Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sophie
The Royal Sterling rises from the Strip in gleaming tiers of gold glass, every surface designed to capture sunlight and turn it into something richer.
After the heat and chaotic charm of Rosa’s, the lobby feels almost unreal. Cool, perfumed air flows over my skin, and the polished marble beneath my sandals reflects enormous floral arrangements, crystal chandeliers, and people dressed as if no one has ever spilled taco juice down their wrists.
With his jacket on, Lucian is once again the flawlessly controlled man who could negotiate the collapse of a government without wrinkling his cuffs.
Caleb still looks dangerous enough to be denied admission, but every employee we pass greets him respectfully.
No one asks where we are going.
A man in a dark suit meets us near a bank of private elevators and indicates we should board.
When we exit, I feel as if we’re in a wonderland.
There are no flashing machines or crowds. Instead, a quiet corridor leads to a room paneled in pale wood, with thick carpet, discreet lighting, and a single oval baccarat table occupying the center.
A woman waits behind it.
She appears to be in her fifties, poised and elegant in a black suit, with silver bracelets stacked on one wrist. Several decks of cards are arranged in front of her, along with three neat columns of ivory chips.
“Good afternoon.” She smiles at me. “I’m Nina.”
“Sophie.”
“I understand this is your first time playing baccarat.”
“I’m not playing.”
Lucian draws out the chair at the center of the table. “You’re learning.”
“There’s a difference?”
“An important one,” he says.
I remain standing. “Are those real chips?”
“No monetary value,” Nina assures me. “They’re used for instruction and private games where the stakes are something other than cash.”
I look at Lucian. “What kind of stakes?”
His expression is entirely too innocent.
Caleb claims the chair to my right. “Sit down and find out.”
I should refuse.
Instead, I take the place Lucian offered, which allows him to sit on my left.
Trapped between them again.
The ivory chips feel satisfyingly heavy when I pick one up. Rather than a dollar amount, each is stamped with the Sterling crown.
Nina slides three cards from the shoe and places them face up on the felt. An ace, a nine, and a king.
“Baccarat is simpler than its reputation,” Lucian says.
“That sounds like something a professional gambler tells a person immediately before taking all their money.”
“I’m not a professional gambler.”
“No. You merely manipulate games, engineer losses, collect markers, and accept human beings as collateral.”
Nina looks down at the table with impressive professionalism.
Caleb does not flinch. “That isn’t baccarat.”
“So we’re compartmentalizing?”
“For the next hour,” Lucian says. “Yes.”
I fold my arms.
He indicates the cards. “Aces count as one. Cards from two through nine retain their face value. Tens and face cards are worth zero.”
“Why?”
“Because those are the rules.”
“That is not an explanation.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Caleb taps the king. “Zero.”
Then the nine. “Nine.”
Then the ace. “One.”
“I understood him.”
“Show us.”
I glance at the cards. “The hand totals ten.”
“Which is zero,” Lucian says.
I turn toward him. “You just said the ace is one and the nine is nine.”
“It is. But only the final digit of the total counts.”
“So ten becomes zero.”
“Yes.”
“Fifteen becomes five?”
“Exactly.”
“That’s unnecessarily theatrical.”
Caleb reaches for one of the chips. “Welcome to Vegas.”
Lucian slides two betting positions toward me. One says PLAYER, the other BANKER. A smaller space above them says TIE.
“You wager on which hand will finish closest to nine.”
“Which hand belongs to the player?”
“The one designated player.”
“And the banker belongs to the casino?”
“No.”
“Does either label describe an actual person?”
“No.”
I look at Caleb. “This game was designed by men.”
“Undoubtedly.”
Lucian continues. “You may wager on player, banker, or tie. The cards are dealt according to fixed rules. You do not decide whether either hand takes another card.”
“I don’t get to hit or stand?”
“No.”
“Then what am I doing?”
“Choosing which outcome you believe will occur.”
“That is barely doing anything.”
“Now you understand baccarat.”
Nina’s mouth twitches.
I pick up one of the chips. “Which is the statistically strongest wager?”
“Banker,” Lucian says. “Although the house takes a commission on most tables because of the slight advantage.”
“And player?”
“Marginally worse but generally pays evenly.”
“Tie?”
Caleb answers. “A terrible decision with an attractive payout.”
“Which ensures people make it.”
“Frequently.”
I examine the betting spaces. “So the game offers almost no meaningful player control, dresses random outcomes in ceremony, and encourages people to believe past hands predict future ones.”
Lucian’s eyes gleam with approval. “Yes.”
“Do people track the results?”
Without speaking, Nina slides a paper scorecard toward me. It is divided into narrow columns intended for red and blue marks.
I stare at it.
Then at them.
“This is apophenia with complimentary pencils.”
Caleb’s laugh is immediate, deep, and entirely unrestrained.
Even Nina gives up attempting to remain neutral.
Lucian picks up the pencil and rolls it between his fingers. “You say that as though it diminishes the experience.”
“It weaponizes the human desire to identify patterns.”
“Which is precisely why you’ll be excellent at the game.”
“That makes no sense. Understanding that the patterns are meaningless doesn’t improve my odds.”
“No,” he agrees. “But it keeps you from making emotional decisions based on them.”
He places an ivory chip in front of me.
“One hand.”
“No.”
“One practice hand, with no money at risk.”
“And if I win?”
“You may ask either of us one question. We’ll answer honestly.”
I turn the chip between my fingers.
“And if you win?”
“We ask you one.”
“That sounds more dangerous than money.”
“It may be.”
I study the three betting spaces.
Caleb places two chips on banker.
Lucian does the same.
“Predictable,” I murmur.
“Disciplined,” Lucian corrects.
They both look at me.
Because I refuse to follow them, I place my chip on player.
Nina deals the cards.
Player receives a four and a three.
Banker receives a two and a four.
“Player has seven,” I say. “Banker has six.”
“No additional card,” Lucian tells me.
“And player wins?”
Nina sweeps Caleb’s and Lucian’s chips away, then pushes a second ivory chip toward me.
The small flash of satisfaction I experience is absurd.
“It means nothing,” I remind them.
Caleb leans back. “You’re smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I gather my winnings. “I have a question.”
“Ask,” he says.
I already know what I want.
“How long has it been since you visited Rosa?”
His expression changes.
Lucian turns his attention to him but says nothing.
“Seven years,” Caleb finally answers.
“Why?”
“You won one question.”
“That was one question.”
“You added a second.”
“I’m attempting to understand the first answer.”
“That sounds like a professional problem.”
I wait.
Caleb picks up another chip and rolls it across his knuckles with practiced ease. “I didn’t want to go back until I could walk through the neighborhood without remembering every reason I left.”
The honesty is so unvarnished that I have no clever response.
He places the chip on banker. “Your turn.”
This time I join him.
Lucian selects player.
Nina deals.
The banker hand wins with eight.
Caleb claims his chips, then looks at me.
I steel myself. “Go ahead.”
“What would you have chosen for your honeymoon?”
The question takes me by surprise.
“I don’t know.”
“You promised an honest answer.”
“That is an honest answer.”
“You were engaged to Adrian.”
“Almost engaged.”
“You never discussed a honeymoon?”
“Not really.”
Lucian’s attention grows more focused. “What did you imagine?”
I consider the question.
Before this morning, honeymoon had meant a controlled concept from someone else’s life. A carefully researched hotel, negotiated airfare, a schedule, a budget, and photographs designed to prove the expense had been worthwhile.
“Somewhere I selected,” I say. “With an itinerary I approved, a cost I could justify, and a return ticket in my own name.”
Caleb’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Sounds romantic.”
“It sounds safe.” The words emerge more softly than I intended.
Neither man mocks me.
Lucian places another chip on player. “Again.”
We play.
I lose the next hand, but so does Caleb. Lucian wins.
He does not gather his chips immediately.
“When did you begin enjoying today?”
I look down at the felt. “That question assumes facts not in evidence.”
“It does not.”
“I tolerated today.”
“Sophie.”
I pick up the pencil and draw a meaningless red line on the scorecard.
He waits.
“On the helicopter,” I finally admit.
“At the canyon?”
“Before that.”
Caleb grows still.
Lucian asks, “When?”
“When Caleb told me I could change my mind.”
The memory returns with startling clarity. The open helicopter door. The roar of the blades. My heart pounding with fear. Caleb asking whether I wanted to leave—and meaning it.
I look at my hands.
“I still got on. But knowing I didn’t have to made a difference.”
Silence settles around the table.
It is not uncomfortable.
Lucian reaches beneath the edge of the table and closes his hand around mine.
His thumb moves once across my knuckles.
No possession. No pressure.
Just acknowledgment.
“Thank you for answering,” he says.
The simple courtesy leaves me more unsettled than one of his commands.
I withdraw my hand and pick up another chip. “I’m beginning to suspect you designed this game solely to interrogate me.”
“Baccarat predates our marriage by several centuries.”
“That isn’t a denial.”
We play again.
This time I choose banker and win.
I stack my small collection of chips. “What happens tonight?”
The warmth leaves Lucian’s expression, replaced by something more calculating.
Caleb glances toward him.
I look from one to the other. “That reaction is not reassuring.”