Bob laughs incredulously to Holmes. “You know these little ladies?” When he stands to greet us, the sun hits the oversized eagle-shaped belt buckle cinching his tight button-down. He’s a soft man, corn-fed and smiley, probably in his late fifties.
Seeming to realize he better play Southern hospitality if he wants to stay in Bob’s good graces, Holmes stands to greet us, too. “Lilah, I didn’t think we’d see each other again,” he says tightly. “And in the Paddock Club. What a surprise.”
My pulse drums in my throat. “I was hoping I could take you up on your offer.”
Holmes cocks his head. “Which one?”
“Texas Hold’em.” I let my eyes fall, going fordejected youth. “This might be the last time I get to play you.”
Right on cue, Sarah squeezes in closer to my side and whispers to Holmes from behind a cupped hand, “Arthur and her had a big fight.”
“Oh! You.” Bob points at me, evidently none the wiser that I was at his wedding last night. To be fair, there were a lot of people. “You’re the girl dating my race-car driver, aren’t you? The little thing from Kentucky. I have to say, you’ve caused quite the commotion—and I’m sure you’ve gotten an earful, but I don’t care about all this human resources crap.” He laughs. “You all work for me?”
We nod.
Bob grins. “Well, aren’t I blessed? Come sit down.”
I sit next to Bob, Delaney taking his other side. Sarah flanksHolmes, just like we’d planned. “So, you know how to play poker?” Bob starts as he waves over a cocktail waitress and orders a round of early-morning champagne. The race is hours from now, though the Paddock Club is already hopping with the special guests allowed in before the rest of the ticket holders, actors and influencers and athletes.
I cross my arms, hoping I look shy. Controllable. “Sure do. My birth mom taught me. She was like you, Holmes. Always looking for another chance to win.”
The waitress sets five fizzling flutes on our table, then flits off, and once she’s gone I sigh out, “I haven’t played since I saw her. But I’d like to see if I can beat you, if you don’t mind.” I slip my hand into my jacket’s pocket and pull out the Bicycle deck I’d bought last night. “Brought my own. Funniest thing, too. I think these were the cards you had last time. And they’re common, for sure, but my birth mom worked at the factory that makes them.”
Holmes’s dark gaze sweeps down to the cards, then up to my face. My heart is pounding so loudly I barely hear the cars looping through the media’s hot laps. Although we have an excellent view of the track here in the Paddock Club, the television over Holmes’s shoulder is better. Subtitles run across the bottom of the screen, the announcers excitedly talking about the weather and track conditions and the best tires for a sunny day in Italy.
“I don’t have time for this. I have to be down at the pit wall,” Holmes scowls out, and it feels so good because Iknow. I was right to invade his space, walk onto his fancy balcony. He’s furious and curious, just like I knew he would be.
With a frown, I open the deck and set the cards on the low table. “Don’t you want to see if you can win against someone as smart as you?”
It’s a cocky thing to say. Arthur-approved. But damn, does itwork. The older man’s face goes from cold intensity to wild surprise, and I have the pleasure of watching him get mad, really mad, before he hides it behind his I’m-so-intelligent smile.
“Oh my God, Lilah, you’resofunny.” Sarah giggles. “Poker is so confusing, I have no idea how to play. Can I be on your team, Uncle Holmes?”
“Yeah,Uncle Holmes.Didn’t you say you wanted to play me today anyway? It’s still my wedding weekend.” Bob takes a long swig of champagne.
Holmes doesn’t say anything for a long minute. “Fine. I’ll deal.”
Bob beams as Holmes snatches the deck and shuffles quickly. Then he’s setting down the cards, two in front of Bob, me, and himself. He pulls a scrap of paper from his inside coat pocket and passes it to Sarah. “We’ll write our bets here. As soon as it’s written down, it’s locked in.”
“You like doing that, don’t you?” I ask him. “Locking things down.”
The first game is a wash. Holmes wins. The men make small talk as I run the numbers in my head. I folded two rounds in, so I’m only down a couple of hundred dollars. The next game is where things start to pick up, the first win going right to Holmes’s head. He finishes his champagne and orders another round, despite nobody else close to being done with theirs.
I stare at my cards, thinking rapidly. Time to kick things up, or else Holmes might scamper away before I can catch him. I have two kings—diamonds and spades—so I may as well go for the jugular. “Hmm… I think I’ll raise to two hundred thousand. It’s no sixty million dollars, but it’s a start.”
Sarah almost snaps her golf pencil in half. “Two… hundred… thousand,” she repeats, scribbling, Bob’s happy laugh drowning out the crowd.
“I love it!” He smirks at Holmes. “Come on, old friend. You gonna let her get away with that?”
A flicker of nervousness crosses Holmes’s face. “Call.”
“Smart move.” My voice shakes, but I’m smiling from ear to ear. Because I know something that Holmes Bianco doesn’t. I know that we sent Max’s audio to Miriam, the FIA, and the Italian authorities this morning. I know that it never mattered who won these rounds of poker, or even out there on the track later, since I’ve only been winding Holmes up until I can get him to confess again, in higher definition. And I know, when I hear footsteps behind me, who’s appeared to play the final hand against his uncle.
“Hey!” Arthur swings onto the sofa beside me. He’s wearing normal jeans, a normal white T-shirt, and that smile I knew would be there, lighting up the whole world. “Anyone in the lead yet?”
It’s quiet. Holmes looks between all of us. Bob, Delaney, Sarah, Arthur, me. “What’s going on? Arthur—where’s your race suit?”
“Great question.” Arthur loops his arm around my middle. “Story starts a long time ago, though. Back when I was a kid named after someone great, who got knocked out by his own family. And back when you were named after one of the smartest men who never existed.” He tilts his head, his smile sharp. “Maybe that’s how I figured it out so fast. I mean, it’s ironic. You crash into me, make it look like a complete accident, and almost do me in? It’s Arthurian as hell.”
