Page 72 of Sinful Escape

Focusing on my feet so I didn’t trip up the marble steps, I followed a young, immaculately dressed couple through the front door which was held ajar by a stern-faced bellhop in a crisp red suit.

From the second I stepped over the threshold I was taken to another world. A world that languished in opulence and grandeur. Intricate frescos adorned the ceiling and were as beautiful as the artwork in the Louvre. A grand marble statue of four life-sized horses rearing on their hind legs dominated the atrium. Women wore dresses in shimmering fabrics that sparkled almost as much as their abundant jewelry. Elegance and extravagance were the theme.

At the entrance desk, I showed my passport, expecting the lovely young lady behind the counter to question my photo. She didn’t. Maybe she was accustomed to seeing such dramatic transformations. She simply smiled and took my money.

After passing through the security doors, I entered La Salle Europe. The grand room was a feast for my senses. The carpets were crafted in bold colors of gold and emerald green. Bohemian crystal chandeliers that weighed in at three hundred and thirty pounds each were centered in sections of rich gold-gilded cornicing.

Electronic jingles tempted gamblers to the rows of slot machines lined up like soldiers. Hundreds of people filled the room with excited chatter and hoots of laughter. Strolling through the crowds, I attempted to take in every inch of my surroundings. With each step, I wanted to pinch myself. I was finally here, in one of the most opulent casinos in the world.

The cool air conditioning prickled my skin as I ambled past gaming tables that offered a wide selection of games . . . poker, craps, baccarat. I was drawn to a series of blackjack tables gathered together in one section and as I strolled toward it, trying to take everything in, scents flitted from potent alcoholic beverages to expensive floral perfumes.

It was easy to see why the James Bond movie Casino Royale was filmed here. Nearly every man I saw was dressed in a three-piece suit, and the women were in stunning gowns that would be appropriate to wear to royal weddings.

My parents had always been keen to party. They were either entertaining random strangers with my father’s guitar-playing and Mother’s attempts to sing, or we’d have card nights. In a trailer park, it didn’t take much to draw a crowd. Music and gambling usually did it. By a very young age, I’d learned many card games.

My photographic memory came in very handy, and by my early teens, I’d learned how to count cards. Once Father had started to consistently lose to me, the card-playing nights petered out and were replaced instead with boozy sessions that lasted until sunrise. Or until Mother or Father flopped into bed, usually with somebody else.

Casting the rotten memories aside, I found a blackjack table that required a minimum bet of five euros. I had no intention of losing. But I needed to be careful. If the casino even suspected I was counting cards, I’d be escorted out.

Maybe it was my lucky night because within a minute of arriving at the table, two miracles happened. One was that a seat opened up and I quickly slotted into it before someone else did; the second was my timing perfectly coincided with two fresh decks of cards being supplied to the table.

As the dealer put the cards through a machine that shuffled the two decks together, I sent Roman a text telling him where I was. After setting my phone to vibrate so I wouldn’t miss his call, I returned it to my clutch, removed a fifty-euro note, and placed it onto the monogrammed green felt.

The croupier was a young, slender man in a crisp white shirt and grey waistcoat who looked like he’d rather be at home watching television than working at this iconic casino.

With my cash exchanged for chips, I rested my clutch on my lap and prepared to concentrate. The first couple of rounds were purely a guessing game, and I was cautious with my bids, deliberately going bust on a round or two so I didn’t draw suspicion.

Unlike the raucous couple beside me, I kept my emotions to myself, working on my poker face. Both the man and the woman were dressed in outfits that probably cost more than I’d earned since I’d started working for Vacation Dreamz. She wore several diamond rings and a diamond-studded bangle that I had no doubt was real. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks as I considered tossing my cheap bangle into my clutch. The fact that it wouldn’t fit in my tiny bag was the only thing stopping me.

Her high-pitched cackles and their continuous banter had everyone looking at them. The pair of them laughed whether they won or lost. They also couldn’t keep their hands off each other. I didn’t mind, though—as long as security was watching them and not me, I was happy.

With the diminishing deck, I had a better expectation of which cards could be dealt. After four rounds of cards, I was in front by eighty euros. After seven rounds, I was in front by two hundred and twenty euros. I increased my opening bid to twenty euros.

Soon, a crowd gathered behind us. The couple beside me had introduced themselves as Blaze and Montana, and with each round of cards they drank more and lost more money, but continued to laugh and giggle as if losing more than two thousand euros in thirty minutes was akin to tossing a few coins into the Trevi fountain. Based on the virtual dollar signs emanating from her jewelry, it probably was.

A contagious vibe of expectation from the surrounding crowd made my blood pump. But I imagined the onlookers were just as curious about how much we’d lose as how much we’d win.

I spied Roman walking toward me. It was only when his eyes bulged that I remembered my makeover. A flush of exhilaration radiated through me. With the smile on his face, Roman liked what he saw. He made a show of ogling my cleavage and when he mouthed “wow,” my instant urge was to yank up my zipper. For the first time in my life, I resisted. As the lady in the dress shop in Paris had indicated, these were my prized jewels, and I should show off my assets.

Roman shifted his gaze over my shoulder, and when I glanced that way, I was treated to a vision of male perfection.

The man standing right behind me, wearing a three-piece suit, could have been a sexy James Bond. His smoky gray eyes dazzled as they met mine. “Bonsoir.” His smile was spectacular.

Holy smokes. “Oh, hi.” I touched my hair as my eyes flicked over one delectable facet after another. In a flash, I’d admired his black bow tie, his gunmetal gray waistcoat sporting a light metallic sheen, and diamond cuff links adorning crisp white cuffs. I’d seen clothes on wealthy people before and without a doubt, I was looking at a man who was flush with money.

“Please don’t let me interrupt.” He spoke perfect English. “You’re on a roll.”

I yanked my eyes away. The dealer eyeballed me. He’d been waiting for my bid. I picked up my cards—a pair of tens. There were still three aces yet to be dealt, and the pack was down to less than a third. It was stacked in my favor.

I split the tens and placed another four five-euros chips behind each one. An arm reached over my shoulder, the diamond cuff link twinkled in the lights, and he placed two stacks of chips against my cards. Each stack totaled five hundred euros. As my heart pounded at the obscene amount of his dual bids, his scent captured me. Cologne and spice and everything nice.

My head swooned, my insides curled, but I forced my brain to focus.

The dealer played a card to the first man at the table. With a perfected poker face, the man glanced at the card and requested another. He busted and his poker face morphed into a scowl.

Roman was standing to my right at the back of the crowd, watching me. I smiled and pulled a ‘poor bugger’ face, and he mouthed “good luck” to me. I winked.

The second man at the table followed the same route as the first and he busted too.

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