Luck of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #2)(62)

“I ordered you two desserts. I wasn’t sure if you were a chocolate fan. You picked berry ice cream when we went out with Holly and Karas, so I hedged my bets,” he says before popping a piece of steak into his mouth.

“Dessert too? I just might keep you around, Forge.” I toss out the comment like it’s a joke, but it’s not.

If this version of the man is anywhere close to his true self, I could get used to it. To him. To feeling like I matter. Like he values me and sees me for who I am and appreciates it.

I’m afraid to get caught up in all the feelings swirling around in my brain now, and instead, want to continue riding the high from my day of winning. I’m afraid that if I get too attached to this Forge, he’ll disappear again when things aren’t fun and games anymore.

I’m going to soak this up like it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Forge pauses, his silverware still over his plate. He’s staring at me like he wants to say something, but his lips don’t move.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“No. Nothing. I’m proud of you, Indy. Proud as hell.”

The words I didn’t expect to hear come out in a smooth, genuine tone. They unleash a burning sensation in my eyes that I know foretells tears, and I blink a few times to keep them back.

When is the last time anyone but Alanna or Summer said they were proud of me? Never.

“I’ve had more fun in the last eighteen hours than I can remember having in years. Thank you for that. For showing me that there’s more to life than my island and my boats and my business.”

“Ships.” I correct him like he did when speaking with Karas, and shoot him a wink to prevent my tears from falling. “And really?”

He lowers his silverware to the plate, and his hands grip the edge of the table. “I never planned on getting married, but I think that’s because I never knew a woman like you existed. You’re a once-in-a-lifetime find, India. I’m proud to be your husband.”

Shit. The tears come, even though I don’t want them to. I drop my fork to lift my napkin to my face to wipe them away.

“I didn’t mean to—” He reaches for his napkin to offer it to me.

I wave him off before he can apologize. “It’s not you. I just . . . I guess it’s been a long, tough day, and my tear ducts decided they needed a workout too.” I dab the tears away and lower the napkin.

“The last thing I ever want to do is make you cry. Whatever you believe about me, know that’s a fact.”

Once my tears are dry, I lay the napkin back on my lap. “I know that much. I may not have figured you out yet, but I do know that.”





67





India





I walk into the final day of the grand prix wearing a gold mermaid-style dress from Sofia Russo that fits me like a second skin.

I may as well have a target on my back because everyone is watching me. My tactics have always relied on flying below the radar—because most male poker players tend to discount women—and if that failed, on distraction.

For this tournament, however, my tactics have changed. I feel like a wrecking ball instead, smashing through everything in my way, except more gracefully and better dressed.

Assignments are announced and Forge follows me to my table, with Donnigan and Goliath on either side of us. Wherever we go, people watch.

Before Forge, it would have driven me crazy, but now, I barely care.

We stayed up until two a.m., going over the remaining players and all their tells, and anything else that can help me today. I’m working very hard to keep my expectations low and my ego in check, which is hard after such big wins yesterday.

The table for the finals is set up in another room, and I’m going to earn my seat at it today. I rest my hands on the chair back that I’m going to take first, but when I close my eyes, I’m already visualizing standing up a winner and moving on to the next round. It’s a little trick I learned years ago, and I was so flustered the night at La Reina, I forgot to do it . . . and I lost.

“Kick ass, Ace. You got this.” Forge leans in to kiss my cheek, and I turn to give him my mouth instead.

Maybe I didn’t lose that night at all. Maybe fate took charge and sent me down a new path. One that includes this man, who I’m no longer quite so scared to fall in love with. Maybe . . . maybe this can actually work.

When Forge pulls back, he has a smudge of red on his lips, and I reach up to wipe it away with my thumb. It feels like a very domestic move, and something about that makes me happy.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks as he presses a kiss to the pad of my thumb.

“Everything.”





After I win my semi-final game, Jericho picks me up and lifts me into the air, just like he’s done every single time I’ve won since we arrived. It’s part of my new routine for games that I’ll happily continue.

We eat, and I have a longer break before the final starts tonight, so I go back to studying the players who will be seated at the table with me. Jericho excuses himself to take a phone call, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s my father.

Instead of being filled with anger and resentment, I’m more curious than anything. Do I want to meet him? Is that even an option I’m willing to entertain?