I got a bad feeling thinking about what now. I squared my shoulders, crossed my arms and stalked over to the sofa.
“Still drinking, are you?” I said. “Didn’t have enough of that downstairs?”
The man laughed and looked at me with a slightly bemused expression on his face. In his hands were two tumblers of scotch.
“Not nearly enough.” He held one up. “Will you join me?”
I frowned at him. Who was this guy? I hadn’t really been paying attention to him downstairs but now he had my full attention. I have never met him before, and even though he didn’t look the part, it was obvious that he had money. Unlike most of the guys in the casino downstairs, he was wearing a regular white button-down shirt and some khakis. He stuck out like a sore thumb in a sea of men wearing their most expensive suits. His hair was a messy mop of blond, right on the verge of being too long but working for him. I couldn’t deduce his job just from looking at him. The part of me that wasn’t completely enraged was a little curious. I mean, I was spending the night here now, it felt normal to ask who this person, my captor, was.
I walked past him to the bar and poured my own drink. I heard him scoff and walk over to the sofa. With my back turned to him, I took a couple of deep breaths, finally. I hated how nervous I was. This whole thing was a farce. If I walked out of this room right now, what would he do? I gave myself a generous pour of whiskey, then took a swig before turning around to face him. He was sitting on the sofa with one of the drinks in front of him on the table and the other in his hand.
“I hope you’re not expecting to get lucky.”
He coughed and almost choked on his drink. “I’m sorry?”
“Just because my husband thinks I can be bought and sold in a game, doesn’t mean I’m about to spread my legs for you.”
He shrugged and smiled wryly. I wasn’t sure what kind of reaction I was expecting from him, but I was preparing myself for the worst. If I was judging my husband for putting a woman up in a card game, I had to judge the guy who wanted to win one too.
“I wouldn’t presume that you were going to spread anything for me,” he said. “Not ev
en jam on my scone.”
I giggled silently. That didn’t mean I trusted him. All that meant was he cracked a funny joke and I didn’t feel that uncomfortable anymore. I was still uncomfortable. The situation was still one hundred percent absurd, but I wasn’t scared. I was angry, I was confused, I was a little cranky after wearing heels all night, but I wasn’t scared anymore. I sucked down some more of my scotch then looked at the man on the sofa.
“What kind of man wagers his wife in a card game?” I asked out loud.
“Either one who knows he isn’t going to lose her, or…”
“Or what?” I asked. I felt like I knew what he was going to say but he was just pausing because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Newsflash. My husband has just turned me over to another man in a bet. There was nothing that could hurt my feelings more than that.
“I don’t want to make assumptions about the kind of man that he is, but people who put up their wives, kids, homes up for collateral when they gamble aren’t doing it for fun anymore.”
“Great. So, my husband is a gambling addict?”
“You said it, not me.”
I laughed at his little quip and walked over to the sofa. “You’re probably right. I mean what kind of crazy man does something like that? And then he lost! He didn’t care whether I ended up with some stranger.”
“If I was him, I would keep much better tabs on you.”
I took a swig of my drink, clearing it. “I mean, what kind of man does something like that? Would you do something like that?” I could hear my speech slurring a little. The scotch was working.
“I know that the correct answer to that question is no, never.” He looked at me with wide, innocent eyes like he wasn’t in the casino himself. It made me laugh. I got up to pour myself another drink. I was buzzed. I didn’t feel wobbly on my feet yet, but I was definitely no longer sober. It felt good to talk about my husband. Maybe talking to someone else besides the guy who had won me in a bet would’ve been preferable, but so far, he was a good listener. He wasn’t that bad to look at either.
That was the booze talking but I liked what I was hearing. I was in a stranger’s suite after my husband lost me in a bet. We were past the point of things making sense anymore.
“I didn't even want to marry him,” I blurted out.
“Oh really?” he asked. I shrugged. I had never really said it out loud before but yeah, it was true.
“I didn't pick him. We never really dated or anything. We were matched. My family picked him. He was the honorable choice. He’s from a good family, whatever the hell that means. He’s a Baron and that got them. An eligible bachelor, hadn't been married before and was looking for a wife himself. Can you believe that? I'm married to this guy because he was ready to be married and he matches all my family requirements.”
“I can believe that,” he said. I raised an eyebrow.
“How so?”
“We're in the same boat, love. Well, sort of. My family has been breathing down my neck about finding the right girl to marry since before I could walk.”