I realise he’s waiting for my answer so I shake my head softly and he conveys this to Enrique in Spanish; then, we are alone.
‘How did you find this place?’
‘I first came here many years ago. I was looking at developing a hotel on the foreshore, just over there.’ He points to a window and I lean forward, following the direction of his finger. It’s dark outside, just the faint glow of pale streetlights showing the edge of the road. A beach lies beyond—we walked beside it as we arrived. The moon is shining brightly tonight, casting a silver skein across the ancient, rumbling sea.
‘But you didn’t?’
A waiter arrives with a bottle of champagne. He stands at the table as he removes the foil and pops the top, then tilts the glasses individually to fill them.
Both of us alone again, I run my finger over the stem of my wine glass, watching Santiago. He lifts his glass, silently gesturing to mine. I mimic the gesture, then sip. The drink is ice-cold with the slightest fizz. It tickles my tongue and dances all the way down. I close my eyes to enjoy the flavour and, when I open them again, Santiago is staring at me. My mouth goes dry despite the dousing of champagne. I blink, self-conscious and bursting with sensation.
‘No.’ The word is gruff and it takes me a moment to remember that we were talking about his hotel development.
‘Why not?’
‘In the end, it wasn’t suitable.’
Now, that’s interesting. ‘No?’ I sip my champagne, attempting to appear casual.
‘Part of the charm of this town is that it’s largely inaccessible. This means the number of tourists is limited. I realised that, in building a hotel to capitalise on the area’s appeal, I’d be destroying it.’
My jaw drops. ‘So you pulled out of a financially lucrative deal because it was the right thing to do?’
‘It is entirely different to the Marlsdoven casino.’
I shudder to hear it described this way. ‘Why?’
He leans forward and places his hand over mine. ‘For one thing, the casino will be in a major European city. For another, the hotel here would not have remained lucrative once it had taken away the quaint appeal of a tiny coastal village. I feared making the coastline into a theme park—there is long-term damage in that.’
‘Not a good bet?’ I prompt.
His eyes glitter darkly when they meet mine. ‘Exactly. The odds were not in my favour. Whereas market research shows that the scope for a casino in Marlsdoven is enormous. Believe it or not, your population responded very favourably to the prospect, in the surveys I commissioned. Additionally, thirty-five per cent of travellers returning to Marlsdoven reported wanting a visit to a casino at some point during their trip.’
I close my eyes, a wave of nausea passing through me as I force myself to accept this reality. I already knew it was all but a done deal, but hearing these facts just show me how futile it is to keep fighting him on this.
‘Why do you hate the concept so much?’
I swallow, bitterness making my throat thicken. ‘I’ve told you—’
‘Yes, you’ve told me,’ he interrupts, but pauses as another waiter appears with a plate of food. The fragrance is unmistakably saffron. When he goes, Santiago continues. ‘You’ve told me that you despise gambling, but you haven’t told me why. And I can tell there is more to it. This is personal for you. Deeply personal.’
I stare at my hands. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because your skin grows pale whenever I bring up the casino. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. This is not just business, nor is it a maternal desire to protect your citizens from the big, bad wolf of gambling. So what is it, Princesa?’
My heart stammers. I shake my head, the demurral meaningless in the face of his question. Why not tell him the truth? It is a secret I’ve protected all my life, which my parents valued, but I don’t doubt I can trust Santiago with it.
‘My uncle was a gambling addict,’ I say softly, toying with the champagne flute. ‘He hid it for many years. He travelled abroad, starting with poker before progressing to the casinos of Europe, where his bets grew increasingly enormous—I think in an effort to recoup some of his losses. He had a generous trust fund but he burned through it in eighteen months. His annual income from our family estates was also exceptional, but he borrowed against his share, mortgaging himself over and over until he was tied up in knots and in debt to less than savoury money lenders.’
I take a gulp of champagne, needing the liquid but also the artificial relaxation. Santiago is quiet, waiting for me to continue, and to my surprise I do. After not discussing Richard for many, many years, it feels important to speak about him. Or maybe it’s just that Santiago has a unique power over me...that with him I want to be completely honest about everything.
‘I think he always struggled with being the second-born son. Nothing was expected of him. He was never spoken of, never valued as more than a contingency plan if something happened to dad. He had a lot of money and fame, but no purpose. No value. And so many limitations.’
‘And so he started gambling,’ Santiago murmurs sympathetically.
I nod. ‘My father blamed himself. He was busy with his obligations and family. They grew apart but dad always thought my uncle was happy—just living life with the kind of freedom my father would never know. If anything, I think he envied Richard a little.’ I sigh.
‘How did he find out the truth?’