The Player

Her face fell. To Walker, it would look like she’d slept with tons of lechers.

We would deal with that in time.

Dmitri turned back to me. “Now you know everything. Vika, I have no secrets left.”

The anxiety I’d struggled with disappeared, because there was nothing left to ping my radar. He’d laid all his cards on the table.

My grift sense was finally at ease.

He took another step closer, his eyes solemn amber. “This past year was torture—I heard your voice and saw you, but I wasn’t able to talk to you or touch you. Every day I tormented myself wondering if you could love me back. Yet I would do it all over again.” His voice broke lower when he said, “Understand me, moya zhena, I would do the whole thirty-two years over again.”

My breath left me. The magnitude of what he was saying . . .

I glanced around. Gram and Al raised glasses in approval. Karin nodded emphatically. Benji gave me a thumbs-up, and Pete mouthed, Duh.

Mom and Dad held hands, looking so in love, a shining example that fairy tales did in fact exist. Well, when they were so perfectly matched. . . .

It fully sank in that Dmitri Sevastyan hadn’t just pulled a single con. He hadn’t merely utilized tricks of confidence artistry. Grifting was a life choice, and he’d lived it for a year, learning our lingo and our ways to become a master. An aristocrat grifter. The con who played cons.

Getting played never felt so good.

I crossed the short distance to my husband. “Dmitri, you’re not a gull.” Hadn’t I called him a thrall from night one?

“I . . . no, I don’t suppose I am.” Hope flared in his eyes. “Perhaps I’m starting to read people better. Because I think you’re about to kiss me.” He murmured, “Do it, Vika.”

Two tears in a bucket. Right now I didn’t feel as if I’d be reaching for the stars; I felt as if I’d be claiming what was mine. My due. I clasped him close and rose up on my toes. Then I kissed my husband.

A grifter for a grifter. . . .

EPILOGUE

One wedding dress later . . .

You would think I’d given Dmitri the moon.

From our bedroom balcony, I watched him showing off his ring to his groomsmen—Maksim, Aleks, Pete, and Benji—at our reception.

Glorious did not begin to describe my husband in a tux.

In fact, the five of them made quite a picture, all of them formally dressed, lit by the brilliant fire-red and gold sunset over the Pacific.

Karin, my maid of honor, and bridesmaids Lucía and Nat had just helped me gather the train of my gown into a pleated bustle. Then they’d returned downstairs to give me a minute to decompress.

Our home was inundated with family, all of our bungalows filled. Guests laughed on the dance floor, drank fine wines, and polished off sumptuous delicacies. Hey, free food awakened any grifter’s appetite. My little cousins ran around on the beach with the dogs Maksim and Lucía had brought with them.

How Jess—part bridesmaid, part coordinator—had planned the elaborate ceremony and reception in such a short time was beyond my comprehension.

She’d even made all the arrangements for Dmitri and me to go to Paris for our honeymoon, advising me cryptically that there was one club in particular we’d want to visit. . . .

Champagne glass in hand, I leaned on the balcony rail and watched Dmitri laughing with the others. Seeing him this happy made my heart feel too big for my chest. Over the last three weeks, he’d relaxed so much, radiating contentment now that he had nothing to hide.

The day we’d cleared the air at my parents’, I’d introduced him to in-laws who already adored him as my “hero husband,” the man who’d saved Gentleman Joe’s life. Dmitri had been less discomfited than usual, probably because he’d already bared his soul in front of everyone.

That night, he’d taken me back to the Caly. After he’d made love to me until my toes curled and I’d promised him everything, he’d told me one last secret:

“If I hadn’t hit rock bottom, I never would have been in Las Vegas. I never would have found you. The pain of the past is so much easier to bear now that I feel it had purpose. It led me to you. Moya zhena, you are my reward for enduring. . . .”

Today I’d pledged myself to Dmitri Sevastyan with no pressure and for only one reason: I loved him.

As if he’d sensed my thoughts, he glanced up at me. His vivid eyes brightened even more, and his smile widened. He started for me at once.

Judging by Pete and Benji’s puzzled looks, I figured Dmitri had left the conversation midsentence. His brothers just appeared amused.

Footsteps boomed as Dmitri bounded up the stairs to reach me. How fitting. Two months ago to the day, I’d climbed the stairs to reach his lair, hoping I could tempt a beast.

I had. Then I’d made him part of my pack.

And Lady Luck smiled. . . .

Catching his breath, Dmitri joined me on the balcony. A healthy flush tinged his chiseled cheekbones, highlighting his golden eyes.

The color always brought to mind blazing sunsets and new beginnings.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come down,” he said, as if I’d been gone ages. “How much time does it take to do a bustle? You made the dress quicker than this.” The first garment created in my new studio.

The strapless silk gown was a modified A-line with a straight-cut neckline, classic seams and no embellishment. The traditional-white skirt had a sweep train and ballroom bustle. So incredibly simple.