Page 12 of Ace of Hearts

Rose

May

Las Vegas, USA

Today I’m a massage therapist.

I’d have reconsidered if I’d fully understood the implications of Levi’s proposition. Or I’d have at least tried to negotiate even more money. I’m not being paid nearly enough for my efforts.

I hide my disgust, barely managing not to make a face as I massage one of the players at Levi’s table. Levi doesn’t give me a second glance, but I’m sure he’s thrilled by my discomfort. The heat is making my short wig unbearably uncomfortable.

“More to the left,” says the man I’m massaging, and I eventually realize he’s talking to me. “Have you never done this before, or what?”

I grit my teeth and keep my expression cold. I bet he’s been asked the same question plenty of times, in a different context ...

“That’s what they all say,” I murmur under my breath, pressing harder into his shoulders.

“I’m sorry?”

I smile in reply and babble a few things in Italian to make him think I don’t understand what he’s saying, and he quickly forgets about me. Levi is still impassive, but when I look up, I see his cheek tremble, which means he’s listening.

The prick .

“He ruined my life.” I’ve been turning that sentence over and over in my mind since yesterday.

I could tell this wasn’t a straightforward case of two players being competitive, but I never imagined that Tito could have affected Levi that much.

If this Jacob was Levi’s father, it’s clear that he and Tito must have known each other, perhaps even been friends.

What could have happened to make Levi react the way he did?

I tried to make him tell me the whole story in the car, but he kept his mouth shut.

He took me for dinner in a chic restaurant and didn’t say a word for the whole meal.

I recognized a few other players there with their partners, and they were all looking at me pityingly.

As if I were the future wife of a wealthy man who cared nothing for me.

For some reason, this annoys me more than it should.

Which is why I decide to have a little fun today.

If I have a fiancé, fake or not, it’s unacceptable that he should be anything but crazy about me.

Never once has a man invited me to dinner and then ignored me for the whole evening.

In Italy, it’s just not done. And I won’t let Levi Ivanovich get away with it in Vegas either.

Today, he’s wearing his vintage sunglasses again. His eyes don’t wander from the other players at his table, but I can tell his mind is elsewhere. When I arrived this morning, I saw straightaway that Tito was playing in the same room. Thomas is here, too, though he’s a more discreet presence.

The tense atmosphere makes me both excited and anxious. But the two men don’t end up at the same table even once.

I spend the lunch break training Levi in our suite, and Thomas is there too. He doesn’t say anything but watches and listens carefully as he eats his salad. I don’t know why Levi lets him stay since, friendship aside, Thomas is still a rival. But that’s what happens.

“Can I ask you a question?” Levi suddenly bursts out.

His curiosity makes me a little apprehensive, but I nod anyway. He looks at me with his head tilted as I shuffle the cards.

“If you’re so short of money, why aren’t you playing in the tournament?”

Thomas looks up—clearly, he’s been asking himself the same question. It’s true that it doesn’t make sense. I could have put my name down and tried to win the big prize.

The problem is that I don’t trust myself. I’m already finding it difficult to walk among the tables all day and not play. My hands tremble more than I’d like them to at the sight of the chips. If I took part ... I’d be sure to have a relapse. But I can’t tell them that, so I lie.

“I can’t be bothered.”

He doesn’t look convinced. But I’d rather be seen as capricious and lazy than weak.

He gives me an intense stare and replies, “Rose, you’re gifted.

I’ve worked like a dog for years, day and night, to get to this level.

But you ... you were born with this ability.

The fact that you don’t take advantage of it doesn’t make any sense. ”

No, it doesn’t. I knew he’d eventually ask about this, but I don’t have an answer ready. I shrug and do what I do best—change the subject. “Don’t you feel threatened?”

He looks surprised. “Threatened by what?”

“My talent.”

Thomas shakes his head with annoyance and ignores the rest of our conversation.

Levi looks amused, which I hadn’t anticipated. “Why should I feel threatened?”

“Because I’m better than you. Lots of people would want to simply use my abilities ... not learn from them. But not you.”

I hadn’t intended to say that. It just came out.

The first time I saw Levi, I thought he was one of those men I detest. Rich, arrogant, and thirsty for power, with an inflated ego.

But he isn’t like that. He asked me for help.

He admits his weaknesses. He never tries to crush me or prove he’s better.

I’m not used to this kind of behavior. It throws me off-balance, and I don’t know how to react.

He watches me for longer than I’d like, and finally says, “Only cowards try to take advantage of people they perceive as better than they are, instead of learning from them. I know I can’t always be the best. When I’m not, I want to figure out what I can do to improve. There’s no weakness in admitting that.”

I have no response to that statement. My question had just been a selfish joke at first, a way of distracting him, but his honest reply gives me goose bumps. I wish everyone were like him ...

I must have been wrong about him. Just a bit. Still, that doesn’t mean I like him.

“Thinking you have nothing to learn from other people only leads to failure,” he adds, standing up gracefully. “I’d have liked to play against you in this tournament. Too bad.”

As he carries our plates into the kitchen, I realize that the feeling filling my chest is disappointment.

Too bad, indeed.

Levi gets two rest days this weekend. We spend the first holed up in our suite with the air-conditioner on full blast. He’s starting to understand how to apply what I’m teaching him, but he still thinks too much, which leads him to make clumsy errors.

In the evenings, I fill the living room with a canvas I’ve bought and with the paints I take everywhere with me.

Levi, on the other hand, spends his evenings analyzing his opponents’ techniques.

He studies their ways of playing, their habits, the ways they bluff, and adapts his own game accordingly.

I have to say I’m impressed. Despite his saying he wasn’t born with talent, he’s quite ingenious. And above all, he’s devious.

Levi is the kind of player nobody but masochists want at their table.

His game is loose-aggressive: he’s always active and raises often, which can make him seem completely crazy; and that’s what he would be if he were an amateur.

But his experience makes him formidable.

He’s in control of every situation and hits the right rhythm at every stage of a round, easily confusing his opponents with the way he reads them like a book.

I’ve noticed that everyone avoids him like the plague, and I can see why.

I get back from the sauna one evening—yes, this hotel has its own sauna—planning to suggest we go out to eat. The sound of heavy metal being played at full volume reverberates from his room, as if he were having a party.

“What’s going on?” I ask Thomas, who’s eating by himself in the kitchen.

He acts as though I weren’t here. I ask again, not happy about being ignored, but this time he pretends he can’t even see me. I give him the middle finger. “Hilarious, Chris. Almost as funny as the first Thor film.”

I just manage to dodge the teaspoon he throws at me. This guy is insane .

I find Levi alone, sitting on the floor and leaning against his bed, focused on the cards laid out in front of him. He doesn’t hear me come in, even when I shout his name at the top of my lungs. I switch off the music, which finally gets his attention.

When he sees my legs in front of him, his eyes widen in surprise, and he pulls off his earphones. “Oh, it’s you.”

“What the hell is this?” I ask, my ears still ringing, “And before you answer, you should know I could never marry a Marilyn Manson fan, not even for show.”

He probably thinks I’m joking, but I’m deadly serious.

“To tell you the truth, I prefer opera,” he says. “My mother loves Sergei Prokofiev. Do you know his music?”

I shake my head, surprised to hear him open up like this. I’m struck by the nostalgic look he has as he smiles faintly and murmurs, “He’s a Russian composer and conductor. He composed a ballet of Romeo and Juliet in the 1930s. I’ve always wanted to take my mother to see it.”

“Why don’t you?”

He’s silent for such a long time that I change the subject.

“I thought you didn’t like art?”

Levi shrugs. “I prefer the kinds I can listen to rather than look at.”

“I get that. But why have music on full blast when you’re wearing headphones?”

He gives a triumphant smile. “They’re noise-canceling headphones, so I can’t hear the music. That means I can still concentrate.”

I frown, still lost. This all seems completely absurd and surreal. “You could just ... switch the music off, you know? Do you want our neighbors to hate us, or what?”

He smiles again, very patiently, and that’s when the penny drops. “Ooooohhhh ...”

What a proper bastard he is. On the other side of the wall, Tito is undoubtedly being driven crazy by the noise. If he wanted to get to bed early to be on top of his game tomorrow, he’ll be furious.

“Why do you think I chose this room in the first place?” Levi gets up. He’s wearing only a T-shirt and pajama bottoms.

“So your plan is to ruin his sleep and weaken his game? How Machiavellian,” I say with a smile. I love it.