Luck of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #2)(56)
I check the time on my phone and see we have four hours until the welcome reception begins. This may be an unsanctioned event, but the organizers have ensured it includes enough pomp and circumstance to impress the participants into parting with the hefty $100,000 entry fee, which is astronomical when compared to the other tournaments that take place all over the world.
This one also doesn’t follow traditional rules, and doesn’t include the preliminary qualifications because it’s invitation-only. We’ll play according to the rules the organizers set, which means two days of elimination games, and then a final evening with the top players. It doesn’t matter how good a player is, we all start at the exact same place and must fight for survival and our seat at the final table.
Under other circumstances, I would be confident that I’ll have one of those chairs, but I haven’t had enough time to do all the homework that I would normally do.
I’m going to be fine. I’ll learn quickly, and I’ll win.
The valet attendant wearing a red jacket with gold braid opens my door and smiles. “Welcome, Mrs. Forge. We’ve been awaiting your arrival.”
57
Forge
Other than the hour it takes for the makeup artist to enhance Indy’s naturally beautiful features and the hair stylist to turn her blond hair into a sleek arrangement, Indy spends the entire time before the welcome reception with her gaze glued to her laptop as she watches video footage of the different players. I check my email for the dozenth time, and what I’ve been waiting for still hasn’t come through. But it will, or heads will roll.
Indy has barely spoken to me, and I hate it.
I make myself a promise as she disappears into the bathroom to change into her dress. If I can’t earn her complete trust, I will let her go.
It’s a promise that will shred me to keep, but I have no other choice. However, it doesn’t mean I won’t do every goddamned thing in my power to prove to her that she can have everything she wants out of life with me at her gorgeous side.
It’s the strangest fucking thing in the world. I’ve never had to prove my worth to someone—at least, not since those early days aboard ship when I feared Isaac would send me back if I couldn’t pull my weight.
This woman, this complex, mysterious creature, has made the ground shift beneath my feet in a way I never thought possible.
When she opens the door from the en-suite bathroom and steps out on sky-high heels, I nearly swallow my tongue. She’s wearing white, and I immediately picture what she would have looked like as a bride, walking down the aisle to me, if this marriage had started off differently.
“Jesus Christ.”
Indy looks at me when I grate the words out under my breath. “What? Is something wrong?” She glances around the room as if scanning for a threat.
But of course, there isn’t one, unless you count my urge to strip the dress off her and miss the welcome reception completely. But that’s not what we’re here for. This is about her.
“You look . . . beautiful.” My voice roughens as I pay her the simple compliment that doesn’t begin to do her justice.
She’s a fucking siren. A goddess. And she doesn’t even realize it.
Indy drops her gaze to her dress and then lifts it back at me. “As long as it makes them forget how good I am at the table, then it’ll do.”
I can’t help but smile at her response. To Indy, her drop-dead-gorgeous appearance is a tool to be deployed strategically, which should have been just one more clue that she’s the only woman who could flip my entire world upside down.
“Then by all means, let’s go make them forget how dangerous you really are.”
We enter the reception, which is already in full swing, with waiters moving with flutes of Cristal and canapés through the gamblers and guests milling around the blue water of an Olympic-size swimming pool. Immediately, I start looking for the players on the list I borrowed from Indy.
Over a hundred card players are here, including all of Europe’s best, all after the extravagant pot and bragging rights. Only two of the twenty top players are women, and one of them is my wife.
As Indy engages in conversation with people she knows, I step back and let her lead. I’m here for her.
“Part of me wondered if you would let her come,” a Russian-accented voice remarks from beside me, and I turn my head to see Belevich.
“You clearly don’t know my wife if you think she needs my permission to do anything.” As soon as I say the words, I realize it’s the honest truth. There’s nothing I could stop her from doing if she set her mind to it. I tried and failed at that already.
He grunts as Indy steps a few more feet away from me to hug a woman I don’t recognize. I remember what she said about memorizing details of opponents’ lives, down to their wives, kids, and dogs. She doesn’t just deploy that information at the table as she’s playing. No, she uses it to charm everyone with more effectiveness than I’ve ever experienced.
“You Americans don’t know how to handle women. You should keep a tight leash on her. Someone is bound to try to steal her away from you, if you’re not careful,” Belevich warns.
Summoning my self-control, I turn to face him, using the bulk of my frame to tower over him. “Someone like who? You?”