“Thank you,” I say. “The first impression was meant to be one of welcome.”
“It’s definitely all that,” the man says. “Our board appreciates the way you’ve looped local vendors into the opening.”
“We can’t be a good neighbor if we don’t spend like one,” I say. I give credit where it belongs. “Caterina drove that. She’ll be glad to hear it’s being well received.”
They move on happy. They’ll talk about that line later at dinner. Good.
A man laughs too loudly near a blackjack table. I clock him and the drink in his hand and file his face in my mind. I spot Giovanni doing the same from the sidelines. He’s always been good at that. I leave him to it and carry myself to the next knot of hands to shake.
I let my eyes wander to my family again. Luca offers an older woman his arm. Elena must be telling a joke because the woman laughs in her direction. Antonio gets a laugh from a table of people who sell insurance for a living.
Vito has a new drink in his hand. A look at a junior manager has him making his way to me promptly. I nod to Vito. “Introduce him to the head of the union,” I say under my breath. “Now.” The manager nods.
Give him something to do that isn’t drinking.
“Roberto,” a voice says near my shoulder. It belongs to a hotelier I respect.
“Good evening,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Congratulations,” he says. “Opening a place like this is no small feat.”
“It isn’t,” I say. “Thank you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Olivia slide into the room again smoothly. This time, she’s escorting a couple who are looking around, amazed and fascinated. I know immediatelythey aren’t investors or hoteliers or councilmen. They must be family of the staff.
There’s a certain look about them. Not jaded or used to seeing glamorous things. It’s novel in a way, and it says something about Olivia that she’s treating them no differently than any other guest. I slide smoothly out of the conversation and head their way. Years of practice have me across the room with only minimal stops.
I slide in beside them with an easy smile. “Good evening. Welcome.”
Olivia keeps her smile in place, though I can practically feel her tense.
“Mr. and Mrs. Arroyo, this is Roberto Conti. He and his family are the owners of The Regent Club.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Arroyo,” I say, offering a hand. “It’s a pleasure. Thank you for being here.”
“Teresa,” the woman says, flushing a bit when I take her hand and bring it to my lips. “This is my husband, Miguel.”
I give him my hand, and he takes it.
“I do hope Olivia’s been taking good care of you,” I say.
“Oh, she’s been wonderful,” Teresa says, then laughs a little. “We’d be lost without her. Literally. We were wandering the halls before she found us.”
“We were looking for the casino and ended up by the mezzanine,” Miguel says, a little embarrassed.
Olivia’s smile is bright as she says, “Speaking of the mezzanine, I’m needed there.”
“You go on, Olivia,” I say.
Her eyes meet mine, and a flash of heat passes between us. Then she’s gone, already answering, “On my way,” as she sweeps out of the room.
Teresa watches the door a beat. “She’s lovely,” she says.
“She is,” I answer. “Are you enjoying yourselves?”
“We are,” Miguel says, eyes wide, taking it all in. “It’s… a lot.” He smiles. “Good, and a lot.”
“First time inside a place like this,” Teresa admits, lowering her voice as if it’s a secret. “We’re here for our daughter—Sofía. She’s a sous chef. She said we had to come see her ‘real kitchen.’”
