When they entered the bustling casino, Vanni squeezed her hand.
“I’m sorry about how busy I am. I’ll be a better tour guide, I promise,” he said quietly. “As soon as the race is over. And tomorrow, we’ve been invited onto Niki’s yacht. You’ll get a nice view of the local country from the sea.”
“We have been?” she asked excitedly. She noticed how sober he looked and squeezed his hand back. “Don’t worry, Vanni. You’re treating me to the experience of a lifetime. Don’t you know that?”
He gave her a small smile and they proceeded into the casino. The atmosphere was electrical and chic. She recognized many of the faces she’d seen at the dinner, people looking around and greeting Vanni as he passed. It wasn’t just a casino, Emma realized. In the distance, she could see a crowded club where people were dancing and lounging in deep, cushioned booths and drinking exotic-looking beverages. If a patron chose, they could escape the sounds of music and slot machines and music by walking out onto a wide veranda that faced the Mediterranean. Unlike other closed-off, stuffy casinos she’d been in in the States, the opened patio doors made the atmosphere open and sea-air fresh.
“Do you gamble?” she asked Vanni, watching gamers as they passed a row of roulette tables.
“Not much anymore. Would you like to play?” he asked her politely, noticing her curiosity.
“Can we just watch?”
“Of course.”
They paused behind a table that was a little less crowded than the others. Vanni ordered them drinks from a passing waiter as Emma observed. She wasn’t familiar with the chip denominations, but she had a feeling from the extremely well-heeled and bejeweled players around the table that this was a high-limit table. She’d been to Las Vegas once, but had never played roulette. The game hadn’t been all that popular in the States, but roulette appeared to rule here in the Cannes casino. Vanni patiently answered some of her questions about how it was played, before three men appeared—two of which Emma recognized as American drivers she’d been introduced to at dinner—and drew him into conversation about the race.
“He’s a fool to keep ignoring you,” a man said near her ear in an Italian-accented voice. She glanced aside reluctantly and saw Mario standing very close. Emma stepped back to a more appropriate distance.
“The race is a pretty big deal,” she said lightly, turning her attention back to the table and the spinning wheel. “He’s just doing his job.”
“If you were mine, I’d make you my job,” he said quietly. He leaned closer yet again and whispered in her ear. “Do you know what I think? I think you’re lucky. I can sense luck from a mile away and I saw it in you the second you walked in to that restaurant tonight. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I have been utterly captivated by you since that moment.”
Emma’s eyes widened in amazement. Mario must play the part of a Lothario frequently, because he managed to make the corny statement sound completely genuine.
“Do you even remember my name?” she asked him with hushed incredulity.
He looked offended, but she had the distinct impression he was in fact fumbling for her name mentally. She resisted an urge to laugh, glancing anxiously to her left, where Vanni stood. His back was partially turned to her as he spoke with the three other men. Mario seemed to notice his preoccupation and moved in for the kill, sliding his hand suggestively against her forearm. She thought for a disbelieving second he was reaching to hold her hand. Instead, he pushed something against her palm. Emma’s hand instinctively cupped the objects.
“Take a chance with me,” Mario whispered hotly. “Luck should be with a winner.”
She held up her hand and stared blankly at what she held.
“Close your hand, you little fool,” Mario hissed, covering her hand with his, but not before Emma noticed what he’d given her . . .
A casino chip and a hotel room key. She stared from the items to Mario in stark disbelief. Had he really just propositioned her with Vanni standing right next to her? Narcissistic swine. Mario had frozen and was looking over her shoulder, his eyes glassy from too much drink, his expression stiffening with anxiety. Emma glanced around, and did a double take. Vanni stood next to her and was facing them both. She started when he shoved Mario’s arm and Mario’s hand fell away from Emma’s. Holding Mario’s panicked gaze with a glacial stare, Vanni lifted her hand. He looked down at what she held, his jaw going rigid. Emma glanced up and saw a startled expression on Mario’s face as he looked at her hand as well. He recovered quickly.
“I was just inviting her to play roulette, giving her a little gambling money. She looks as if she wanted to play, and I was trying to be a good host, since you were so busy,” Mario said, his anxious expression belying his cocky tone.
“Funny, I hadn’t realized the Hôtel Le Maj had roulette tables in their hotel rooms these days,” Vanni bit out.
Sensing his cold, sharp fury at Mario and not wanting there to be a scene, Emma tried to intervene. “It was just a misunderstanding,” Emma assured, putting her hand out to give the chip and the hotel keycard back to Mario. The men who had been talking to Vanni were starting to look over at them, obviously sensing the rising tension between Mario and Vanni. Mario put out his hand to take back the key and chip, a relieved expression on his face.
“I’ll say it was,” Vanni said, halting her action with a hand on her arm. He stepped past her toward Mario aggressively.
“No, please,” Emma said. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Let’s just go, Vanni.” Vanni looked down at her touch, his icy, focused anger fracturing slightly. His face settled into a determined mask. He put his hand on her upper arms and turned her in front of him. The next thing she knew, he was urging her up to the table. People were laying down their chips.
“Vanni . . . what—”
“Bet it,” he said quietly from behind her. She looked over at her shoulder, shocked. Was he so furious at Mario, he’d gone crazy? His face was still stiff from anger, but when she
met his stare, he gave her a small, imperceptible smile. “Bet it,” he repeated, placing his hands on her waist.
“What do I do?” she asked, turning back to the table.
“Pick a number on the inside and put the chip directly on it,” Vanni instructed. She thought she understood what he meant by emphasizing directly. Some people were setting their chips between and at the corner of numbers. He wanted her to bet it all on one roll of the wheel.
She bit her lip uncertainly. A thought struck her. “What’s the Montand racecar number?” she asked impulsively.