Page 108 of Forgotten Promise

Benjamin accepted the handful of credit-card-sized markers the casino used for higher denominations. “Merci.”

With a hand on John’s back, they stepped into the most famous of the casino’s various rooms. A handful of card tables, as well as a single craps table and a French roulette wheel, were elegantly arranged under the massive chandeliers. The walls and high, curved ceiling were art in and of themselves, with their plasterwork and frescos. A bar on one side of the room had a handful of people perched and leaning. Most of the seating areas, elegant armchairs and couches, were empty. It was early still.

They got drinks—John ordered a Vesper martini—and then Benjamin guided him over to the roulette table. He passed the table manager one plaque from his pocket, accepting a small dish of twenty roulette chips.

They found an open space, near one of the table’s croupiers, and Benjamin set down his container of chips.

“What do you think of the casino?” he asked as he plucked up two chips, placing an outside bet on red with a nod to the croupier.

“This is amazing.” John was watching the wheel, the people. A French roulette table was like a dance.

The ball dropped, and it bounced along the wheel before landing on black. There was a flurry of activity, and a croupier collected Benjamin’s chips. For the next round, Benjamin put another couple down on red, then added two more chips to “impair.”

“You’re betting on odd?” John asked, reading the English word for “odd” printed in small type below impair.

“Three is an odd number.” Benjamin looked at him. “And it’s my lucky number.” He gestured to the table, to the red square with the number three in it.

“And on a roulette board, it’s red, which is why you’re betting on red.” John took a sip of his martini.

He looked good doing it.

Unable to resist, Benjamin grabbed John’s hip, tugging him close. John’s eyes narrowed briefly, but he didn’t pull away. Then he looked around. “Are we okay…”

“It’s safe to be openly bisexual or gay in Monaco,” Benjamin assured him.

“Black twenty-four,” one croupier said, repeating it in both French and English, before announcing the winners of the various other bets. Someone had placed a column bet and was paid out with much cheering from the players. Benjamin took John’s glass so he could clap, as the croupiers used their rakes to collect the rest of the chips.

“Maybe…maybe three isn’t a good bet. At least not this three.” John’s gaze was on the glass he’d taken back, his refusal to look at Benjamin almost painful.

Benjamin took a stack of five chips and looked at the croupier. “Straight up on three,” he said in French, before reaching over and placing the chips on the number. “I’m willing to gamble.” He slid his hand up John’s back under the tux jacket.

“Really? Because historically, it’s not going to be a winner.”

A few new people had joined the table, and the ball hadn’t dropped, so Benjamin plucked more chips off the stack, then held his hand up to John’s mouth. “Blow.”

John’s lips quirked, but he blew on the chips. Benjamin reached over, adding them to the stack on three. As he straightened, John caught his arm.

“Benjamin, how much are those chips worth?”

Benjamin watched, waited for the ball to drop, meaning it was too late to get the chips back, before saying, “Five hundred euro.”

“Each?!”

He took a plaque from his pocket, holding it up for John to see. The elegant marker said Societe Des Bains De Mer across the top—the company that owned Monte Carlo Casino as well as several others—and €10,000 embossed across the middle.

“I traded this in for twenty roulette chips,” he said.

“You have ten chips on red three.” John was tucked up against him, gripping his shoulder so hard Benjamin had to force himself not to wince. “You bet five thousand dollars—”

“Euro.”

“Euro, on three.”

“And I’ll do it again.”

The ball bounced to a stop. Black six.

“You just lost all that money,” John breathed.

---