Page 12 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

“No, Tatiana, wait!” I try to grab her arm, but she deftly sidesteps me, giggling.

“Stop being such a stick in the mud, Sabrina!” she tells me.

I stare after them like a blinking idiot.

A stick in the mud...

Leo bundles me into the limo after them, and the rest of the group joins us.

Inside, it’s chaos. As the limo peels away from the curb with a squeal of tires, Tatiana sits in Rossi’s lap, kissing him senseless. Meanwhile, Leo is practicallyvibrating with excitement beside me. Sam can’t keep his hands off Amara. Meanwhile, Jess and Marco sit with their legs touching, looking like they’re stoned.

Which they are, of course.

“Leo, this is crazy!” I hiss at him. “You have to stop this!”

“Why?” he asks, grinning widely. “It’s Vegas! They’re in love! Or something! Who cares? It’s fun!”

Fun? This is a potential lifetime commitment based on tequila and questionable substances!

I try appealing to Rossi when there’s a pause in the kissing. “Think about this! You just met her!”

He looks at me over Tatiana’s shoulder, his eyes dark and intense but also hazy.

“She feels right,” he says simply, before returning his attention to Tatiana’s mouth.

They’re both certifiable.

Ricardo drives like a stuntman in a Bond movie, weaving the limo through traffic, running yellow lights. Meanwhile Rossi’s head of security sits stone-faced in the front passenger seat, occasionally murmuring into a hidden microphone, presumably alerting the global financial markets to his boss’s impending nuptials.

The limo screeches to a halt in front of a squat, official-looking building just as Ricardo announces, “We’re here.”

Rossi checks his watch. “Five minutes to spare.” He grabs Tatiana’s hand. “Run,” he tells her.

They bolt from the car, sprinting towards the entrance like fugitives. Leo shoves me out after them. “Go, go, go! Witnesses!”

We burst through the doors into the fluorescent-lit purgatory of the Marriage LicenseBureau. A bored-looking clerk glances up as Rossi and Tatiana skid to a halt in front of her counter.

“Marriage license?” she asks, her voice devoid of all emotion.

“Yes,” they gasp in unison.

She slides the forms across the counter. As they start filling them out, leaning together, whispering and laughing, I feel a wave of helplessness wash over me. I give Amara a horrified glance, but she merely shrugs sheepishly in return. The others are no better. Leo of course beams like the proud, irresponsible father of the bride and groom.

This is really happening. My sensible, organized best friend is marrying Dominic Rossi. Tonight.

The license is issued. There’s a flurry of activity I only vaguely register... finding a 24-hour chapel, bundling back into the limo.

I keep trying to talk to Tatiana, but she’s in her own little bubble with Rossi, oblivious to my frantic warnings.

Meanwhile Leo keeps distracting me, pulling me close, whispering jokes in my ear, his hand warm on my back. Part of me hates him for enabling this madness, but another, defiant part is exhilarated by the attention and the sheer, reckless energy of it all. And I have to wonder, and I meanreallywonder, how much of it is the drugs, and how much of it just Leo as he really actually is?

The wedding itself is a blur. Some tiny chapel with plastic flowers and an Elvis impersonator who looks like he died three weeks ago. Looking utterly besotted, Rossi and Tatiana exchange vows they probably won’t remember tomorrow. I stand beside Amara and Jess, feeling like I’m watching a bizarrereality TV show unfold before my very eyes. I catch Leo’s gaze across the small room. He winks.

I want to strangle him.

And kiss him.

Afterward, the energy shifts. The manic high seems to crash, leaving an awkward vacuum. Back in the limo, Rossi and Tatiana are quieter now, leaning against each other, looking dazed. Even Leo seems slightly subdued. Reality, perhaps, is beginning to penetrate the Vegas fog.

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