Theirs to Corrupt (Titans Captivated #5)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Las Vegas

Tessa

I’m living someone else’s life. I have to be.

The thought echoes in my mind as I stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows of our palatial suite at the Bella Rosa resort, gazing out at the Las Vegas skyline.

The view is breathtaking, a sea of shimmering glass and steel stretching as far as the eye can see. In the far, far distance, the Stratosphere Tower pierces the sky like a giant needle. To the south, a golden facade glimmers in the afternoon sun. And everywhere in between, there are hotels and casinos.

But it’s not just the view that has stunned me. It’s the ridiculous amount of luxury and the fact I now carry a credit card with no limit.

The bell person has just finished unpacking our luggage—a task that took forever given the ridiculous amount of clothes Link insisted on buying me yesterday.

He hands the man a tip that makes him grin like a fool.

Evidently my future husband is a very generous man.

Finally we’re alone—me, Link, and Pax. My fiancé and his…partner? Bodyguard? Co-husband?

I can’t wrap my mind around our unusual arrangement.

“Are you ready to head down?” Link’s voice breaks through my reverie.

He’s standing near the door, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit. Will I ever get accustomed to the breathtaking sight of him?

I smooth down the front of a dress he selected for me.

Pax moves in closer, his presence reassuring despite the butterflies in my stomach. “You look beautiful, Tessa. Lorenzo’s going to be impressed.”

Lorenzo Carrington. The mysterious owner of this magnificent resort. The man Link and Pax seem eager for me to meet.

Mira and Torin are with us as we leave and head for the private elevator.

Just beyond the obvious, another world exists, one I hadn’t known anything about two days ago.

Once we’re inside the lift, Link presses his finger to a pad, and buttons light up. He selects a number, and the doors slide close behind us. The compartment moves so fast that I instinctively bend my knees to keep my balance.

“Should have warned you,” Pax says, cupping my elbow and offering stability.

Especially in these heels. I’m teetering in them to begin with.

When the doors open, we step out into a quiet hallway I’m certain most guests never see.

Link leads us to another set of elevators, these even more exclusive than the last. He presses his thumb to a biometric scanner, and the doors slide open silently.

“Lorenzo’s office is on one of the top floors,” Link explains as we enter. “He likes to keep an eye on his kingdom.”

The ascent is breathtaking, both in speed and view. As we rocket upward, the Strip unfolds beneath us through the glass walls of the elevator. It’s dizzying, exhilarating, and more than a little terrifying.

When we finally reach the top, I feel as if I’m still moving.

Once more, I’m grateful for Pax’s support as we enter a reception area that could double as an art gallery. Even though I know next to nothing about paintings, I recognize one of the impressionist pieces hanging on the wall.

A sleek, modern desk dominates the center of the room, and a woman with the striking good looks of a model sits behind it. She smiles warmly as we approach. “Mr. Merritt, Mr. Carter, welcome back to the Bella Rosa.” She smiles at me. “Ma’am. Mr. Carrington is expecting you all.”

She presses a button, and a set of massive double doors swings open silently.

Lorenzo’s office speaks of power and class. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a stunning view of Las Vegas. In the distance, beyond the strip, lies the starkness of the desert.

“Welcome,” Lorenzo says, standing to greet us.

He’s every bit as striking as Scandalicious claimed. Tall, dark, and undeniably powerful, he exudes an aura of authority that makes Link seem tame in comparison.

“Link,” Lorenzo greets warmly, coming around the desk to embrace him. They clap each other on the back like old friends. Then Lorenzo turns to Pax and shakes his hand firmly. “Good to see you.”

Finally his gaze locks onto me, and I feel like he’s seeing all my secrets. Despite myself, I clutch my purse tighter.

“You must be Tessa. Delighted to meet you.”

Aware of how out of place I feel, I return the greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carrington.” Should I curtsey or something?

“Lorenzo, please,” he insists, taking my hand. “We’re delighted to have you here. I hope you’re finding everything to your liking?”

“It’s a little…much,” I admit, then immediately wish I could take my words back.

Lorenzo laughs, putting me slightly more at ease.

“I hope that’s in a good way. Please, have a seat. Can I offer you a drink? Champagne, perhaps?”

Before I can answer, a bar cart materializes, pushed by a silent, efficient server. Lorenzo pours four glasses of champagne that probably costs more than my old car, handing them out with practiced ease.

As we settle into a seating area with a view that makes me slightly dizzy, Lorenzo turns to Link. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

“They are.” Link takes my hand. “Thank you again for accommodating us on such short notice.”

“Anything for you.” With that, he lifts his glass, taking in the three of us. “Che l’amore e la felicità vi accompagnino sempre.” Then he switches to English. “May love and happiness always be with you. Salute!”

I glance at Link. Love has nothing to do with this.

All of us raise our flutes.

After we’ve all had a taste, Lorenzo looks at Link. “How are things progressing with our mutual…interests?”

The conversation shifts then, into territory I can barely follow. They speak in a shorthand of names and places I don’t recognize, interlaced with financial terms that make my head spin. Pax contributes occasionally, his deep voice a counterpoint to Link and Lorenzo’s back-and-forth.

As the men talk, I sip my champagne and study them. There’s a rugged edge to Lorenzo, a hint of danger beneath the polished exterior that reminds me of Link. These are men accustomed to getting what they want.

Even though I would give anything to be walking into the Rusty Nail for my shift right now, I’m swept up in their world.

After what feels like an eternity but is probably only another fifteen minutes, Lorenzo thanks us for stopping by. “I’m sure you have wedding details to attend to.”

We’re being dismissed. Politely, but firmly.

He stands, and we all follow suit. “Tessa, it was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to seeing you both at the ceremony.”

We make our way back to the elevator, Link’s hand on the small of my back as always, his touch possessive.

In the privacy of the compartment, I look at Link. “I feel like I just had an audience with royalty.”

Link inclines his head. “In a way, you did. Lorenzo is the crown prince of Vegas.”

The rest of the ride to the floor where we catch the other elevators is quiet.

Once we’re inside the next lift, Link turns to me. “We have an appointment with the wedding planner in ten minutes. Are you up for it, or do you need a moment?”

I almost say yes, but then I catch sight of the stranger reflected back at me in the mirrored wall of the elevator. Maybe it’s the champagne and the clothes, but this version of Tessa is poised and elegant, and she almost looks like she belongs in this world.

If I pretend long enough, will I start to believe it?

“I’m ready,” I respond.

Even though we’re a few minutes early, we’re shown into a conference room in the event planning suite and greeted warmly by a woman named Nora.

She’s a whirlwind of efficiency, armed with a tablet and a video of other weddings that they’ve hosted.

“The next part showcases the Bella Rosa’s Sky Chapel. Mr. Carrington has reserved that for your ceremony.”

Oh?

The videos show brides walking down an aisle. In each clip, the room is arranged slightly differently. The room appears casual in some, very formal with pedestals and arches in others.

“It’s on the fiftieth floor, with panoramic views of the Strip. As you can see, the space can be transformed for an intimate ceremony or something more elaborate.”

In the next sequence of shots, there is a floral arch in front of a bank of windows. Some shots have sunshine and puffy clouds as a backdrop. Others have a sky painted for sunset. The final one is a nightscape.

Even in my princess-for-a-day fantasies as a girl, I couldn’t have imagined anything this beautiful. “This is breathtaking,” I say, even though I didn’t mean to speak the words aloud.

Link places his hand right above my knee, sending warmth through me. “I agree, little dove.”

When the video ends, the planner pushes a button on her remote, and the room lights slowly blaze to life. “Did you get any ideas?”

“This will be a small gathering,” Link says. “Around fifty people.”

With a gasp I look at him. On what planet is that many guests a small wedding? “Fifty?” Who has he invited, and how can anyone get away on such ridiculously short notice?

He looks at Pax.

“Give or take,” Pax answers for them both.

There could be more?

“Something simple is fine with me,” I tell Nora.

“More formal than not,” Link contradicts. “Everything in the last segment of the video, the petals, the covered seats, all of it.”

“What?” I blink. “Why?”

“It’s your wedding day.” He locks his gaze on me. “You should have something memorable.”

I don’t want anything like that. Standing in front of a justice of the peace, even a small chapel with a fake Elvis is fine with me. “Link?—”

“Let’s say fifty for the ceremony,” he tells the woman. “Sixty for the reception.”

Are you kidding me?

Avoiding my gaze, she types into her pad.

When she glances up, she looks at me. “Do you have music you’d like to walk down the aisle to?”

“No.” All these questions are making my head swim.

“The wedding march?” she suggests.

I shake my head. This arrangement in no way resembles a real ceremony, and I can’t imagine myself being traditional at this point.

“‘A Thousand Years.’”

We both turn to look at Link. He’s thought about this?

“Instrumental version, violin and piano only.”

“Ah. Excellent choice,” Nora approves.

Though I know the song and love it, I’ve never heard an instrumental version.

“Recessional?”

No wonder some brides take two years to plan their wedding.

This time, Pax speaks up. “How about ‘Beautiful Day’?”

“By U2?” Link asks. “Done.”

“Music for when your guests are arriving?”

“Soft jazz, no lyrics. Miles Davis. Chet Baker. That sort of thing.”

After making her note, she adds. “And a specific song you’d like to have playing as a signal it’s time for you and Pax to join us?”

My two men exchange glances.

Then Pax looks at me. “‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin.’”

Wondering what Nora thinks, I shift. But she’s either unconcerned or oblivious to our dynamic. “Also instrumental?”

Link picks up the conversation. “Of course.”

That settled, she moves on to her next, exhausting question. “What kind of flowers would you like?” she asks.

Everyone in the room looks at me. “None.”

Link shakes his head. “You need a bouquet.”

“And a selection to fill the vases next to the arch,” she adds.

“Roses?” Link suggests.

Vehemently I shake my head. “No.” They remind me of my parents’ funeral. Arrangement after arrangement had been delivered to the house, to the funeral home. And Axel and I had some made for the church, with sashes over them reading Mom and Dad. If I never see another rose again, it’s too soon.

“Perhaps we can leave that to your team?” Link suggests.

“Certainly, sir.” Her glance takes in all of us. “Do you have specific colors in mind?”

When I shake my head, Link responds, “Black and white.”

She makes a note.

How is he so calm and confident when my brain is on overload?

“Any specifics on music?”

Around me, the conversation continues.

Link and Pax decide on a DJ, agree to send him guidelines for music, arrange for a cocktail hour, agree to a multicourse plated dinner with wine pairings, and the time that each event begins.

“And will you need a cake? Our pastry chef is one of the best in the business.”

When Link nods, she opens her pad to show us a number of options for design and decoration.

Between the three of us, we agree to a tall, multi-layered cake, some tiers round, others square. The frosting will be white, with black accents. And our flowers will be used for added decoration.

“How about a topper?”

Why does it need one? “How about flowers are fine with me.”

“Our first initials,” Link contradicts. “LTP. In black.”

Though I hate to admit it, his idea is a good one.

And I am more than a little surprised that Link seems to have thought all of this through.

“Have you considered the flavors?”

“I’ll select those,” I insist. Maybe I should have some say in this.

The pair look at each other and shrug.

After accepting the pad from her, I scroll through the offerings.

“Choose as many as you’d like.”

I opt for all my favorites. “Hazelnut for one. Dark chocolate. A salted caramel mocha.” After sliding the device back to her, I add. “And one that is prosecco.”

“Excellent choices.”

Both men remain quiet.

Maybe I should be more decisive more often.

“Will you require a photographer? Videographer, perhaps? Social media manager?”

That’s a thing?

“Got that handled,” Link responds.

Shocked once more, I look at him.

“Perfect.” She gives a crisp nod. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

“You’ve been wonderful.” I reach for my purse.

“Tessa needs a wedding gown.”

Before she can respond, I hold up my hand. “That won’t be necessary. I have plenty of clothes.” More than I can ever imagine wearing.

With an eyebrow raised, Link looks at me. “What are you thinking?”

“Going along with our colors”— that he chose —”I have that elegant, long black dress.”

With passionate curse words, both men respond at the exact same time.

“And in case that wasn’t clear…”