“The penthouse on the top floor, yes,” Enrico said, taking a step toward her. He looped his arms around her shoulders, feeling the tension of the muscles with his thumbs as nipped her neck with his teeth, making her stir with pleasure, with expectation.
But as the elevator flew up, toward the penthouse, Aimee felt the stinging realization that something was wrong; that she wasn’t acting like herself. She lurched back from the man before her, gazing into his eyes, passion and lust still pulsing through her veins.
“I’m sorry—” she said then, her voice harsh. “I have to go. I need to leave.”
Enrico’s eyebrows shot up high. He took a step back, his body language suddenly angular, closing off the space where her body had been only a moment ago. “Excuse me?”
“I can’t sleep with you tonight,” Aimee explained. Her mind was racing, trying to understand her own reasoning. She couldn’t have a one-night stand with the youngest billionaire in Monte Carlo; in the tiny remaining bit of her rational, sober mind, she knew this wasn’t who she was. She’d spent years seeing fake women sleep with men just because they were rich, going back to hotel rooms with them, booze-soaked, slurring, stumbling. Sure, Enrico was handsome, intelligent, and charismatic, but she was drunk, and she didn’t want to be just another nameless girl for the playboy to forget the next day.
She gave the mysterious, electrifying man a slight smile and spun around, pressing the button for the first floor. They reached the top floor and Enrico got out, motioning to Aimee as if still asking her to join him, but she stood her ground and waited for the doors to close, sure in her decision.
Enrico crossed his arms, shaking his head in what seemed to be bemused disbelief. “This has never happened to me before,” he said, laughing slightly. His cheeks were red with drink, and his eyes showed just a hint of confusion. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you around, Aimee.”
“Au revoir, sir,” Aimee whispered, smiling. She raised her hand in a small wave as the doors closed, and maintained her posture, shoulders high, lower back curved, as the elevator quickly descended, spitting her back into the roaring casino.
Aimee made a swift exit from Le Joueur, her mind reeling with the realization that she’d never get another chance with Enrico. She walked the few blocks back to her studio apartment, and slipped the heels off her aching feet before flinging herself onto her bed, certain that she’d made the right decision in coming home, while aching for the pleasure that had surely awaited her in the penthouse suite.
Despite her father’s terrible mistakes, and despite the new reality of her flipped-over world, she had to cling to the one thing that no one could take away from her—her sense of self. No matter how much she wanted to stay in Monaco, she wasn’t about to try and do that by becoming a gold-digging bimbo.
THREE
Almost a week after her encounter with Enrico, Aimee was at Hotel Delacroix, standing at reception, her brain feeling like mush. She was exhausted from yet another sleepless night in her apartment, tossing and turning in her pajamas. She hadn’t dared show her face at Le Joueur since her night with Enrico; she’d wanted any gossip to die down before making a return. Since she assumed Enrico had already met and seduced at least five new women since that fateful evening, she knew it was only a matter of time before everyone forgot about their brief encounter. Maybe, she would even forget about it herself.
She flicked through a Monaco job listing, her heart heavy in her chest. Despite having sent in a few dozen applications in the last few days, all to hotels and restaurants in the Monte Carlo area, she hadn’t heard back from a single one. Monaco was saturated—she knew this perhaps better than anyone—and had ultimately sent many others like her away, without hope for a position. Her father’s hotel would close its doors in less than two weeks, and the world of Monaco would continue spinning without her.
Aimee checked the clock on the wall behind her; it was almost seven in the morning, which put Seattle at 10 p.m. of the previous day. It was a slow morning, and she didn’t expect any patrons to arrive for at least half an hour, so she lifted the reception phone to her ear, dialing the familiar number. She listened to the ring blare out across the ocean, across the prairie. And then, she heard the raspy voice of her mother.
“Darling,” she said, coughing slightly. “I didn’t expect you to call.”
“Hi, Mom,” Aimee whispered.
Her heart stung with pain; she’d lost her closeness with her mother since that fateful day when she’d decided to remain in Monaco. They’d had a great relationship, almost like friends—dancing on the beach, doing their makeup, swimming in the sea. Her mother had taught her to love Monaco, and then, she’d taught her that loving something wasn’t always enough.
“How are you?”
“Just fine, Aimee. The café’s doing real well. It’s a bit chilly these days, now we’re almost at the end of September. But I imagine that’s prime weather over there.”
Hearing her mother’s smile through the phone, Aimee wiped a single tear from her cheek. Her eyes danced toward the hotel entrance, imagining her mother twirling through it in her white beach dress, taking off her sunglasses to reveal her bright blue eyes.
“It’s gorgeous. I don’t have to tell you that. Don’t you miss the sun? Even a little bit?”
“You know I don’t, Aimee,” her mother said, laughing slightly. “The sun became synonymous with my anger. And that hotel—I couldn’t take the stress of it anymore. I always felt like we were moments from going under.”
Aimee swallowed, her throat tight and dry. “Mommy. That’s actually why I’m calling.”
She felt weak, dilapidated, and she yearned for the comfort of her mother’s embrace. She hadn’t wanted to see her father in the week since she’d learned of the bankruptcy. With her eyes closed, she found flashes of memories; the three of them walking the beach at dusk, orange light dancing on their faces.
“Don’t tell me the bastard has really done it?” her mother asked harshly, suddenly angry. “He’s given it all away, hasn’t he?”
“It’s not his fault—” Aimee whispered, sensing, at first, that she needed to protect the man her mother had divorced years before. “He has a problem.”
Her mother scoffed. She muttered slightly, under her breath, and then went back to mom-mode. “Don’t worry, Aimee. My darling Aimee. You don’t have to stay in Monaco forever, you know. Come to Seattle. Go to college and get an education. You’re such a smart girl, honey. Don’t throw it all away for a daydream, not like I did.”
“But you were happy, Mom,” Aimee whispered.
“But that doesn’t always last forever. And when I left, I didn’t have anything to fall back on. The world is hard enough without people like your father gambling all they have away.” Her mother paused, breathing heavily, agitated. “Aimee, I never should have left Monaco without you. I knew that bastard would ruin everything—I couldn’t care less about him, but for you to have to go through this!”