“Well, I didn’t graduate Harvard, magna cum laude for nothing.” She pinches two fingers together. “Missed summa by just a sliver.”
My champagne goes down the wrong tube, and she laughs, patting me lightly on the back. Still not fully recovered, I eye her in surprise at this revelation, which is a little too close to my own pedigree for comfort.
I think back to Magnus’s comment regarding the woman whose place I took tonight—paid more for what’s between her ears than what’s between her legs. I might as well take this opportunity to use what’s between my own ears to get more information about what happened tonight.
“What was that stuff about Brussels that Sebastian mentioned? You and Simon both seemed very interested in that bit of news.”
“Didn’t you know? Magnus is a huge football fan, or as we Americans call it, soccer. It’s well known that he’s secretly in works to buy a club, despite the prohibitive cost of most of them. Now that he knows where Sebastian is looking, he is probably going to be putting in a bid soon. With one of the best players in the world, it’ll cost a fortune, but no doubt, be worth it.”
So that’s it. Magnus wants to buy a soccer—football team, apparently in Brussels, where El León is headed. That’s why he’s been selling off his assets and hoarding money all year.
I’ve finally discovered what I came to Monte Carlo to get.
Chapter Twenty-Eight Sloane
“You know, Arabella was pretty disappointed at having been replaced,” Lara says.
“Arabella?” I ask, still absorbed in my thoughts.
“Magnus’s original date for the night.”
Now, my attention is fully on Lara. I recall exactly how Magnus described his original plus-one for this dinner. News about her replacement has obviously already made it through whatever grapevine these women use to spread the news.
“I’m not a…courtesan,” I assert, trying to maintain my dignity without being too insulting.
“That much is obvious,” Lara says with a laugh. She must see the sudden look of offense on my face and smiles apologetically. “That was meant to be a compliment. You’re the only one here not putting on a facade, at least not an obvious one. Everyone you see in there is wearing a mask, putting on a show, including your Magnus.”
I’m in the process of wondering how invisible my “facade” here in Monte Carlo must be if she doesn’t assume I have one, which I most certainly do. Then, something she’s said strikes me.
“My Magnus?”
She stares ahead at him with a smile that’s almost sentimental. When she turns back to me, it’s with one eyebrow raised almost mockingly. “Yes, your Magnus.”
“Have you and he ever…?” I say, hoping it sounds like nothing more than idle curiosity.
“Do you really want to know?”
The effect it has on me is visceral, my stomach clenching hard against the gut-punch of jealousy that hits me.
She laughs and lifts her champagne flute toward me as if to stress a point. “There. That’s exactly what I mean. You’re real. I don’t think you could maintain a mask long enough to be with someone like Ruben Bakker, for instance.”
“That’s good to know,” I say, my voice dripping in sarcasm.
“This time, it’s not so much a compliment.”
“Should I be offended?” I retort.
“No, you should be careful,” she says, getting serious. “This city lives for the facade, the pretend. They throw their money around as a way to deflect. Real scares them; someone with nothing to hide can be terrifying.”
“How do you know I have nothing to hide?” Perhaps I shouldn’t have had this champagne. This facade she assumes I don’t have is beginning to show itself.
She tilts her head to the side to scrutinize me. “Now that you mention it, I don’t. You might just be the best player here.”
Now, you’ve gone and done it, Sloane.
“Is that one a compliment or criticism?” I reply, putting up a front of being offended.
“It’s an observation.”
I let that one flit away as the non-answer it is.
“You still want to know, don’t you?” She asks with a smile.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, he’s used me before.”
I inhale sharply, following it with a curse for being so obvious.
“But not in the way you’re thinking,” she says with a laugh.
“And what way am I thinking?” I ask cooly.
She raises one eyebrow, as though disappointed I’d even have to ask the question.
My breath escapes slowly. “Well, he did say your kind is paid more for what’s between your head than what’s between your legs.”
“My kind?” she asks with more amusement in her voice than offense.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Lara smirks. “Don’t try to spare my feelings, Sloane. This job has turned this flawless, silky-smooth, overly-pampered skin you see into toughened leather. You think you’re the first woman—or man for that matter, to think lowly of me?”
“I don’t think lowly of you, I just…I don’t get it.”
“There’s nothing to get. I wanted a life of luxury, and this was the easiest way to get it,” she says, looking ahead at the yacht we’re on as though to stress the point.
“You seem well equipped enough to marry into it.”
“I suspect I wouldn’t like the power dynamics of that.” She turns to me with mild curiosity. “Do you want to get married?”
“Of course,” I say without thinking. I thought every woman did. I surreptitiously eye the woman next to me and think maybe some find more attractive alternatives. Whatever works for her.
She gives me a sly smile. “And yet you’re so well-equipped to do what I do.”
I give her a sardonic smirk. “I suspect the power dynamics wouldn’t suit me.”
She laughs, raising her glass in salute. “Well, keep doing whatever it is you’re doing, and you might just get the brass ring.”
“The brass ring?”
“Marriage and money.” She directs her gaze back inside where Magnus is.
“Magnus Reinhardt? What makes you think I want him?”
“I don’t. But I do know that he wants you.”
“What?” I ask with a laugh, even though my face heats up with all the absurd pleasure of a teenage girl whose heartthrob has graced her with eye-contact at a concert.
Lara gives
