The Player (The Game Maker #3)(68)

“Your husband gave us an extra two million dollars. That’s going to take some time even for us to blow.” She laughed. “Gram is shitfaced and threatening to steal ‘rich Dmitri’ from you, and Al is lecturing everyone on the generosity of Russians in general. I dramatically vowed to send Walker back every dime he’s sent me, plus interest. And maybe a little note along the lines of, Thanks, but we’ve got it from here.”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

“Apparently he needs the money more than I do. Rumor says he’s going bankrupt. Ironic, huh?”

“Never would’ve seen that coming.”

“Enough about him. Can you believe this day?”

I glanced over my shoulder in Dmitri’s direction. If there was ever an example of me reaching for the stars . . .

“But, Vice?” Karin said, rousing me from my thoughts. “You know we celebrate our wins whenever we get one, and we’re delighted to be off the hook. But the general consensus around here . . .”

“Tell me.” Though I knew what she was about to say.

“Watch yourself. Dmitri Sevastyan is too good to be true.”





CHAPTER 31

I woke from an afternoon nap to find Dmitri sitting up against the headboard, staring out at the mist over the water. He wore only broken-in jeans, his chest bare.

I’d never seen him this still when awake. And his eyes were so vulnerable. What was he thinking about in his mixed-up mind? Reliving the past? Or imagining his future?

With me.

For the last two weeks, a dense fog had blanketed the property, magnifying the unseen splashes out in the ocean and the haunting gull cries. Dmitri and I had been running the fires throughout the house.

Though this magical place had begun to appear eerie, I liked the gothic atmosphere. I was out in the middle of nowhere, alone with my enigmatic husband. Except I was no helpless waif. I skipped into that toy room every night and delighted in choosing things for my wicked man to show me.

These weeks had been wonderful. Three things prevented them from being perfect:

I missed my family.

I missed working—not conning, necessarily, but doing something with a purpose. Like bringing my design ideas to life.

And I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop with my too-good-to-be-true husband.

I studied his compelling face. My antsiness grew each day, and my grift sense had started sounding the call.

Last week, he and I had walked through the woods. We’d been relaxed and enjoying our stroll, but then a briar had snagged my sweater. Dmitri had valiantly rescued me—I’d discovered he loved being my gentleman hero—and we’d continued on. Yet then another briar had caught me shortly after.

My grift sense was like that—a thorn snagging me again and again, no matter how many times Dmitri’s affection and love-making and generosity rescued me. My anxiety kept me from surrendering to this life. From falling all the way for him.

My gaze dipped to his left hand, to his bare ring finger. Though I’d said I would buy him a wedding band—caught up in that moment, in his bigheartedness—I now worried I’d acted rashly.

Rings were symbols; how could I pledge forever to him with all my lies and doubts standing between us?

Dmitri shifted on the bed, interrupting my thoughts. Still staring out the window, he absently traced that faint remnant of a scar. If he’d been suicidal, how much longer could I go without asking him about it?

As if he sensed my internal debate, he turned to me. “You’re awake.”

I sat up against the headboard. “How long was I out?” I wore one of his T-shirts, but only because the housekeeper was here today.

“Not long. I just had tea brought in.” A silver tea service with snacks sat on the end of the huge bed. He poured me a cup with honey, exactly how I liked it.

I took a sip. Delicious.

He sat beside me and reached for my free hand, as if he’d only been waiting for me to wake so he could lace our fingers together.

Life could be so sweet when I forgot myself and lived in the now. He and I rode horses and explored the coast. He’d taken me on two short overnight trips—shopping on Rodeo Drive and sightseeing in San Francisco—easing me into travel.

Whenever we played chess, he won, which made me itch to challenge him at poker. But I’d vowed to turn my back on anything related to my grifter days, even a simple card deck, my beloved rectangle of two and a half by three and a half inches.

After twenty years, my days as a cardsharp were over. Pang.

I took another sip of tea, feeling Dmitri’s gaze. He studied me like he was trying to crack a code.

I’d come close to slipping up a couple of times.

When a restaurant server had been hanging all over him, he’d noted my jealousy. As the woman had sauntered off, he’d teased me, “Remember, I’m legally yours.” Glaring at the woman’s back, I’d snapped, “In that case, I might have some use”—I’d bit my tongue to keep the rest from escaping—for Johnny Law after all.

And, damn it, gaming a parking meter was second nature!

My family would be just as likely to slip up. Parents loved to relate stories about their kids growing up, right? Mom couldn’t exactly tell my gull husband I’d been a “broad tosser” at age four. “Can you keep your eyeth on the queen, thsir?”