Dirty Dealers

Night Three of self-imposed “personal time,” and here I am, at the Royal Casino bar again. A short tumbler of whiskey is in front of me, and I tilt the cool glass side to side, watching the amber liquid slide over the perfectly square ice cubes. I couldn’t be more alone in this opulent space filled with aristocratic gamblers.

I asked for this. Hell, I’d wanted it permanently. If Rowan had accepted my resignation, I’d figured I’d travel to Italy or France—perhaps even Turkey—get away and start over. As it is, I’m stuck in Monagasco, waiting to resume my position in the elite guard. I have nothing else, and I’ll start another term guarding a life that isn’t mine.

I entered this line of work hoping for adventure. I wanted to travel, be a part of something powerful and important. I got my wish, and now I might as well be a knight. I’ve dedicated my life to this cause, and the reward for good work is more work. The penalty for my dedication is solitude.

An older woman wearing a sparkling gold evening gown passes in a cloud of perfume. I watch as she takes the arm of a fellow around her age, and he kisses her cheek. She gives him a familiar smile, and it’s clear they’ve been together a long time.

Consenescere: to grow old and grey together. Her voice drifts through my mind like a phantom, an unwelcome memory.

“Why did I come here?” I say through an exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose.

I know the answer. In a world where I’m always on guard, my friends are security. In a world where my job is to follow the royal family wherever they go, I haunt their favorite places like a ghost. Bartenders recognize me. They fill my glass witho

ut question. It’s familiar, easy.

As if to make my point for me, Brian nods at me from across the bar. “Ready for another?”

“I’m good,” I say, studying the half-inch left in my tumbler.

I wonder if I have time to take a trip. Maybe visit the desert, see if I really would prefer the foreign legion. It feels strangely quiet in the casino, and I realize what’s missing. No mob of paparazzi lurks around every corner ready to chase whichever royal I’m shadowing. I can take my time, take in my surroundings. It’s depressing.

With a slow sip, I finish my drink. For two nights I’ve sat in this fucking chair looking at this fucking bar. Turning away, my eyes go instinctively to the gleaming brass roulette wheel turning, flashing red and black. I can still see her sitting there… No. I push back on that memory. I have to move forward.

Rowan told me to reset. Get laid. Yeah, fuck that, I’ve never been a playboy. The thought almost provokes a bitter laugh. Almost.

I’m so far removed from any sort of personal life. A fleeting memory is all I have left of the one person… the one girl…

“Scotch and soda, please,” a soft voice says, and I almost drop my glass. The voice is firm, filled with authority, and it’s so, so familiar. It’s as if I conjured the memory simply by allowing her to flicker through my brain.

Is it possible I imagined it? Why would she be here?

Brian places the short tumbler on the glossy wood and starts to pour, and she speaks again. “Thank you.”

My insides clench. It’s her. But… How?

The warmth of her small body is at my side, and I push out of my chair. Turning, I step back to face her. A leather barstool is between us, and my eyes travel quickly up her slim arm to the silky black fabric of her dress. The sleeves have long slits starting at the shoulders, revealing her pale ivory skin. Her platinum blonde hair is swept up, leaving her slim neck on display. A few soft pieces float around her cheeks, and the only new thing is a pair of tinted glasses perched on her small nose.

“Cassandra?” My voice is quiet, filled with disbelief.

Her body stiffens, and she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even look my way. A few bills are quickly dropped on the glossy wood, and she takes her drink, quickly exiting the bar area.

I’m right behind her, but she doesn’t stop. In fact, she seems to pick up the pace. She’s through the enormous French side doors, her black heels clicking on the travertine, before I’m able to catch her.

“Cassandra, wait!” Reaching out, I grasp her arm, positioning myself in front of her, blocking her progress. I can’t let her disappear without a word. It’s been so long.

Her voice is flustered, and she still won’t meet my eyes. “Leave me alone or I’ll call security!”

That almost makes me laugh, considering who I am. I release her, but I won’t let her pass. “Don’t you remember me?” Studying her face, I see her blinking quickly. Is she trying not to cry? Is she afraid?

“It’s me,” I say as gently as possible. “Logan.”

“I can’t believe you recognized me,” she says not looking up.

My stomach tightens with a sensation I haven’t felt in years at the soft sound of her voice. “How could I not? You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Not a bit?” Is she teasing me?

“Well, you’re not wearing a bikini,” I say going for warmth.