15. Mimosa
CHAPTER 15
Mimosa
Drake gives me a dress, sensible sandals, and a cute sweater to match the dress. Surprisingly, there’s a pair of leggings too.
I hold those up and glance at Drake. “You’re okay with me wearing these?”
“I wouldn’t have put them there if I wasn’t,” he grumbles. “It’s gonna be windy. I don’t want to hear you complaining about your legs being cold.”
That’s strangely sensible coming from Drake. I get dressed, glancing at myself in the mirror once I’m done. I look good, and everything matches my hair.
I match Drake’s outfit too, I notice.
It’s a strange thing to see. I’ve never thought of him as particularly fashionable, but thinking back, he does seem to put pride in his appearance. Matching outfits, though, are a little amusing.
And a lot weird.
“Are you going to behave?” he asks, pausing with his hand on the door.
“Have I ever not behaved?” I respond flatly. He scowls, and I suppress a small smile.
Maybe I do get a small kick out of annoying him. I might as well enjoy my small rebellions, since I can’t prevent him from doing worse things to me.
“Did you ever think of being a lawyer instead of a shrink?” he asks sourly. “Because you sure do like the loopholes.”
I don’t say anything, although I can tell Drake wants me to.
After a few moments, he scoffs and turns away from me. “Okay, come on. It’s a two-hour drive.”
I follow him to the elevator, and we ride all the way down to the garage. His convertible is parked in a semi-private area of the garage. Well, one of his cars—I assume at least one or two others on the same floor are also his.
He lowers the top on the car and turns on music, then drives us out onto the streets of New Bristol.
It’s strange to think that I haven’t been outside properly for ages. I stare up at the tall building, the penthouse only barely visible from down here.
“We’re going to Mer d’Or,” Drake says, as if I’d asked.
I glance over to him, squinting against the harsh sunlight. “The casino town?”
“It’s not just casinos,” Drake mutters. “They’ve got a nice boardwalk. We could do a boat tour. Go sailing. Enjoy the beach. Get tickets to whatever show is going on.”
“But you also want to go to the casinos,” I say.
“Well, yeah,” he says, shrugging. “Do you have a problem with casinos?” His smile is a little nasty as he asks, “Parents used to gamble?”
“I don’t know if they did,” I say honestly. “I don’t have the money to gamble. Irene and I were living frugally.”
“You know Chase’s bitch? Her daddy got her in a pickle because he gambled too much,” Drake says, offering the information casually. “Seems like all of you end up punished for other people’s fuck-ups, huh?”
Apparently so. I wonder if Irene regrets putting me into this position—if she even knows what became of me.
I hope she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep since that day.
“You’ll have to be careful not to end up like him, then,” I answer. “Or somebody will repossess me to pay off your debt.”
Drake’s head turns sharply in my direction, and I’m about to tell him to look back at the road when he does. “No one is taking you from me,” he snarls. “I don’t care what happens. You’re mine .”
I cover my mouth to suppress a laugh. I don’t know why his sudden possessiveness is amusing me. It was surprising, that night of the hunting game, but now that I know to expect it, it’s strangely endearing.
Maybe it helps that he always looks so upset when he says anything remotely hinting that he cares about what happens to me.
“Don’t gamble me away then,” I answer, forcing my voice to stay deadpan. “That’s a thing men like you do, right? Put your sex slaves into the betting pool?”
He scowls again. “Only the ones we don’t like,” he says. “So you’d better be on your best behavior, or I will bet your ass.”
I somehow doubt he’d do it no matter how many times he threatens it.
We pull onto the highway, and the increased speed means my hair is whipping behind me. I’m glad for the sweater and the leggings—and the seat warmers. It’s late August, so it’s still warm enough, but the wind is strong.
He turns the music up louder so we can hear it, and I’m not sure why it startles me so much when he starts singing along — downright belting the words out to some rock song I don’t even recognize. It makes him animated, his eyes bright, and it’s like I’m looking at another person entirely.
I don’t talk to him during the trip to Mer d’Or, but it doesn’t feel awkward. This is what it would be like to road trip with anyone, really. If I had a book or a phone, I’d be reading during the trip. Instead, I’m focused on the landscape as we go from the city to the forested areas and then closer and closer to the coast. The air turns more humid, and the scent of the breeze changes.
“I’ve never been to the ocean,” I admit as we enter the town. The wind dies down, making it easier to talk.
Drake glances at me. “Really? Even living this close?”
“It’s a two-hour drive,” I point out. “I don’t have a car. Neither does Irene, and either way she was always… working.”
Some of my college classmates had invited me on a trip with them last summer, but I couldn’t justify the cost—and anyway, I hadn’t quite wanted to spend an entire week with them.
“Well, if you like it, we can go more often.” He seems to realize what he’s said, and he adds, “Maybe. It depends on how you act today.”
“Maybe it depends on how you act,” I counter.
What I can see of the beach so far seems nice enough. The boardwalk is fairly crowded and we’re driving at a very slow pace now. Even on a weekday, there’s a lot of activity.
It’s probably everybody rushing to enjoy the last hurrah of summer before vacations are over and fall weather makes the beach less appealing.
Drake mutters something under his breath, but I choose to ignore it. “All right. There’s a parking garage not far from here,” he says after a moment, turning down a street that leaves the ocean behind us. “It’s a short walk to the casinos… and the water. We can play around for a little bit, get some food, then walk it off on the beach.” He pauses, then scowls as he asks, “Is that okay?”
I gaze at him steadily. “I don’t know. Is that okay? You’re calling the shots.”
He tenses up. “I was asking you a fucking question, Mimi. It’s like I wanted your goddamn opinion for some reason. But whatever. That’s what we’re doing.” He pulls up to a parking garage. Instead of heading in to find a place to park, he exchanges his keys for a ticket at the valet entrance. “C’mon.”
I suppress a laugh and get out of the car, making sure to stay close to him. “Now you’re mad. You were pretty clear at the beginning where I stood with you. Sir .”
He’s put his sunglasses on, and I can’t see his eyes. His tone is pretty clear, though, when he says harshly, “Yeah. For all the good that’s done.” He turns, starting to storm off toward one of the massive casino buildings.
I hurry after him, and I’m grateful he didn’t make me wear a pair of high heels. I can walk in heels, but not for long periods and definitely not at the brisk pace he’s setting.
“Did you know,” I say when I catch up, “sometimes, communication helps other people understand you. ”
“You don’t need to understand me,” he says. “You just need to obey.”
He gets a weird look from a woman passing us by, but he glares her down, and she hurries away.
“I think you want me to understand you.” I look at his arm, and with slight trepidation, I hook my own arm in his. “You want me to be nice to you.”
Drake stays tense, but he lets me take his arm without snapping at me. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Mimi. I swear to fucking God, we will turn around and go right back home.”
“You’d ruin the day for yourself, then,” I point out. We walk into the casino, and a blast of cold air hits me. The air conditioning is way stronger than it needs to be, but I always think that during the summer.
I’m struck by how loud it is, and we’re just in the lobby. The lights on a nearby slot machine grab my attention, and I watch as somebody pulls on the handle. The numbers and symbols spin, landing on a combination that has an older woman swearing.
“Come on,” he says, not answering me. “I want a drink.”
I start to walk toward the right, but he tugs me in the other direction.
“I figured you’d want to stay in the nonsmoking areas.” He gestures to the signs. “This way.”
“You asked me if this schedule was okay,” I say as we line up at the bar. “I don’t know, because I have no idea what we can do here. But I do know it’s too early to start drinking.”
“It’s never too early to start drinking,” Drake replies, frowning at me. “Especially at a casino. Half the reason to come here is to drink and smoke. Oh, and to eat at the big buffets. The one here is pretty nice.”
“You didn’t come here to enjoy a day out with me?” I ask. “Because I’d enjoy it more if you stayed sober.”
He stops, looking hard at me. “Yeah?” There’s something a little wary, a little vulnerable even, as he regards me.
“You don’t need to be high or drunk to have a good time, Drake,” I say gently. “Let’s just check things out. Show me your favorite games here and give me a heart attack by gambling away my entire college scholarship in the span of a few hours. ”
“Is that all?” he drawls.
The bartender catches his attention, and for a moment, I think Drake is going to order something alcoholic. He orders a soda, though, and looks at me in silent inquiry.
“Water’s fine,” I tell him.
We’re probably the most boring two people at the casino, but the bartender doesn’t seem to care as he gets our glasses and fills them.
Drake takes a sip out of his then gestures to the far side of the room. “We can watch other people spend their money until you see something that looks interesting to try out,” he offers.
“You think I’ll take to poker?” I suggest, ribbing him gently with my elbow. “I bet I can see through everybody’s poker face.”
“Well, no one would be able to see through yours,” he says, the words surprisingly neutral as we stroll past several rows of slot machines. “So maybe instead of you sitting in my lap and being my good luck charm, I should be yours.” He smirks at me.
“I don’t know enough about the card probabilities though.” I pause by the big roulette wheel. “We could leave it up to pure chance. Or bet on both sides, so we’re guaranteed to win something.”
He laughs, sounding surprisingly sincere. “Yeah, it doesn’t work like that. One of us would still lose something,” he says. “But we can get some chips and play around for a little while. Be right back.”
To my surprise, he turns and heads toward one of the clerks with only a brief glance over his shoulder.
While I wait, I take a closer look at the people around us. A lot of them look like tourists—but I guess that’s expected. Many are indeed drinking, even at this early hour. Maybe I should be trying to figure out which game I want to play, but instead I focus on the individual people, trying to get a sense for them.
The red-faced man with the empty glass in front of him has probably been there a while. He’s saying something to the dealer at his table, and whatever it is has her smile getting more strained. She remains professional though, and her response seems to mollify the man.
At the roulette table, a woman and a man are squabbling. They’re both dressed up, but something about their clothes seems off on them. Maybe they splurged for this special occasion, and it isn’t panning out the way they expected.
There are people enjoying themselves, of course, the ones who are smiling or whooping because luck landed in their favor. I wonder if they’ve actually come out on top, or if winning alone is enough for that kind of cheer.
My eyes go back to the chip exchange counter. Drake is distracted, buying some probably exorbitant amount of chips.
I could leave.
I could run out the door and hide in the crowd.
I could disappear, and Drake would be utterly humiliated because for a few seconds he’d trusted somebody and they’d thrown that trust right back in his face.
There’s no reason for me to stay.
But I don’t move. I wait patiently for Drake to return. He wraps an arm around me when he does, holding me possessively to him, and nuzzles my neck.
He knows I could’ve left.
Maybe it was a test, or maybe it was a trap. I don’t know if I should feel like I passed or failed. I just know that he relaxes when he pulls me closer, and that the smile on his lips seems more genuine.