Chapter 13 #2
I was interested in both losing my money and winning my personal challenge against Bastian.
“Let’s go for a full bet. Whoever gets closest to the winning slot number,” I whispered, “gets to ask a question. No lies allowed.”
He examined my face and, with a half-smile, placed his bet on the table. Five chips on number sixteen. I put another five on the twenty-nine.
“No more bets,” announced the dealer.
He spun the ball.
Beginner’s luck. That luck that makes the player overconfident, believing that the stars have aligned in their favour, that God, fate, or even the horoscope (something Gina believes in) has blessed them.
That luck that creates addicts and gamblers and breaks families and marriages.
That damned luck made the ball land on the twenty-nine. On the damn twenty-nine.
A shadow crossed Bastian’s face. He must have mistaken my annoyed expression for malice. He didn’t understand that I was playing a double-edged game.
“It must be your lucky number,” he laughed. “A deal’s a deal.”
The dealer slid the chips towards me.
Instead of losing money, I had won more. I clenched my jaw and ran a hand through my hair, forcing myself to focus. I’d lose the next round. Now I just had to make the most of my luck.
“What are you doing here?” I shot.
It was the obvious question. That’s why I wasn’t expecting the answer to unsettle me.
“I came with someone. We had to split up for a moment. And if you’re referring to the casino and not the Club…” he pointed with his chin to a corner, where the couch where we had met was located, if you could call it that, “…they love this place. They’re friends with my date.”
Our night was turning out similarly. Also, I hadn’t noticed that we had an audience. A group of five girls was watching us with curious eyes, oblivious to our little game within the game.
I wasn’t interested in them at all.
“Your date?” I teased. “Do I know her?”
“I’m afraid,” he said, with a faux dramatic tone, as he placed his next bet on the table, “that’s two questions, Vera.”
He had placed another five chips on number eleven. I doubled the bet.
“Again, betting on twenty-nine?” Bastian looked at me, frowning. “Are you crazy?”
The rest of the players went silent, and I could guess their thoughts. What’s this silly girl doing? Does she want to lose? Is she conspiring with someone?
“I’m afraid,” I replied, placing my thumb on his forehead, making him relax his expression, “that’s two questions. And stop frowning, you’re going to get premature wrinkles.”
The dealer spun the ball. It landed on number five.
I smiled when they removed my chips, but I wiped the smile away before Bastian had a chance to see it.
“It’s my turn,” he said, ignoring the game. “Sorry for the lack of originality, but running into you at Montari was the last thing I expected tonight. What are you doing here?”
Enzo. Gina.
I took a quick glance at my phone. It was three o’clock, and I hadn’t heard from either of them…
Except I was wrong. Enzo had called me three times, almost half an hour ago. Damn. I put my phone away. I would call him as soon as I was done playing.
“I came with someone.”
I took a certain satisfaction in being as vague as possible. I knew it wasn’t the answer Bastian was after, which is exactly why I said it.
He responded with a groan.
“I didn’t ask who you came with. I want to know why you came.”
Next round. Before the other players could place their chips on the table, I bet fifteen chips on number four. Oh, Mrs. Meng, may your superstitions help me. I needed to avoid luck.
I turned my attention back to Bastian; he was absorbed in that number. Four.
“I came because I was brought here,” I said, answering his previous question. “I suggest you be more specific next time.”
Bastian placed five chips on the twenty-four. Then, without looking me in the face, he said:
“So, we both agree that I’m going to win this round.”
The curves of his mouth rose slowly. It was easy to see his reasoning: he had picked a number too low, earlier than the one that had just come out. By probability, the winning number would be closer to his.
The ball bounced and slowed, finally settling on the fourteen. As soon as it did, our glances locked.
“Tie?” he said.
I couldn’t hide a smile. I wanted to win as soon as possible, so I agreed. Last question, and I’d call Enzo. Then I’d go find Gina.
“Do you want that to be your question?” I joked.
“As long as that one’s also yours,” Bastian replied, shrugging.
I shook my head.
“In that case…” he continued. He leaned his face towards mine, and the silver glitter in his eyes sparkled under the dim lights. “I know your family is humble, and my uncle doesn’t pay you much yet,” his voice lowered to almost a whisper. “How are you affording all of this, Vera?”
I pulled away with a brusque gesture. He didn’t move; his gaze was fixed on my lips, on the tic that comes out in my lower lip when I get nervous, and which had started acting up at that moment.
I did what I do best: play dumb and evade questions.
“I’m just spending chips. I don’t understand what you mean.”
My tone was relaxed and smooth. He looked down. He exhaled, sounding like a “ha,” and stepped away.
“I heard you calling the restaurant this morning. The Big Mediterranean?” he raised a brow. “I thought we agreed to be honest here.”
I bit my lip.
“There are things it’s better for you not to know.” And before he could question me again, I added, “My turn.”
There were several things I wanted to know.
This was an opportunity to snoop into Bastian’s life that wouldn’t present itself again.
I wanted to know who his date was, how many times he had been to Club Montari, and how he had met the girls he was with.
I also came up with more personal questions, like what he really thought about me.
If he had anything to do with my hiring at Saidi.
A shrill, insistent ringtone cut through my thoughts.
“Hang on a sec,” I muttered, grabbing my phone and swiping to answer.
It was Enzo.
Sometimes, when nerves hit, I can’t stop talking. I rambled on, apologising for missing his earlier calls, worried I’d either overshare or say too little.
“Enzo?”
There was a pause. Had he even listened to what I said? All I could make out on the other end was the faint sound of piano music playing softly in the background.
“Hello?” I repeated.
“It’s nothing,” he said. The words had cut off. It was the end of a sentence. “Are you there?”
There? Did he mean the lounge?
“No.” I hesitated. “And you?”
Silence.
I glanced at my phone and saw I barely had one bar. The reception was terrible. I needed to get out of the casino if I wanted to hear him clearly. Putting the phone back to my ear, I caught the tail end of a sentence from Enzo.
“At the Sortija stall.” He interrupted himself again. “… There as soon as possible.”
And he hung up.
I cursed my luck. Had he said he was at Sortija? I had to go wherever that was. I needed to leave now. I wasted my last question and said:
“Do you know where Sortija is?”
Bastian’s eyebrows knit together, almost forming a frown. Fuck. Sortija was a Spanish word. It meant ring. Had I heard right? Could there be a room called Sortija?
“Pardon?”
“It’s just…” I murmured, biting my lip to stop my tic, “I need to leave.”
Bastian stuck out his chin, urging me to continue.
“It seemed urgent.”
That was all I planned to say. Bastian scanned the room, and I mirrored him. The other players had caught on to our distraction, diving into the next round without us. The dealer’s hands moved swiftly as he closed the bets, the game continuing without a pause.
“Whatever,” said Bastian, picking up his jacket from the chair, “follow me. I’ll take you there.”