Page 19 of Ace of Hearts

I turn my glass round and round in my hands, my elbows resting on my knees. I can’t resist saying what I’m thinking. “I don’t like alcoholics.”

That’s an understatement. I hate them.

“And I don’t like drop-dead gorgeous men who stick their noses into other people’s business.”

Touché .

“Thanks for the compliment,” I say.

I can tell that gets under her skin. Her cheeks don’t change color, but I’m sure that if I were to touch them, they’d be as hot as they were last time she was blushing. Her eyes appear less focused, her pupils dilated, her movements slow.

She holds her liquor well, but she’s clearly smashed. I’ve known lots of drunks, not just my father. Some can hide how much they drink; others can’t at all. Either way, no good comes of it.

She deserves better. But there again, it’s her problem, not mine. At the end of the day, she needs to make her own choices, and I need to live my life without getting involved.

Yes, but . . .

“ What are you punishing yourself for, Rose?” I hear myself say.

“Excellent question,” she says with a jaded smile. “What about you, Levi?”

I keep my face neutral. I want to reply that I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I also don’t want to lie to her. Even though lying’s my specialty.

“What makes you think you don’t deserve better?” I insist, and she laughs bitterly.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” she retorts. “You think I’m a tragic figure with no self-confidence, but you know what? I think I’m wonderful. I’m beautiful, sexy, funny, and intelligent.”

I do my best to look unimpressed. “As a rule, the more someone boasts, the less they like themselves.” I know what I’m talking about.

She acts as though she hasn’t heard me and picks up the pack of cards we always have on hand, then shuffles them with her slim fingers.

“Shall we play? If you win the round, you get to ask one question, and vice versa. We each have one joker. One free out.”

I shouldn’t agree to this. The odds won’t be in my favor, but Rose is tipsy, and curiosity gets the better of me. I accept and take off my jacket. Judging by the look on her face, I’d say she’s determined to win. Mostly, she looks angry.

We play a first round. I manage three of a kind, but her diamond wins. She tells me to have a drink while I think about her question. Annoyed, I obey.

“What would you say is your passion? Poker?”

I’m surprised. I was expecting worse. That said, she’s the first person ever to have asked me that.

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“So what is it, then?”

“Poker?” I repeat. I think about it for a long time. “My prison. My punishment. My personal hell.” I give her a smile that doesn’t hide the bitterness in my voice.

She’s taken aback and doesn’t speak for a moment. “I was asking about your passion, but OK.”

“I haven’t got one. Photography, maybe, but I guess that’s stupid.”

She frowns. It’s been a long time since I talked about photography with anyone ... At one time, I considered doing it professionally. Before everything blew up in my face.

“Why would it be?”

I keep my eyes fixed on hers, studiously ignoring that strip of naked skin exposed by her jacket. It’s a miracle no one’s seen her breasts yet.

“That’s more than one question.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, and we keep on playing. She wins again and asks how I met Tito. She’s cunning. I’m sure that’s the question she would have liked to ask first, but she waited so as not to be too obvious.

I pause. Thomas wouldn’t want me to discuss it, but I can’t see why I shouldn’t. As long as I don’t go into detail.

“He and my father were friends.” I sigh, leaning back against the cushions. “They met here, at the WSOP. Then they gradually became bitter rivals.”

“Why?”

“Because money corrupts everything it touches.”

She doesn’t reply, but I can see the questions forming themselves in her dark eyes.

We continue to play and drink. I end up winning a few rounds, evidently to her annoyance.

I’m able to learn that after studying psychology, she worked as a nude model for art students.

And that she loves to paint, although I already knew that.

When I ask whether being naked in front of people bothers her, she shrugs.

“Metaphorically, yes. Literally, no. The second is always easier than the first, don’t you think? And why should it bother me? It’s the way I was born.”

I nod and sip my whiskey, then offer her the glass, which she accepts. Her eyes are warm, and her pupils are dilated by the alcohol.

She throws the question back at me. “What about you? Does nudity bother you?”

“Only other people’s.”

She nods as though she understands this.

I know I need to win another round before I ask her, but I can’t wait. “Rose.”

“ Cosa? ” she answers in Italian. What?

I hesitate for a second before asking. “What’s your favorite color?”

She raises an eyebrow in surprise. She could refuse to answer, but she must think the question is inoffensive enough, because she says, straightforwardly, “Beige.”

I could have guessed. “Beige ...,” I mutter to myself, trying to work out what that means. She asks me the same question, which makes my bad mood return.

“Black, I guess,” I say flatly.

She drains her glass before giving it back to me. Then she deals another round, and I win again. She groans, but I smile in triumph.

“Why do you need so much money?”

“Because you can never have too much!”

“You’re not playing fair,” I scold her, finally feeling the alcohol going to my head. “Be honest, or I’m going to bed.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes before replying. “Debts. I owe too much money to too many people. My parents could help me, but I want to sort things out for myself. I don’t want to owe anything to anyone, much less drag my family into problems I created.”

Rose refuses to go into detail, but I get the picture. I realize that in spite of the selfish act she puts on, she’s got a big heart. She isn’t perfect, that’s for sure, but she takes responsibility for what she is. All her failings, all her mistakes.

“You’re not a bad person, Rose,” I say quietly. “You just pretend you are so you don’t have to feel guilty for the bad things you do.”

My analysis stops her in her tracks. At first, I think she’s going to lay into me, but she doesn’t say anything.

She lights a cigarette, and we continue drinking and playing.

I tell her that my family is very religious, hence my biblical name.

She raises an eyebrow when I tell her I love the movie La Dolce Vita and hate people who hurt those weaker than themselves.

“Aren’t betting games banned in Orthodox Christianity?” she asks, clearly knowing the answer.

I shrug. “At this point, one more sin isn’t really going to matter ...”

She just smiles and says her favorite film is ET ; she loves taking baths; and the last time she cried was years ago. I could go on all night, but I’m afraid my defenses will come down altogether and I’ll reveal things I shouldn’t.

“It’s late,” I say, glancing at my watch. “We should go to bed.”

“One more,” she insists.

It’s obvious that she has a very specific question in mind and intends to ask it no matter what. I’m not sure I want to know where she’s going with this, but deep down I’m curious.

She wins the round with a beautiful flush. I drop my cards on the table and look straight into her eyes.

Rose moistens her lips and asks straight out, “What is your type, exactly?”

I blink in surprise. I wasn’t expecting something so trivial. But she looks as though she really wants to know. I realize that my comment the other evening must have hurt her more than I meant it to. Part of me regrets it. If only she knew .

“Men? Women? Both? Neither?” she says, crossing her arms. “What kind of people do you like, and why aren’t I one of them?”

“That’s a lot of questions.”

“Answer, Ivanovich!”

If I answer honestly, she’ll know that I’ve been lying. That the mere fact of her being here in this suite with me poses a threat to the revenge I’ve spent years planning.

I can’t risk that. Not just for sex. Because if I give in, that’s what it’ll be. A fling with no future. I’m not sure either of us is capable of anything more.

And even that might be a form of double suicide.

“Joker.”

I avert my eyes as though I’m offended and get up to leave. I wish her good night and head for the door, leaving her sitting alone on the floor.

I haven’t gone more than a few steps when something hits my head. I shout in pain and spin around. Rose is standing next to the sofa, looking furious. One of her stilettos is now lying at my feet.

“Are you completely insane?”

I already knew that while I’m ice, Rose is flame. And God knows I’d like to see her catch fire.

“Ti sta bene!” she shouts. Something about my getting what I deserve, I gather. “It’s the simplest question I could have asked, and you don’t even bother answering!”

A tantrum, that’s what this is. Because Rose Alfieri isn’t used to people saying no to her. I bet her father gave her everything she wanted. Well, I won’t do the same.

“Why are you so interested, lyubimaya ?” I smile maliciously, hands in my pockets. “Scared I’ll go looking elsewhere?”

She marches over to me without hesitation.

I can almost make out the color in her porcelain cheeks, and that little detail makes me smile even more.

She must take my smile for arrogance, because she plants her hand on my chest and pushes me back against the marble column, her alcohol-tinged breath tickling my mouth.

“You’re a pretentious asshole.”

Whether it’s her vulnerable expression, her words, the alcohol, or the stifling scent of her perfume that changes things, I’m suddenly very aware of her body close to mine. Apparently sensing this, she lifts her chin ever so slightly.

“I don’t believe you, you know,” she breathes, lowering her gaze to my mouth.

I don’t know if she’s moved closer without my noticing, or if she’s been this close all the time. Suddenly, I feel her knee between my legs. My blood is pumping through my veins, reaching places it really shouldn’t be going right now.

I keep my hands buried in my pockets, not moving a muscle. But her knee rises higher, brushing against my thighs. I’m struggling to keep my breathing even.

Thomas was right. I’m not superhuman.

I’m weak, weak, weak.

I keep my hands where they are, clenched into fists, as I lower my face toward hers.

My eyes are still looking into hers as my nose grazes her cheek.

It feels red-hot, as I’d guessed, but incredibly soft.

Is the rest of her body the same? I imagine the skin of her thighs against my face and lose control completely.

I lower my face farther, letting my nose travel down along her jaw. I can almost feel her heart pounding against my chest. When I can’t hold out any longer, I answer her question.

“Women who will inevitably break my heart. That’s my type.”

She shudders at the touch of my lips. I should stop, but I’m completely incapable. She smells much too good. Not just her perfume, but the wonderful scent of her skin! She must taste divine.

Her knee rises higher and higher as my nose runs down her neck, light as a feather. She sighs almost inaudibly. Just as her knee is about to touch my erection, I react and catch her leg in my hand.

Would it be so bad if I took her into my room for the night? Just this once?

“You really know how to pick them,” Thomas always says to me. “They’re always spoken for, emotionally unavailable, or not interested. It’s as if you do it on purpose.”

Rose is no exception.

I raise my head, rest it against the column, and take a deep breath. I have to bring the temperature down. Lock myself into my room as if none of this ever happened.

“Don’t fall in love with me,” she murmurs.

I smile, and she moves closer to kiss me on the mouth.

“Same to you, Alfieri.”

I’m closing my eyes to receive her kiss, my heart turning over, when an explosion rocks the suite.