost in our own catastrophes. The reality of our situation weighs on me like a physical thing. Not just the marriage, but the aftermath. The public spectacle, the professional fallout, the personal humiliation.

Left at the altar once, married in a drugged haze the next time. Your romantic life is really hitting the all-time highs, Tatiana.

“What happens now?” I ask finally.

Dom looks up, his dark eyes unreadable. “The heads of my legal and PR teams have already jumped on a flight, and they’ll counsel us more when they arrive. In the meantime, call your friends, let them know you’re alive. Don’t worry, my lawyer will start the annulment proceedings as soon as he gets here.”

“Right.” I reach for my phone, then hesitate. “Dom?”

“Hmm?”

“Did we... you know...?” I gesture vaguely between us.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “I have no idea actually. I remember taking the drugs in the cabana, and then... nothing.”

“Great.” I close my eyes. “So I might have consummated a marriage I don’t remember agreeing to.”

“If it helps,” Dom says, his voice dropping to a gravelly tone that does inappropriate things to my insides, “I’m pretty sure we did. You have a...mark. On your neck. A few, actually.”

My hand flies to my throat, finding tender spots. “Fantastic. Just fantastic.”

A knock at the door makes us both jump.

“Mr. Rossi?” A male voice calls. “Security check-in. There are reporters gathering in the Bellagio lobby downstairs.”

Dom sighs. “Thanks, Jake. Hold them off as long as you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

I look at Dom, panic rising again. “Reporters? How am I supposed to leave without being seen or talking to anyone?”

He meets my gaze, and for the first time this morning, I see uncertainty in his eyes. “I don’t think you can.”

“So I’m trapped here? With you?”

“With me,” he confirms. “Mrs. Rossi.”

The title hits me like a bucket of ice water. I sit back down on the bed, my legs suddenly boneless.

Mrs. Rossi. Tatiana Rossi. That’s your name now. At least until the annulment goes through.

“Don’t call me that,” I whisper.

Dom nods, his expression softening. “I’m sorry. This is...”

“A nightmare?” I supply.

“I was going to say ‘complicated,’ but nightmare works too.”

The silence returns, heavier than before. Outside, Las Vegas continues its relentless glitter, oblivious to the wreckage it’s created inside this penthouse suite.

My head throbs in time with my heartbeat.

Thiscan’tbe real.

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