Forbidden Vows: An Accidental Marriage Romance

by Liz K. Lorde

  Until it wasn’t.

  I was immediately flooded with my new duties, endless decisions and actions falling onto my shoulders like the weight of the world.

  People’s lives were suddenly in my hands; their existence reduced to the possibility of one bad choice.

  For a while, I was so overwhelmed by the role that I actually found distraction. While I never stopped looking for Ana, I finally had something else to think about.

  The relief lasted only briefly, my need for her always remaining my driving force.

  So another year passed, my hope always burning, though now a dull flame. Until the day that Nico waltzed into my loft, wedding invitation clasped in one hand, changing everything.

  I finish my tale with a sigh, this time one of contentment.

  Ana stares intently up at me as the last words tumble from my mouth, her eyes an odd mix of fascination and sadness.

  “I’m so sorry,” she finally says, sitting up hastily.

  “It’s not your fault, Ana.”

  “I know, Cas, but you’ve been through so much. I wish I could have been with you, helped you…” She trails off, staring wistfully into space.

  “We’ve both been through a lot, but it’s over now.” I sit up beside her, reaching out to clasp her hands between us. “We’re here, Ana, everything’s okay.”

  She turns back to me, her eyes clearing.

  “You’re right. We’re here, and we should make the most of it.”

  She stands quickly, hopping from the bed with renewed energy and heading for my mini-bar.

  “I think we need a drink.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “Do you even know how to drink?”

  She grins mischievously at me as she grabs for my most expensive bottle of tequila, quickly filling two whiskey tumblers with the potent liquid.

  “Not really… but I can learn. You can teach me,” she says with a wink.

  I chuckle as she skips over to me, passing me the overflowing glass of liquor.

  “Well. For starters, you probably should have put this into shot glasses.”

  “The tiny ones?” She waves a hand dismissively, taking her seat beside me.

  “Alright, then.”

  I take a drink from my glass, the liquid burning a trail down my throat.

  Smirking, I watch her copy the motion, her eyes tearing as a cough escapes her throat.

  “Holy shit.” She laughs, eyeing the drink in amazement.

  Laughing, I raise my glass between us.

  “To us,” I chime loudly.

  “To us.”

  We take another swig, her managing this time with only a wince.

  “So where do we go from here?” she asks, her voice ringing positively around us.

  “Me and you? Wherever we want.”

  She laughs melodically. “Seriously, Cas, what happens now?”

  “I am serious. Now, we do whatever we want.” I ignore her rolling eyes, “After what we’ve been through, Ana, what can’t we do?”

  “Safely walk down the street together?” she asks jokingly.

  “Well, besides that.”

  She takes another long drink from her glass, her eyes already beginning to shine drunkenly.

  “Alright, fine. What do we want then?”

  I roll her words around in my mind. Frankly, I got everything I ever wanted the moment I laid eyes on Ana again. I can’t imagine anything better than this moment, right now.

  What do we want?

  I look lovingly across at her, her lips pulling back into a wide grin as my eyes meet her own.

  I want this. Forever.

  Just the two of us, safe and together. I want every day to see Ana smiling the way she is now, her mind at utterly at ease.

  I want her to be happy—ridiculously, ineffably happy.

  I stand quickly, feeling a grin split across my face as I do.

  “Come on.” I say excitedly, reaching for her hand, “I have an idea.”

  Chapter 16

  Ana

  Cas and I are now back in the Austin-Healey Sprite. It wasn’t cheap to bring back to Vegas, but Cas was loathe to part with our beautiful getaway car.

  The top is down, the wind is in my hair, and the lights burn fast and bright against my eyes. Everywhere we go, we are bombarded by the sights, sounds and smells of people thoroughly enjoying the Vegas strip.

  It’s exhilarating.

  Cas is driving faster than usual, but given that he’s drunk, that’s not surprising.

  And given that I’m drunk, I don’t mind him driving whilst under the influence.

  No. The combination of alcohol, high-speed car, night-time breeze, and Vegas strip is making us both feel well and truly alive.

  I wish the moment would never end.

  I turn in my seat and gently kiss Cas’ neck; I can feel his pulse hammering away against my lips. His skin is hot and flushed—the way I know mine must be, too.

  I breathe in deeply and take in his scent…his cologne. I’m not sure what said cologne is, but I can smell bergamot and cardamom and pineapple. It’s fresh and delicious.

  Just like the man wearing it.

  “Your breath is tickling my skin, Ana,” Cas calls out over the roar of the engine, amused. “Can you contain yourself for just five more minutes? You’re incredibly distracting, you know.”

  “I have an inkling,” I reply flirtatiously, but I sit back up in my seat obligingly, nonetheless.

  True to his word, Cas slows to a halt outside of a bar whose façade is littered with suggestive neon signs.

  I give him a bemused smile. “Are you taking me to a strip joint, Caspian?”

  He laughs.

  “Oh, no. Somewhere much classier than that.”

  He gives his keys to a valet then opens the door and lets me through first, in true gentlemanly style.

  The slap he gives my butt as I walk past him is most definitely not gentlemanly.

  “Welcome to my family’s one-and-only burlesque bar, Miss Rachmanoff.”

  I can’t help but gawk in wonder as we enter the building—it’s all mood lighting and sheer drapes and cabaret-style seating, with some circular, private booths running along two walls.

  The bar is serviced by two pristinely-dressed men, both expertly preparing cocktails for thirsty guests, whilst the beautiful waitresses waltz around with trays, taking orders from customers.

  At the front of the room there’s a raised stage area, on top of which a scantily-clad woman is currently performing a raunchy, sultry song I’ve never heard before.

  I hear Cas softly chuckle by my side as he slings an arm around my waist and directs me towards one of the private booths.

  “You’ve never been to a burlesque joint before, have you?”

  I shake my head.

  “No way in hell did I ever have the freedom to go to such a place,” I reply as we sit down.

  Cas signals a waitress over with a motion of his hand. She smiles graciously at him; Cas returns the smile.

  “Bring over a bottle of silver Patron please, Rosie.”

  “Of course, Mr. Andreas. I’ll bring it right over.”

  Cas kisses me lightly before whispering in my ear, “So what do you think of this place, cuore mio?”

  I nibble his lower lip in response.

  On the stage, the woman finishes her song, and the audience gives her a polite round of applause.

  “Ah, we’re just in time,” Cas remarks, but before I can query him further, the waitress returns with the tequila and two glasses.

  Cas promptly pours the two of us a measure of the beautiful, dangerous liquid, and I throw it down my throat.

  The warmth running through me in response is incredible.

  Cas kisses me again before continuing our conversation.

  “The next woman up—Lady Roma—she’s our star. She’s way too good for a little place like this. Still, we pay her the most, and we treat her well, so here she stays.”

&
nbsp; I perk up and pay attention to Lady Roma as she makes her effortless way on stage, wearing the tallest heels I swear I have ever seen.

  Cas pours me another tequila as I continue to watch the woman in front of me.

  She’s gorgeous—all 50s-wavy raven hair, classic red lips, and pale, pale skin. She’s wearing a fur robe that conceals her body from her neck to her knees; though something tells me it won’t stay on for long.

  When she opens her mouth to sing, I am transfixed: if I thought the woman before had a sultry voice, then this woman clearly has a voice that would send men gladly to their graves. It’s low and sexy and melodic. It’s perfect.

  Suddenly, I feel Cas’ hand slowly crawl up my thigh. I throw him a sideways glance.

  “She’s great, huh?” he murmurs in my ear. “Just wait until she starts stripping. It’ll make you want to take your clothes off, too.”

  I raise an eyebrow at the suggestion, but I allow his hand to continue its creeping.

  Just as predicted, Lady Roma’s fur robe is teased off her shoulders, slipping down to the floor by the time the first chorus of her song rolls in. Underneath, she’s wearing a jet-black basque. Matching black suspenders keep her stockings up, whilst her arms are enveloped in satin, elbow-length gloves.

  I’m kind of jealous of the outfit—I wish I had it.

  Cas seems to be thinking the same thing, if his roaming hand is anything to go by.

  His other hand has crawled up my back in order to toy with the zip of my dress at the base of my neck; I move closer to him and run a few fingers underneath the edge of his belt in response.

  I see the line of his cock underneath his pants grow drastically bigger in response.

  “Careful, Rachmanoff,” Cas whispers into my ear.

  “Two can play at this game, Andreas,” I reply in a low voice, drunkenly trying to imitate the tone of Lady Roma.

  Cas’ lips trail down along my collarbone as he slowly undoes my zip by an inch or two, but in the confines of our private booth, nobody notices.

  Lady Roma slowly pulls of her gloves, one finger at a time.

  I take one of Cas’ hands and suck on his index finger, biting it slightly before letting go.

  His eyes widen.

  I venture to undo a button of his shirt.

  “This is getting dangerous,” Cas says, voice rough with desire.

  I chuckle at that.

  “Something tells me that we’re both more than up to the task of ‘dangerous’, Cas.”

  His mouth is so close to mine that I practically inhale his next words.

  “Then how about upping the stakes a little?”

  I glance over at Lady Roma—she’s undoing her basque, fastening by beautiful fastening, as she continues to sing. The crowd is enraptured.

  I look back at Cas; seeing that he feels much the same way towards me as the crowd does towards their performer.

  I flash him a grin, giving a hint of my canines in that way I know he loves.

  “Your move then, Cas. Up the stakes.”

  He returns my grin with an even wider one of his own, his eyes slightly wild.

  Suddenly, he grabs my hands and pulls me from the booth and out of the bar.

  Surprised and drunk as I am, it takes me a few seconds to ask him where we’re going.

  He lets go of my hand in order to smooth his hair back and refasten his button. Then he fixes my zip back up.

  His eyes are bright and alive.

  “Gambling,” he says.

  Chapter 17

  Cas

  With Lady Roma behind us, it is now time to play with Lady Luck.

  In a hidden room behind the burlesque bar, there’s nothing, if not a sensory overload.

  The bright lights of the slot machines…the loud music drowning out the conversation…the dealers snapping down their cards, calling twenty-one, groaning when a customer gets a bust.

  It is all the sights, and sounds, and smells of Las Vegas, contained in less than a thousand square feet.

  And here we are, Ana and I, smack-dab in the middle of it all, ready for action.

  “So,” I say to her with a smirk on my face, “where to?”

  Her eyes scan the room quickly, and she blinks rapidly as she tries to bring several different tables, machines, and people into focus.

  Finally, she settles on one baccarat table, and her eyes are smiling before the rest of her face. “Baccarat, Cas-Bear.” She takes my hand and rushes to the table, the smile never leaving her face.

  The card dealer is a familiar face—a bag man, I believe, for the Luccesse family—and he nods in my direction when he sees me sit with Ana.

  I return the nod, and when I do, he deals the cards in my direction.

  Baccarat is not a game that’s for the weak of heart, and neither is it a popular game amongst the younger Vegas crowd. There are three versions of the game—two European, one North American—but both are heavily in favor of the bank, especially in a mobbed-up casino like this.

  Of course, this doesn’t matter when you, yourself, are a made man…and you, yourself, are the bank—if only as a silent partner.

  It would make sense that Ana would be dangerous enough to play a dangerous game.

  But I wouldn’t want my girl to be any other way.

  “Cut me in,” she says to the dealer, who then looks at me as if to ask for permission.

  When I nod at the dealer and toss my cards back to him, he shuffles the deck again and cuts her in.

  Watching Ana play this game is turning me on beyond belief, so I decide to raise the stakes a little.

  “Okay, Ana Baby,” I whisper in her ear, “there’s only three ways this can go: player, banker, and tie. So, let’s up the ante: if you win, you stay dressed. If the bank wins, you must lose an article of clothing. If there’s a tie, you have to give me a kiss.”

  She shoots me a look of confusion. “This…this game is rigged in favor of the bank,” she says.

  “I know,” I say, smiling lasciviously, “but I am the bank. So, I win either way.”

  She smiles and shakes her head, as if to say, “I should have known.”

  She plays her hand.

  “Tie,” says the dealer.

  Various men are walking past us, ogling her as they walk by.

  But rather than be jealous by all these men staring at my girl, I take it as an opportunity to assert my dominance. This is mine… all mine. After all, I’m not just referring to the Ana—although, honestly, that’s the biggest score of all.

  So as each man stops to take a look at the hand she’s won, I kiss her passionately, as promised.

  “Cut me in,” she tells the dealer again.

  He deals.

  She plays.

  “Banker,” he calls.

  “Fuck,” she responds, and to my surprise, she reaches underneath her dress and pulls off her panties, placing them on the table triumphantly.

  My eyes become as wide as saucers, but before I can protest, she kisses me passionately instead.

  “Time to change the game a little bit,” she whispers before turning back to the dealer. “Cut me in.”

  The dealer gives me a knowing nod and deals the cards.

  She plays.

  “Player,” he says, sighing.

  He pushes the money towards her.

  She smiles mischievously.

  “Looks like I’m staying dressed,” she says, licking my nose.

  She turns back to the dealer. “Cut me in,” she says.

  He deals.

  She plays.

  “Player,” he says, sighing again.

  And this scene repeats itself over and over for the next hour, until she wins more than $100,000 in cash.

  We’re cultivating quite a crowd now, and as she plays each hand—and wins—more and more men gather around and begin cheering her on.

  When she hits the $125,000 mark, I grab her and kiss her passionately.

  “Now, now,” she says teasingly, “I haven�
�t lost. No kissing allowed.”

  I fake—pout. “You can’t tell me no!”

  She smirks triumphantly. “The hell I can’t.” Turning back to the dealer, she nods, “Cut me in.”

  He deals the hand.

  She plays.

  The dealer looks around, creating tension.

  Could it be? I think to myself. Has she finally lost a hand?

  I smirk and look at her, knowing that she needs to lose a piece of clothing. Thus far, the only clothing she’s parted with is the G-string currently sitting on the table, but now, it’s all going to change.

  Or so I think.

  “Player,” the dealer announces and pushes another $50,000 her way.

  It seems the entire casino has stopped playing, all to watch my girl win all the money in the bank, which, at my count, is at a cool $250,000.

  I smile, kiss her passionately, and hold her hand up as though she were a boxing champion.

  A man approaches her, clearly with the intent of hitting on her, but she quickly turns to me and kisses me passionately in response.

  “Have you met my husband?” she asks her wannabe suitor, who then slinks away in defeat.

  I’m all but floating on air, beaming with pride at everything that’s happening around me.

  The money we’re winning…the people around us cheering…the sex in the air…and, most of all, my girl beside me.

  If ever there was a gangster fairytale—a dream come true for a made man—this, right here, right now, would be the happy ending we all wish for.

  The only thing that would make this complete is our wedding—long delayed by three years—and our baby.

  I can’t make the former happen—not quite yet, as my baby deserves a lot more than a seedy 24-hour chapel, though it worked for us all those years ago—but I can work on the latter.

  I grab her hand, and she senses the look in my eyes. She looks back at me with the same look of lust.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say.

  “Your wish is my command,” she responds and kisses me passionately.

  We run out of the casino, the money in hand, the sound of cheering behind us, and the sounds of Vegas in the air.

  Chapter 18