Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Marjazan Resort Casino was a palace-like structure, located right against the Atlantic, and I felt like we were in Casablanca.

Hopefully, if anyone ever made a movie of our lives, it would have a happier ending.

Our driver dropped us off, and a bellboy came up, as did a concierge—and a wave of strangers, taking photos.

“Satin!” the suited concierge exclaimed—while she jumped at the sound of the first photo’s shot.

I leaned over her and snarled at them—then they took pictures of me.

“I’m so sorry,” the man apologized, offering his suit out to protect her, while I rushed her into the casino. I forgot to warn her about the steps though in my hurry, and she would’ve tripped, if I hadn’t simply picked her up and then planted her again, behind the casino’s thick glass doors.

Satin glared at me, but then turned in the other man’s direction. “Charles—who told them I was coming?”

“No one, they’re just opportunistic vultures—the Princess of Rhondal is flying in today, and they’ve been camped out here, ever since her affair was announced. Or denied. I lose track with that woman,” he said, apologetically.

She settled herself quickly. “It’s unbecoming.”

“I know—I have my men chase them off—but paparazzi are like flies—you swat one and three more show up.” And then he gave me a strong look—like, I, as a satyr, might’ve brought some flies in with me as well.

I lowered my head and stared at him ominously, while giving a snort—and Satin placed a calming hand on my chest, like she might do with any man who was her boyfriend.

Or just her lover.

“I would like to gamble some,” I announced. There was no point in pretending I was suave since I was not—and the sooner we got this portion of our mission over with the better.

Charles led us through a casino that dripped with opulence, up to a set of discreet black-and-gold double doors flanked by tall, uniformed attendants who greeted us with silent nods. Inside, the lighting was low but luxurious, emanating from a crystal chandelier with countless faceted drops overhead. One whole wall was a dark wooden bar that looked like a shrine to alcoholism, with multi-colored liquors in bottles I both did and did not recognize behind it, and while none of the surrounding players looked like an actual princess to me, I would believe that many of them could be royalty-adjacent.

“Feeling lucky?” I asked Satin. Her eyebrows rose in surprise—and I leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “It’s called acting.”

“Oh, is it?” she said afterwards, leaning back. I got the feeling that if she still had eyes, they would be rolling at me.

“Which game do you want?” I asked her.

“Roulette,” she said, and then looked over to where Charles had last been. “My usual, please?”

“Of course, Miss Satin,” he said, quickly departing from view.

I assumed he was going to get her a drink—not come back with a small, gilded sack full of chips. She took them, and then handed them to me, as I navigated her toward the chairs on the roulette wheels table’s far side. “You know red’s my favorite color, right?”

“What a shame,” I said, with feigned disappointment. “Black matches my fur.”

I set the chips out in front of me—where Satin would follow her hand down my arm and touch them, knowing what denominations they were from their grooves.

“Corner bets, four of each of these, please,” she said, pushing a tall stack of chips forward.

I did as I was told, allocating four chips to each of the corners on the board, while other players took their turns, and then the dealer waved their hand and spun the dial.

It was hard not to sympathize with the ball inside the wheel.

It, too, was feeling bounced around, it didn’t know where it was going, and some people would be disappointed in it no matter where it landed.

The ball clattered to a stop, and the dealer called out, “Thirty-two! Red! Even!”

Satin tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I suppose I can’t win them all,” she said. The dealer started raking chips in, as another player, a sharply dressed man with an air of quiet confidence, joined the table.

He slid a single black chip onto the board once it was clear, tapping it lightly before saying, “Seventeen. Straight up.”

The number seemed to spark something in Satin. She straightened, her fingers resting briefly on my arm before she gave the man a polite nod. “Interesting choice,” she murmured.

I leaned in close to her ear. “Something I should know?”

“Not yet,” she said, her voice low. “But I think it’s time for a different game. Shall we?” She stood smoothly, her hand reaching to hold mine with an intimacy that killed me. “Let’s see how good your poker face is.”