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‘The what?’
‘The Old City.’
‘Ah. It sounds beautiful.’
His smile is sardonic. ‘Does it?’
‘Wasn’t it?’
‘There are parts,’ he concedes.
‘But not where you grew up?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
He reaches for an oyster, lifting it expertly to his lips and sliding it into his mouth, swallowing it whole. I’m transfixed, watching as his Adam’s apple shifts in his stubbly throat.
‘We lived in a crowded apartment building—one bedroom for the three of us. It was loud and untidy.’
My frown is reflexive. It twitches on my lips before I can stop it.
‘Your parents didn’t have a lot of money?’ I prompt quietly.
‘That is one way to say it.’ He reaches for his wine and takes a sip, his eyes holding mine over the rim of the glass so bubbles of warmth spread in my veins.
‘I hadn’t realised. I knew that your fortune was self-made, but I presumed your parents gave you a start.’
‘No.’
I nod slowly. His reluctance to expand is something I should probably respect, but curiosity fires through my belly. ‘So what did?’
He waits for me to clarify.
‘How did you get to have all this?’ I gesture to the view of the city beneath us, the lights twinkling in the evening light. On the balcony of the presidential suite in his central casino, I feel as though the world is at his—and my—feet.
‘Hard work.’
I laugh. ‘That tells me nothing.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
Our eyes meet and I nod slowly. I can tell that he’s a hard worker. Despite his party-boy reputation, I see beneath it—there is a streak of ruthless determination that convinces me Santiago will stop at nothing to achieve his ends. Even now, with hundreds of billions in the bank, he will do whatever it takes to ensure his next venture is a success.
Including sleeping with you? I push the horrible, insidious thought away before I can give it any credit. How ridiculous. Sex isn’t why I’ll agree to his casino proposal. It has nothing to do with it.
‘I was on the brink of dropping out of school.’ He surprises me by continuing, his voice raspy, as though the past is grabbing hold of him. ‘I barely went anyway, not more than a few hours a week.’ He casts his eyes towards the black void in the distance, at the ocean beyond the city.
‘Why not? What did you do instead?’
His eyes pierce me with their intensity. ‘I worked, querida.’
‘You were just a child.’
‘A teenager, and we needed the money.’
He reaches for another oyster. I shift to a horizontal position on the comfortable outdoor sofa, lying on my side so I can see him, propping my head on my palm.
