Page 25 of Tipping Point

We pile in and give the address to the French driver who blatantly refuses to speak English. Finally, we drive up the gorgeous Princesse Grace Avenue in Monte Carlo, and I point out Villa Azure, Knox’s luxurious villa, all glass and white stone, reflecting the blues of the ocean and sky. It’s a modern villa that looks out over the Mediterranean, and when we step inside I admire the large open living space, the floor-to-ceiling glass walls and the pure flamboyance of ultimate luxury.

Evan’s setting up outside to film the house and Jay sets up a tripod at the front door to pan slowly through the living space.

Rheese walks up. He’s all southern charm and smiles, and his easy familiarity draws us in even if we know it’s for show.

He shakes everyone’s hand genially and I explain again, as I did to his agent. We want a look into his life, so he needs to pretend we aren’t there.

His girlfriend trots up hurriedly when she spots Casey. She’s a local from Monaco and her French accent makes her sound sensual.

Her name is Valentina.

She takes Jay’s admiration as her due and joins Rheese by the breakfast bar where a private chef serves them egg white omelets and fresh fruit. Rheese never bothered to learn French. He puts on his public persona like a mask. His accent intensifies when we film them at their meal, talking about a private event, an upcoming Blackjack evening by invite only, the proceeds going to charity. She wants to show him her dress, coyly suggesting it might be too revealing. He laughs and scoops her up and we film him carrying her through the vast mansion all the way to their bedroom, where he throws her playfully onto the bed.

He’s good. He manages to give us a casual house tour, all while pretending to be caught up in play, professionally ignoring us.

She squeals and trots into the walk-in closet, allowing us to film her as she strips off her shirt and jean shorts, revealing matching black underwear. She’s brazenly shameless, and her awareness of the camera presents us with her good angle at all times.

She’s been professionally trained, that’s for sure.

Rheese leans on the doorframe, teasing her about how much she spent over the last week or two.

The amount is absurd.

She shimmies into a black sheer dress that is completely see through, showing her underwear plainly.

It’s so well planned, it’s ridiculous.

“Hope you plan on wearing underwear tomorrow night.” He grins at her.

We pan from him to her as she acts shocked and confirms that, of course, she will wear underwear. She slaps him playfully on the arm as she trots past towards a full-length mirror to admire herself from every angle.

“Well,” she concludes happily, “you’d better hope I’m wearing underwear tomorrow night, otherwise I might just end up on someone else’s arm.” She winks coyly but waves an empty ring finger suggestively at the camera.

We take a break as they change into swimwear, and we set up the cameras next to their infinity pool, looking out over the ocean, and film them swimming lazily in the sun, until he pulls her close. She wraps her long legs around him under the water and he hoists her up, water beads pearling over her back and chest, leaning down to kiss her behind her ear.

While Evan and Jay pan from the couple to the view, the chef scrambles behind us to set up a barbeque and a table heaving with side dishes and disappears quietly.

We film them drinking wine while Rheese turns over thick steaks marbled with fat.

She takes a nibble from a small piece he slices off for her and proclaims it perfectly done.

I give them a thumbs up from behind Jay’s shoulder.

They abandon the farce and make themselves comfortable in lounge seats under the shade while the chef reappears and removes all the uneaten food.

We film them lazing in the sun and then Valentina jumps up to head back towards her dressing room to change.

We join Rheese at the table for drinks and small talk while we wait.

“Pity about the penalty.” Jay pulls deeply on a tall glass of water with lemon in it that the chef carries out for us on a silver tray.

Rheese crosses his arms angrily.

“First that fucker Finnegan, and then Kenji? It’s unbelievable.”

The last time I spoke to Irish was on the plane after he riled me up. How he treats women is absurd. He buckled in for the landing but was led away the moment we landed. I saw how he raced in Shanghai and Barcelona. He seemed consistent, but others remarked he was taking more risks than usual.

“I heard you and Finn were rivals when you got on the scene.” I take my own sip of water. It’s cool and clear and refreshing. Rheese scoffs but looks at me intently. Like he’s taking me in for the first time.

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