Chapter 37 #2
Lucian folds his hands loosely on the table. “There is a private game at the Bella Rosa.”
“Poker?”
“Baccarat.”
“So this lesson has a purpose.”
“Everything has a purpose.”
“Am I expected to gamble?”
“You’ll accompany us.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No,” he acknowledges.
I wait.
His gaze remains steady on mine. “You may be asked to place a wager.”
“I won’t.”
“Then you’ll say no.”
The answer surprises me enough that I frown.
Caleb shifts in his chair. “Today is a lesson. Nothing else.”
“And tonight?”
“Tonight is tonight.”
“That is infuriatingly unhelpful.”
“Still true.”
Lucian collects the ivory chips and arranges them into a perfect stack. “You now understand the game, the probabilities, and the psychological traps. That was our objective.”
“Why do I need to understand any of that if I’m allowed to refuse to play?”
His eyes darken slightly.
“Because, wife, knowing the game is the first step toward recognizing who is actually playing whom.”
Before I can demand an explanation, he stands.
The lesson is over.
Silently we take the private elevator back to the main level.
The doors open onto a quieter edge of the Royal Sterling lobby, near a collection of exclusive shops.
Then I see it.
I stop so abruptly that Caleb nearly walks into me.
Set into a curved alcove is an elaborate machine unlike any vending device I have ever encountered. The casing is pale blush pink, trimmed in polished gold, with individual cupcakes displayed behind glass like jewels. A crown rests above the touchscreen, and curling gold script announces:
THE STERLING SWEET SPOT
Below that, in smaller letters:
Cupcakes.
“Oh my God. I’ve heard about this dispenser for years.”
Caleb moves beside me. “From whom?”
“People. Articles. Clients who returned from Las Vegas with financial regrets and detailed pastry reviews.”
The illuminated display rotates through the current flavors.
There are familiar choices—deep chocolate fudge, red velvet, lemon with cream-cheese frosting, vanilla bean. Then the selection becomes more adventurous.
BACON-MAPLE MORNING AFTER
MOJITO MADNESS
CONFESSIONS OF A CHOCOLATE SHOWGIRL
SALTED CARAMEL BAD DECISION
Then the seasonal option appears.
SUNSET STRIPTEASE
Blood-orange cake filled with passion-fruit curd, topped with pink-champagne buttercream, candied citrus, and sparkling edible gold.
I press my fingertips to the screen.
“Sunset Striptease,” I read aloud.
Caleb looks over my shoulder. “Subtle.”
“It has fruit in it.”
Lucian joins us. “That does not make it nutritionally sound.”
“No one invited reason into this conversation.”
“Reason travels with you everywhere.”
“Not this time.”
I press the order button.
Lucian reaches toward the payment screen, but I block him with my arm. “I’m buying my own cupcake.”
“You’re my wife.”
“You’re not paying for this.”
“Sophie.”
“It costs nine dollars.”
“It isn’t the amount.”
“Exactly.” I draw my card from my bag. “Which is why you are going to stand there and survive the devastating experience of allowing me to purchase my own damn cupcake.”
Caleb folds his arms. “Pick your battles, Hawthorne.”
Lucian scowls at him.
Before either of them can intervene, I tap my card.
The machine makes a soft mechanical sound. Behind the glass, a small platform moves into position, receives the cupcake in its clear protective container, then lowers it gently into a gold-lined compartment.
A bell chimes.
The door opens.
I retrieve my prize with disproportionate satisfaction.
“You look pleased with yourself,” Lucian says.
“I successfully completed an independent financial transaction.”
The machine provides a tiny fork, napkins, and a small handled box, but I have no intention of waiting until we reach our hotel.
Right there in the lobby, I open the container.
The cupcake is ridiculous. The frosting rises in a pale pink spiral almost as tall as the cake beneath it, dusted with gold and decorated with a translucent curl of candied orange.
I break off a small piece with the fork.
The citrus cake is tender and bright, the passion-fruit center sharp enough to balance the buttercream, which tastes faintly of champagne.
I momentarily close my eyes and make an obscene little sound.
“That good?” Caleb asks.
“Better.”
He holds out his hand for the fork.
“You have billions of dollars,” I point out. “You could buy every cupcake in the machine.”
“I want yours.”
“That seems to be a recurring problem with both of you.” Reluctantly I offer him a tiny bite.
Rather than taking the fork, Caleb leans forward and closes his mouth around it, keeping his gaze on mine.
A faint smear of pink frosting clings to his lower lip.
Without thinking, I lift my thumb and wipe it away.
The moment I touch him, his entire focus sharpens.
My hand stills against his mouth.
Caleb catches my wrist.
For several suspended seconds, neither of us moves.
Then he turns his head and presses a kiss to the center of my palm, making heat bloom beneath my skin.
I withdraw my hand and look at Lucian, who has been watching the exchange with an intensity that makes the air feel hot.
“You want some?” I ask.
His gaze lowers to the frosting, then returns to my mouth.
“I’ll wait till I have you alone.”
The promise embedded in his words sends warmth curling low in my body…