CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CASH
My phone buzzes as I lay down a set of kings and discard the five of clubs. Sylvie needs the ace of diamonds, which I have, so her lashes flutter with her frustration.
We’re playing rummy in one of Axel’s arbitration meeting rooms, where the real La Lune Noire backroom deals take place.
But it’s not arbitration day, and I wanted uninterrupted time alone with my girl.
Axel didn’t get the memo, and he does not take kindly to being ignored.
Unfortunately for him, I’m fully focused on Sylvie, even if the unknown cause of his incessant interruption is gnawing at me.
“You’re not gonna answer that?” She sips her soda, eyeing me over the rim and reading my anxiety.
This is the negative of dating another con. She misses very little and tries to hide as much as I do.
She’s also full of surprises. She picks up half the discard pile to get a ten of spades that she must’ve been fretting over for the last several rounds and proceeds to lay down several runs. Impressive.
The goal of rummy is to get rid of all your cards by forming melds—three or four of a kind or runs of the same suit. If you want something from the discard pile, you have to pick up all the cards in front of it. Timing is everything, and per usual, Sylvie’s instincts are flawless.
“Not while we’re playing.” I scoop some guacamole onto a chip and pop it into my mouth to illustrate my leisurely disposition.
We’ve got drinks, sandwiches, and snacks galore.
The French film noir Rififi is playing on a drop-down screen.
There’s a thirty-minute silent heist sequence in the middle of the movie.
It’s so meticulous that thieves have been known to study it.
Between the brick walls and wood beams, the dim golden lighting over the table, the black-and-white history playing on-screen, and the faint jazz music crooning from beyond the room, the mood for our rendezvous is a step above “I Wanna Sex You Up.”
Honestly, the lack of clothing in that scenario was fantastic, but this is just … Sylvie and Cash.
“You said Tessa showed you some of her art the other day?”
I’m making small talk because it’s a date-like thing to do and I enjoy everything that comes out of this woman’s mouth, but also because between that and the heist film she can’t ignore, she’s distracted enough to reveal her tells.
Like how she has the slightest pout to her plump lips when she’s unsure about a play.
Cards are a serious fucking matter. Even with my tiny bandit.
Especially with her because everything is more important with her.
“She was reluctant at first.” She discards the jack I’ve been waiting for as she recounts her time with the girls.
“But Zara and Mercy annoyed her until she did. She’s really good.
Zara showed me one of Jax’s murals too. He’s amazing.
And Mercy is fascinating. I flippantly mentioned that art had once been in the Olympics, and she spouted off the years. ”
“Mercy knows more random information than Google.” I pick up the jack of hearts as my phone vibrates again. I should turn it off, but now I’m preoccupied with what has him so worked up that he won’t just text me.
As that thought strikes me, he does.
Axel: Answer the goddamn phone.
Sylvie and I will be talking with him this afternoon, so I don’t see why whatever the hell he wants can’t wait. We’ve managed to dismiss the shitstorm brewing outside our door for the past few days. I plan to give us at least a couple more hours.
Our sex marathon continued, but it was so much more than that—cuddling (all day and night is my preference), learning her food tastes (in her eyes, avocados seem to go with everything, and pickles have a strong hierarchy too), and sharing stories (to name a few: she has a tiny scar on her elbow from when her grip faltered on the bars and one on her hip from slipping while climbing a tree, and I told her all about Jax perfecting his tattoo skills on me and piercing my dick for practice, to which she winced and laughed).
We worked out in the penthouse gym (she can certainly whip my ass into shape).
She became utterly enraptured by meals and game night with my family, growing especially excited when Remy had my brothers and me doing somersaults and cartwheels in the great room and walking on our hands for Simon Says.
And she has a perspective on my life that is only possible because of how reverent she is about the way I’ve let her in. Somehow, she takes that pain I shared about my mother’s death and morphs it into something to behold—a reminder to remember what came first.
“What was your mom’s favorite thing to do? In general or with you?” she asked me last night as we soaked in the tub, her hair piled on top of her head and her back flush with my chest.
“Dancing and singing, with us and without us. She’d have been a fantastic rock star, but she had us, and I think she mostly considered that a good trade-off.” I reached through the bubbles to massage her legs as I volleyed the curiosity. “What about your father?”
“Stealing things, of course.” She cackled and peered over her shoulder with so much joy that it made my chest ache because I recognized the specks of anguish laced through it too.
“But also analyzing art and watching me compete. I think he’d be sad about the struggles I’ve encountered and caused, but proud of how I’ve conquered the fallout.
And your mom? She’d be in awe of how magical you and your family have made La Lune Noire. ”
Words I believed, but was desperate to hear.
It’s been a thousand tiny moments like that, woven into a tapestry of contentment that I’ve never known. So, maybe clamping down on finishing this card game is stupid. But I want her to know that she’s my priority.
After I lay down my jacks and discard the two of spades, she senses I’ll be going out soon and goes for the jugular. “We should do lunch at Café L’Ambroisie one day. I’ve heard a lot happens there.”
That’s a subtle nod to whatever dirt she has on me, so I help myself to another chip and bite. “Do I want to know what kind of shit my family spilled about me?”
“Probably not.” She rearranges her cards, still not settled on her next move and barely containing her glee. “Should I tell you anyway?”
“First,” I begin, so I know who to kill, “who were the rats?”
She hedges, realizing she’s backed herself into a corner with this trash-talk strategy. Shifting gears, she leans forward to show off more cleavage in her silky blouse as she studies the silent jewel heist.
Brilliant tactic. And she’s got more.
“Greed is what blows this perfectly crafted performance. One of the guys gives a stolen ring to his mistress, and things fall apart from there. My father blew it because of principle. He found out that the buyer was burning the paintings or something.” Assuming she’s sufficiently derailed my inquisition, she discards the eight of diamonds.
“So, at the last minute, he shipped it to himself rather than to the predetermined PO Box. You would’ve liked it because it was one of The Card Players by Paul Cézanne.
My dad claimed it was his magnum opus. It was the only mistake he made, and it was because he was so desperate to save the art that he couldn’t think clearly. ”
Fuck, she’s pretty with the screen casting a glow on her skin, lit up because she’s in awe of the craft of the film, but still invested in this conversation in the dark. And working so hard to throw me off.
I draw a card, both eyes on her. “You spoiled the movie for me, but I have a newfound respect for altruistic art larceny.” That wins me a smile, so I go in for the kill. “Name names.”
“It was the girls,” she huffs. “But you can’t be mad. They were trying to make you look good.”
“Of course they were.” I’m still skeptical, but I’ll concede for now. I use my ace of diamonds to make a low run with the two and three. “What did they tell you?”
“That there was a rumor about you and some cabaret girl, where you ended up bound or something.” She presses her mouth to her shoulder to smother her laughter, a subtle hint of pink tingeing her cheeks.
And maybe the best part is that she’s secure enough with me to view this with some humor.
Calming herself, she returns to her hand and her dirt.
“That you only ever admit to being turned down by a woman once and that you claim it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with some witchcraft from the dueling piano players at Café L’Ambroisie.
And lastly, that you accidentally had a girlfriend once. ”
The only thing keeping me from coming unglued and hunting my sisters-in-law down is how cute Sylvie is when she’s nervous. For that reason alone, I temper my ire. “How the hell is that them trying to make me look good?”
She gnaws on her lip, somewhat jittery, even as she owns her ploy, adds a king to my set, and plays off my runs until she’s down to only three cards.
“Zara said before she was with Axel, she worked here and heard things about him that got in her head and affected the way she viewed some of their moments. Tessa and Mercy had similar issues. They thought it was better for them to tell me what I might hear so they could explain it.”
Rejecting another call from Axel, I grab the whiskey bottle, which I haven’t touched yet—because it’s fucking noon—and pour it into an empty rocks glass, letting the tinkling liquid declare my disapproval. “They can’t explain shit they know nothing about.”