This isn’t cards. This is war.
I call Damon’s raise, unwilling to yield.
As the river is flipped, I inwardly sigh with relief. The seven of hearts. Only a fool would play the hand I’ve been dealt: a four of spades and a five of hearts. It’s an instant fold. But something told me to play it. Something instinctual. Damon grins as he raises another fifty thousand, and I immediately call.
“Well?” my father hums, eyeing the both of us. “Show us what you’ve got.” Damon smirks, flipping over his cards—two queens. Father grimaces. “Three of a kind. Better luck next time, Quinton.”
“Is that so?” With a flick of the wrist, I reveal my cards, one by one, and Damon’s smirk twists into a glower of disbelief. “Straight.”
“You’re an idiot,” Damon sneers. “Who the fuck plays a four-five unsuited?”
I shrug, collecting the pot as the dealer slides it in my direction. “Sometimes it pays off not playing by the rules.”
Damon’s lip twitches. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
As the game carries on, each hand becomes more charged than the last. We both refuse to fold, to surrender. Sometimes that stubbornness works in our favor, other times it leads to utter disaster. But no matter how many hands we play, the stacks of chips before us remain equal, no man more victorious than the other. It’s fucking infuriating.
When my father has had enough of the back and forth, he stops the game, calling an end to the evening.
Damon slings his arm around Maya’s waist, and he shoots Emery a loaded grin. “Sweet dreams, Miss Jones,” he purrs. “I hope you sleep so very soundly tonight.”
She doesn’t.
I wake up to the soft whisper of her voice. Rogue streams of yellow moonlight find their way through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating Emery’s weary face as she stands on the threshold between our two rooms.
“I’m sorry,” she says, shoulders hitched with light embarrassment as I prop myself up against the headboard. She tugs on the lace hem of her silk nightgown. “Were you sleeping?”
“It’s fine.” I swallow, the sight of her almost taking my breath away. “Is everything alright?”
She glances back into her room, her posture stiff and tense. “Can I…” She sighs, clearing her throat. “Can I sleep in here tonight? Damon and Maya are…” Her jaw ticks. “They’re loud.”
Sophie was goddamn diabolical, rooming Maya and Damon in a suite right beside Emery.
She’s here to hide. I don’t let the disappointment reach my eyes, but it stirs inside me. I thought perhaps she’d finally decided to spend the night in my bed. That it was a decision purely based on her feelings for me, my feelings for her, the undeniable energy that bounces between us. But again, I’m just a distraction. I can’t be upset. I did offer myself to her. I did tell her to use me.
“Of course,” I say, shifting toward the right side of the bed and lifting the covers.
Emery hesitates for a second before she closes the adjoining room door and strides toward the bed. Gingerly, she climbs under the sheets. Her chest rises and falls as she lets out a long, heavy sigh, her gaze fixed on the ceiling fan above the canopy.
“I’m sorry, Quinton.”
“It’s fine, darling,” I say, turning on my side, my gaze tracing the delicate outline of her profile. “I had just fallen asleep.”
“No,” she breathes, gently fisting the comforter. “I’m sorry about…everything.”
I frown. “I don’t understand…”
She sighs, her voice raspy and wavering. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, Quin, and I… I’ve been horrible to you. I-I’m not stupid, Quinton. I know how you feel about me. I think I’ve known for a while, and… And I’m sorry.”
My gut turns, anxiety flooding my system. “You have not been horrible to me, Emery. You’ve been…honest. I don't… I don’t expect anything from you other than honesty.”
She turns her head against the pillow, eyes glossy, and it almost breaks my heart. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Quin. I don’t…” She places a hand over the scar in the middle of her chest, expression pained and defeated. “I feel so confused. It’s like… It’s like I’m trapped.”
She doesn’t need to elaborate. I know exactly where she’s trapped. Between me and him. Just like before.
“It’s okay to be confused, darling,” I whisper. “You’ll figure it out. Deep inside, you know what you want. It’s just a matter of waiting for the decision to float to the surface. It can take time.”
Her teeth clench as a tear rolls down her cheek. “What I want? How could I possibly know what I want? I…” She grips her chest. “I’ve never allowed myself towantanything before, not ever. I-I couldn’t. Want indicatestime, Quin. It means in thefuture. I… God, why is this happening?”
