Page 67 of Devil's Iris
We nod our thanks and make our way to the elevators, rising all the way up to the highest floor of the huge building. Into the presidential suite.
Presidential suite!I pinch myself again, harder this time.Still real, holy shit.
The suite is absolutely breathtaking. Four separate bedrooms branch off from a massive living area filled with plush velvet couches, a dining table that could comfortably seat twelve people, and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the entire Strip. There’s a private balcony, a marble fireplace, and—of course—a fully stocked bar.
Insane.
We each pick a room, but mine was clearly chosen specifically for me because a giant bouquet of white roses sits on the bed, with another robe—identical to the champagne-colored one I’m still wearing—folded neatly at the foot.
I’m still taking it all in when there’s a short knock at my door. Emily pokes her head in with a mischievous grin. “Come on, Bride. Spa time. Change into the new robe.”
I rush into the ensuite bathroom, quickly washing my face and brushing my teeth before tying my hair up and slipping into the fresh robe. When I grab my phone, I see a text waiting from Romero, and my heart does a little flip.
ROMERO
I’m glad you’re having fun, bellezza. And no, you can’t marry them.
You’re stunning in that robe.
I frown, glancing down at myself. How does he know what I’m wearing?
Then I remember—Gianna snapped a picture of me on the plane earlier. She must have sent it to him, the sneaky little snitch. I shake my head, a little embarrassed but secretly touched. Tying my robe tighter, I step out to meet the girls, my stomach fluttering with anticipation.
We head down to the hotel spa, where smiling staff greet us with cucumber water and impossibly soft, fluffy slippers. Our massage therapists lead us into a private room that smells like eucalyptus and something heavenly I can’t quite identify.
For the next two hours, my body is pampered beyond belief.
The massage works out every knot from travel and stress that’s accumulated in my muscles my whole life. Afterwards, we move on to facials that make my skin unbelievably soft and leave it radiating with an almost ethereal glow.
By the time we return to our suite, I’m ready to collapse into bed, my body pliant and relaxed in ways I didn’t know were possible. But the girls have other plans.
I don’t know how—since we didn’t exactly pack any luggage—but cocktail dresses and heels are waiting for us in ourrooms. Actually, who am I kidding? I do know how: the girls made this happen. They set this up down to the last detail. Nothing with them should surprise me.
And yet, I’m still shocked at how well my dress and heels fit. “How did you guys know my size?” I ask as I step out of my room.
They look incredible themselves, but when they start clapping for me like I’m the star of the show, my cheeks burn.
“Wow, you’re absolutely stunning, Leni,” Gia gushes, eyes sparkling with so much delight it makes me blush even harder.
“I asked Romero,” Emily admits with a wink.
Ah, right. Of course. After ordering an entire closet full of clothes for me, he’d know.
“Let's go, guys! The casinos are waiting.” Elira snaps her fingers with authority. She doesn't even look pregnant in her fitted black cocktail dress, the way it clings to her bodice before flaring out past her waist.
I rub my hands together, feeling like I could take over the world. “Let’s go.”
24
ROMERO
Walking into this crowded casino, I have absolutely no clue what to expect.
“I don’t see them.” Michael’s voice mirrors the anxious knot clawing at my chest as his eyes sweep the floor. No way Leni is enjoying herself in a place like this. My wife-to-be is a quiet library-and-museum type of girl. She’s way out of her depth in this neon nightmare.
And I know exactly who to blame for bringing her here: fucking Emily. She’s the mastermind behind all this. That woman is chaos incarnate.
“They’re in here somewhere,” Rafael growls as he scans the casino with us.
