Page 76 of The Scarab's Game

I pulled back. “Wife?”

He moved in again. “And I’m Reginald Stone.”

Stone. The alias he used with the De Rosas. “Reginald?”

“And Krista. With a K.”

His cologne enveloped me, dark and dangerous. He’d warned me about Dante, but here he was, asking me to play pretend. Why all the deception? Why the games?

“I like to stay anonymous in places like this, so that’s how anyone would know me here.” He gave me a peck on the cheek, sending heat blooming through my chest.

My mind flashed to the early hours of this morning, when he’d held me through my terror. When I’d almost believed he wanted me the way I wanted him. Before I learned the truthaboutWheatfield. Before Noah. Before realizing my best friend and her family had lied to me for years.

“Have fun, honey.” Emmett winked at me, sending a fresh wave of heat through my body. He paid the drink server with another hundred, told her to take care of me, and then he was gone, sauntering away with his infuriating confidence.

He disappeared into the crowd, and I tried summoning anger over his betrayal. Instead, all I saw was the swagger that had always drawn me to him.

With a sigh, I sat and placed my first bet. The hands flew by in a blur as I lost myself in the opulent surroundings, barely paying attention to the cards. Emmett’s strategy lecture went out the window, and I lost hand after hand.

I made small talk with a German couple next to me, who were celebrating their thirtieth anniversary. They’d been married as long as I’d been alive. Five kids. Twelve grandkids.

And what did I have?

A string of broken hearts. A cheating ex.

I placed another bet, thinking of the gorgeous Italian who should’ve been a fun distraction—until I learned he was likely a criminal and working with a man I’d thought was dead.

The worst part? I’d liked Noah. I’d thought he was good for Scarlett.

How had my judgment in men gotten this bad? How had it gotten even worse since leaving Simon, the cheating asshole?

I skipped a hand, lost in thought.

A new player joined our table. Middle-aged and soft around the middle, but impeccably dressed in what had to be a bespoke suit. His eyes raked over me like I was on the menu. “Just decorating the table, beautiful?”

Seriously? I was still in the work clothes I’d worn to the gallery—nothing spectacular, and certainly not an invitation.

“Waiting for my husband,” I said coolly.

He leaned on the table. “How long’s he going to be?”

I was supposed to wait here, but suddenly, I wanted to be anywhere else. I stared at my chip stack. If I lost it all, I’d have an excuse to find Emmett. He’d probably lecture me about staying put, but at least I’d be away from Mr. Bespoke’s leering.

I glanced around. No sign of Emmett.

“This is my last hand,” I announced, shoving all my chips forward.Business expense this, Emmett.

The dealer slid me a jack. Ten to her nine. As she delivered cards to the other players, I considered my face card. Emmett had once told me the jack was originally called the knave. The trickster. Dishonest. Untrustworthy.

Was that Emmett?

My next card was a seven. I was supposed to stand on seventeen.

Standing was the safe play.

But hadn’t I come to Monaco for an adventure? To break free?

Screw it.I could make one decision for myself.