Chapter 23: Complicated

Sunday March 26
I’d gotten almost no sleep last night. I debated whether to just bail or to stay and talk with Erika in the morning. In the end, I decided to wait. The tipping point had been when I remembered what a reeking heap of excrement her supposed fiancé was.

Harry had admitted he would never stop cheating on his future wife. He and his mates were caught in the act at the fundraiser. How much of an ass did you have to be to destroy one of your best friends’ engagement? And to flaunt your plans in front of your betrothed?

I mean, I sort of got the whole gentry mindset of an heir and a spare. Lands and titles had to be handed down in a certain way. I even understood arranged marriage between the aristocrats. I’d watched enough Downton Abbey and other period pieces to get how it worked. Someone like Lord Smyth couldn’t just marry anyone he wanted. But I honestly thought that was changing.

I wanted to know whether Erika had used me to get back at Harry, or had decided that their engagement was off and needed a distraction. Either way, I felt used.

The only reasonable explanation I could come up with was that Erika had been raised with the understanding that you saved yourself for your wedding night. Aristocrats had a double standard for men and women. Someone like Erika was expected to be ‘pure’ when they went to their wedding bed. When she found out what Harry was up to, the idea of being ‘pure’ flew out the window.

But my theory was inconsistent with the facts: Erika gave oral like she knew what she was doing, and she’d admitted to having sex five years ago. Perhaps the oral was her alternative to having full-on sex. The admission of five years ago would have made Erika fifteen or sixteen. Maybe she let it go too far and regretted it afterward. At this point, everything was speculation.

As Erika slept, I got onto the Internet and did a quick search. They had pictures of the two of us, starting from when we left the fundraiser together and when she’d kissed me at the hotel. The one that surprised me was the two of us in the boat as we returned to the harbor. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, given how Monaco was laid out. From one of the buildings on the hill overlooking the harbor, someone had used a high-power lens to capture a picture of us. They’d caught us with my arms wrapped around her as she captained the boat. It looked like we were in love. It would be an excellent shot for a magazine photo ad for some product.

Next, there was a series of ‘sightings’ as we went to the restaurant, to the opera, and clubbing. The final nail in my coffin was the money shot of us entering the hotel. Anyone with half a brain would figure that one out.

One of the UK gossip rags had chronicled our ‘Whirlwind Torrid Affair,’ as the headline screamed. I was the American rogue actor with no thought for anyone but myself. I’d used my charms and good looks to turn poor Princess Erika’s head. They debated whether Lord Harry would take her back, or the engagement was off. I couldn’t help but notice how they made him the victim in all this. They chronicled past Americans who sought to ‘better’ themselves by worming their way into the good favor of poor, unsuspecting people of high station.

They concluded that because of my recent success as an Academy Award-winning actor, I was now trying to legitimize myself. If they knew me at all, they would have known that grabbing more fame wasn’t on my immediate to-do list. I might want to graduate from high school before I took on world domination.

I got up to use the bathroom. When I’d finished, there was a loud pounding on the door.

“Erika! Open this door right now! I know he’s in there,” Harry yelled from the hall.

I rushed over and made sure the deadbolt was in place and flipped the safety latch. Erika’s eyes were huge as she huddled on the bed.

“Go to the bathroom and lock yourself in,” I ordered.

I was glad when she did as she was told. I called the front desk.

“Please send security. Someone is trying to break into our room,” I said and gave them the room number.

The next thing I did was call Paul.

“I have a situation...” I got out.

Harry’s voice rang out, ordering someone to kick the door in. I chuckled when one of them gave it a mighty kick, which was immediately followed by a cry of pain and a series of curses. Unlike cheap hotels in the states, they had substantial doors in this place for precisely this scenario.

When it didn’t sound like they would be able to break in, I told Paul what was going on. He said he would be right over and made me leave my phone on speaker so he could follow the action.

I quickly got dressed. While I had no desire to get into a fight in my dress clothes, it was better than taking on Harry and his mates in my boxers.

“Go get the master key,” Harry ordered someone.

What a dumbass. Even with the master key, he couldn’t get in if I didn’t want him to.

“Did you hear that?” I asked Paul.

“Sure did. I’ve made a call to the police since I’m not sure hotel security will actually protect you. I’m at the front door now. If you have to, barricade yourself in.”

It wasn’t that I was afraid of Harry and his friends. What concerned me was they might be willing to go four on one, or even worse if Harry had his own security. No matter how hard I trained at the dojo, I might find myself overwhelmed if enough of them coordinated their attack.

Erika seemed to have fully comprehended on the situation because she stormed out of the bathroom and quickly got dressed. She made a quick call to her own security.

“This is about to get out of control. Do you think you can calm Harry down?” I asked.

“Yes, I’ll take care of it,” she said.

I almost stopped her before she threw open the door to face Harry. His face was redder than a beet. I was more than a little concerned that he might hit Erika. She gave him and his cronies a glare that froze them.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

He pointed at me.

“Saving you from him.”

I almost laughed when she looked confused. When I get nervous, I tend to do that. His expression as comprehension hit was priceless. Harry figured out the jig was up and that Erika had slept with me. He turned around and marched off. His minions followed him like little ducklings.

That was when Paul burst out of the elevator to save me. He stepped aside to allow Harry and his group to get on and go to their floor.

Erika looked at me sadly.

“Sorry, but I need to go deal with all that.”

I shrugged.

“Okay, but I was just starting to get to know you. I’d hoped that we might eventually get to a more balanced relationship, with—you know—actual conversation,” I said.

“I’d like that. The only problem is my life is ... uh...”

“Complicated,” I supplied.

“Exactly.”

“I had a good time. I only wish you’d told me you were engaged.”

“In my mind, I no longer was, but I need to go make that official.”

“Okay. You do what you need to do, and I’ll see you around,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“David,” she said as she touched my arm to stop me from leaving. “Thank you for last night. I’ve put my life on hold because of my obligations to my family. You showed me what I’ve been missing. You’ve helped me realize that I have to live my life for me and not what is expected of me.”

“My only advice is that you find a nice guy and take it slow. Don’t go wild and become a cliché.”

She kissed my cheek, and I let Paul lead me out of the hotel. It was good that he was there because a whole new breed of paparazzi was waiting for me. The UK press had descended in droves. They made their American cousins seem tame. We almost got into a fistfight just walking across the street. I worried that Paul might not be enough if this continued.

“Look who’s doing the walk of shame,” Ashley said with a big grin as I walked in the front door.

“Don’t even start,” I said, sporting a half-smile.

“Did you make it to Day 2 of the tournament?” I asked to change the focus.

“I did.”

“Give me some details,” I prodded.

It didn’t take much to divert her because she was having a great time playing cards. I was actually jealous when I saw the joy on her face. Then I remembered my day yesterday and decided that even though it didn’t turn out the way I expected in the end, I was happy with what I’d done.

“ ... and I had to sit next to some condescending jackass who claimed to be like twelfth in line for the British throne.”

“Lord Harry Smyth?” I asked.

“You know him?”

“Yeah. Unbeknownst to me, I spent the day and night with his fiancée. It’s a big scandal,” I admitted.

She looked at me like she didn’t believe me, so I told her to do a quick Google search on me. She began to laugh.

“You are in so much trouble. When your mom sees this, you’re dead for going to a club,” she said, sounding way too happy. Then she shifted gears entirely. “I can’t wait until I see Lord Ass-hat today. Before we left last night, we drew for seats at the table, and he’s at mine.”

“We were all planning to come watch you play today.”

“That would be perfect. I’ll not say anything to the idiot. I want to see his face when I give you a big kiss at the break.”

It sounded like Ashley wasn’t beyond tweaking her opponent in a card table. If it had been almost anyone else, I might have had a problem with it. In this case, I had no problem at all, simply because of the loathsome person he was. If Lord Ass-hat was an example of what the upper crust in the UK was all about, as the press was implying, I wanted no part of that group. There is a valid saying that you are the company you keep. I didn’t need people like him in my life, nor did I want to ever be like him.

“Make sure Paul is close by in case he decides to take a swing at me,” I said half-seriously.

“He’s a bully. As far as I’m concerned, taking him down a notch wouldn’t hurt him in the least.”

“What place are you in?” I asked.

“Eleventh. The problem is that three of my opponents have huge chip stacks. It’ll be hard to overtake them,” Ashley admitted.

Little Megan came out of her bedroom and looked at me curiously.

“You just getting home?”

“I’m going to bed. You can fill her in,” I told Ashley.

I think I must have only been asleep a moment when I felt someone crawl into bed with me. Whoever it was wrapped me in a hug. From the feel of her body, I could tell it was Cindy. I was lying on my side and felt her bare breasts against my back. She kissed the back of my neck.

“Leave me alone,” I moaned. “I need my sleep.”

“Okay, go back to sleep.”

She gently massaged my chest, and her hand began to work its way south. My traitorous cock started to stand up and try to convince the big brain that sleep was overrated. For once, I had to agree with him. I rolled over and looked Cindy in the eyes.

“Why do I think this is a bad idea? Is Kevin lurking outside the door, hoping for a threesome?” I asked.

“No. They all decided to go to the casino to watch Ashley play.”

“Does Kevin know what you planned?” I asked. “I only ask because I already pissed off one guy this morning and don’t want to do it again.”

“Even if I hadn’t told Kevin, he would be okay with us being together. Kevin is the polar opposite of you,” Cindy assured me.

“I just don’t want to do anything behind his back,” I reasoned.

“Kevin would very much like you to do me in front of him,” Cindy teased.

I just groaned. I’d discovered that Megan liked to watch. And apparently, Kevin was obsessed with watching me have sex with his girlfriend. Between the two, I was wondering if I shouldn’t plan to do Cindy in the living room for everyone’s entertainment. What was it that Tami always said? My first idea was probably wrong? She would be right on that one.

“You know if you cum, it’ll be easier to get back to sleep,” Cindy said innocently.

“Who could argue with that?” I asked the universe.

I really was a slut. Cindy was also right. I was able to get back to sleep.

The time difference saved me from my mother’s wrath for the morning. I finally rolled out of bed at noon, and I was starved. Looking out the front window, I waved at all the paparazzi waiting for me to come out. I had to leave the house to eat because we hadn’t bothered to buy any food, so I would have to face that mob soon.

Rather than face them alone, I sent a text to Paul to come to get me. The casino would work fine for grabbing a bite to eat. Then I called Frank, my publicist. I did a quick calculation in my head, and it was probably three in the morning in LA. I considered it payback for him calling me in the middle of the night.

When the phone answered, I heard a distant curse. Frank must have knocked it off the nightstand.

“You’re a real jerk,” he said when he answered.

“I have to go out, and the paparazzi are out there waiting. What should I tell them?” I asked.

“Let me clear my head a little,” Frank said and sighed. “Did you know she was engaged?”

“I honestly didn’t. I mean, I did know that Harry was engaged, but not who to. He was in Monte Carlo for his friend’s bachelor party. The girls showed up when the groom drunk-dialed his fiancée and made a fool of himself. I simply assumed Erika was part of the wedding party and not engaged to Harry.”

“Hell, tell them that. The truth is always better than getting caught in a lie,” he advised.

“Should I tell them what a fucktard he is?” I asked.

“You’re not paying me enough for this shit,” Frank complained. “Just tell me.”

I explained his comments about a mistress, the men getting caught spending time with her, and how it caused Erika to end up in bed with me.

“That’s quite the story. We could probably get a script written and make a movie with all that drama. You could play the poor naïve farm-boy-turned-actor who was exploited,” Frank said, waking up. “We can make this work.”

“Are you telling me you want me to do the whole ‘aw, shucks’ routine with the paparazzi?” I asked.

“You do it all the time for sports. Why not?” Frank asked. “Oh! And lay on the American accent. People on the other side of the pond think we’re all drooling idiots, anyway. It’ll help sell how Princess Erika tricked you into falling between her legs.”

I was starting to think he might have just come in from drinking.

“Better yet!” he blurted. “Pull the whole ‘gentlemen don’t talk about such things’ routine. It will fit your Ian Bond persona to a T.”

“Are you going to send me talking points?” I asked.

“You don’t need no stinkin’ talking points.”

“Are you drunk?” I asked.

“Bite me, Snowflake. I’m trying to save your career here,” Frank said indignantly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You have any better ideas?” Frank asked.

“How about, ‘No comment?’”

Frank took a deep breath and held it before slowly letting it out.

“No. You need to set the narrative.”

“I thought the British tabloids had already done that. Remember the whole ‘Home-Wrecker’ headline?”

“You need to get your side of it out there before Harry and Erika tell their version. They need to be seen responding to you, not the other way around,” Frank said, finally making sense.

I suddenly had a thought.

“Why do I care what the British tabloids think, anyway?” I asked.

“Because, even though they aren’t the world power they once were, people still love stories about their royalty and listen to the BBC. This isn’t just some story over there. It will be picked up here and everywhere shortly,” Frank predicted.

“Still want me to go out and wing it?” I asked.

He called me a name and said he would have something for me in thirty minutes.

I was getting dressed when Paul came into my bedroom, looking harried.

“What the hell did you do?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“There are news trucks and what looks suspiciously like regular press showing up in droves in front of the house.”

“Wow. I’m impressed. Frank knows how to get the word out in a hurry,” I said and got a pained look from Paul. “I’m talking to them in a few minutes.”

“You’re wearing that?” Paul asked.

I chuckled because Paul was the last person I would ever expect fashion advice from.

“I’m supposed to look like a regular guy. If I get dressed up, it will look like I should have known better,” I explained.

“Whatever,” Paul said to dismiss me. “I just hope you have on clean underwear since you insist on looking like a bum.”

My eyes got big. Someone had been listening to my mother. I thought about what he said and remembered that I was David Frickin’ Dawson: star athlete, model, and actor. Dressing like an average teenager would be out of character, especially in the heart of Monaco, where the rich and famous came to play.

I changed into a smart pair of slacks, a dress shirt, and a sports coat. Paul nodded his approval as he led me out front.

Well, that might have gone better. I’d experienced rude paparazzi before. I’d even considered punching a few. What I’d never done before was lose my cool—to the point where Paul had to restrain me from launching into the crowd. I had a burning desire to beat the snot out of more than one of them.

Frank had sent me a statement to read that basically said I had no idea that Princess Erika was engaged to Lord Harry. I went into detail about how I met her and described how I’d assumed she was simply part of the wedding party. I reported I hadn’t a clue she was an actual princess. We’d hit it off and spent the day together.

The first line of attack was how could I possibly not know that the two of them were engaged. It was the talk of all the media in the UK. I might have said something to the effect that we in America only followed real royalty. I know, not the best of ideas, based on their reaction.

Their next offensive focused on asking how I could live with myself for taking advantage of poor Princess Erika. I told them that I was confused by that question. They circled around about how they suspected I’d knowingly tried to hurt Lord Harry because I had a history with him, having physically attacked him before. I reminded them that he admitted he deserved it.

When that didn’t work to rile me up, they wanted to know if I felt that I was somehow entitled because I was now a famous actor. It went on and on like that. If I’d been smart, I would have called it quits because I wasn’t going to get a fair shake from this crowd.

I found it amusing that the straight press stood back and looked shocked at some of the worst offenders. Then they got into personal territory. I was asked a series of questions about my kids and their origins. I shut that down quickly. Next, they threw out Angie’s comment about all Dawson men being cheaters.

Curse Fritz for teaching his security to protect me from myself. If Paul had been focused on the bunch of ass-hats and not me, he would never have gotten between me and the idiot who provoked me.

I quickly realized that it didn’t look good to be lunging for a reporter and knew in an instant that that would be the lead story. I turned around and stomped back into the condo.

“Send Frank the video,” was all I said as I escaped into my room to think about how they’d gotten under my skin.

It had brought up all the bad memories of my mom and dad. I’d made my mom a promise not to be with anyone who was in a relationship. I agreed because I saw how it’d hurt her. Now I’d broken my word, albeit without knowing it. I realized I’d lashed out because I felt guilty for my part in what happened.

Frank watched the video Paul had sent him from his bodycam. He said he would work on spinning it. It irritated me that he sounded happy about the prospect of turning this into a positive.

I decided I wasn’t going to let the press ruin my vacation, so I told Paul we were going to the casino to watch Ashley play poker. Besides, I was more than starving now.

I couldn’t really blame the paparazzi when Paul led me to the car. If they knew they could get under my skin and get me to react badly, it made news—and, in turn, gave them a payday. I plastered a fake smile on my face and got into the car.

I was a little irritated that the casino made you pay just to walk through the door. It wasn’t as though it was an amusement park. The whole idea of a casino was to have you lose money to the house. It seemed to be working, too, if this place was any indication. It struck me as a step too far, greed-wise, to force people to pay an entrance fee.

I sent a text to Scarlet to let her know I was here and planned to eat lunch. She told me to get a table big enough for everyone because they’d just gotten down to eighteen players and were taking a forty-five-minute break.

Earlier, Ashley and Megan had filled everyone in on the drama that was unfolding with my date with a real-life princess who now had a jilted fiancé. Paul got them up to date on my attempt to explain my actions to the press.

“You thought fighting them was a good idea?” Ashley asked.

Sometimes her acting like an adult and being the voice of reason was irritating, even if she was right.

“He had it coming,” I said lamely.

“He really did,” Paul said to win himself some brownie points.

“Violence is never the answer,” Kevin said seriously.

I flipped him off. I’d seen what Kevin did on a football field, and I wasn’t buying what he was trying to sell at the moment.

Thankfully, that was when our food came.

“Your buddy, Lord Ass-hat, is starting to get on my nerves. I’m the last woman standing, and he has made it his personal mission to take me out,” Ashley said when we were finishing up.

“That just means he’ll be calling you with a wider range of cards,” Megan speculated.

We all stared at her.

“I play a little,” she said, folding under our gaze.

“She has a good point,” was all I said.

“Yeah, he’ll be more likely to call me with junk and possibly either catch me or bluff,” Ashley said.

“Over the long haul, it’s not a winning strategy. With you playing better cards, you should be able to win when he bluffs, and you have a made hand. Just don’t fold too often to his bullying,” Megan concluded.

My support had apparently emboldened Megan enough to finish her thought. I was glad I was making progress getting her out of her shell and hoped it would continue. I’d come to realize there was a sharp mind within that timid girl.

At the tournament area, they had seats set up for people to watch the action. My arrival wasn’t lost on the poker players. Ashley held back with us to chat until Harry and his entourage came into the room. He was with his mates and his sister, but I saw that the douchebag had the clueless rudeness to have brought his mistress along as well. The group spotted me, and Harry gave me a death stare.

Ashley made a big production of kissing me, which almost caused a fight. From his intense glower, Harry’s play against Ashley had just gone from idle misogyny on his part to reach a very personal level.

Ashley bet out, Harry called, and the rest of the table folded. They’d been playing for about fifteen minutes, and this was the first hand that they were in together. The other poker players sat back to watch the fun.

“Now we’re heads up. You want to go to war or play nice and just check it down? Yes or no?” Harry asked.

You could discern the disdain that she had for Harry and his snarky banter from her body language. She just looked at the dealer, who then put down an ace-high flop. Ashley led out with a standard continuation bet. Harry made a big production as he began to inspect his cards, as if he’d called Ashley without looking before the flop.

“I need to check to see whether I have an ace to continue with this hand or not,” he announced to the rest of the table.

Harry smiled as he checked his hand.

“That’s lucky,” he said smugly.

“What? That you didn’t hit jack deuce?” Ashley asked.

“I don’t have jack deuce,” Harry said and paused. “I think you have king, queen, and missed.”

Based on what I could see, I thought he might be right, and I watched him play with his chips as he contemplated his next move.

“I have to find out where I am. It wouldn’t do to simply let you overrun me. I’m in position on a scary board,” he reasoned and then turned to Ashley. “You want to play a big pot or a small pot? It’s up to you.”

As irritating as he was, that was a great way to get a read off your opponent. Whatever Ashley said or did would give him information. When Ashley wouldn’t look over at him, I just knew she had an ace.

“Depending on your answer, I can go either way,” Harry continued.

“It depends on the turn,” Ashley said.

“Before we get to the turn is how I will play this hand. Big pot or small pot?” Harry persisted.

“Medium,” Ashley finally said.

“Medium?” he asked in disgust.

“Okay, I’ll raise,” he said and pushed in a large bet.

My dad had taught me that if someone talked that much and then was aggressive, they were probably bluffing. On the other hand, he could be baiting her into calling.

“I think you’re bluffing,” Ashley said.

“You can’t call that. You know I’ve got the goods,” Harry shot back with a smirk. “But this is personal. Want to make this really interesting?”

Ashley looked at him with an exasperated expression.

“Why don’t we up the ante, so to speak, and make a side bet?” Harry goaded.

“On just this hand?” Ashley asked.

“Good point, because I have you beat. How about the last man standing gets the other’s winnings?”

She gave him a dismissive look. That could be a lot of money, depending on how they finished. Then again, it wasn’t chump change at this point in the tournament, either. Personally, I would have told him to stick it.

“Scared you can’t last longer than me?” he egged her on.

“No. I’m scared that you won’t keep your word. It wouldn’t surprise me if you skipped out when you lose.”

Harry acted hurt.

“If I could guarantee it?” he asked.

“Then I would say, bring it on,” Ashley said.

Harry waved over the tournament director and told him what they wanted to do. I was surprised the rest of the table wasn’t pissed off with the delay of the game. Blinds at these levels were no joke, and they increased every twenty minutes. Each minute not playing poker got you a step closer to having to play much larger pots. Better poker players preferred to get in more hands and let their skill win rather than leave it to luck and be forced to make decisions when the blinds went up.

The tournament director agreed that if that was what they wanted to do, he would make sure it happened.

“Show your jack two,” Ashley said as she tossed in her hand.

“Eight three,” Harry said with glee as he showed his bluff.

I would have called, but that was easy to say sitting on the sideline.

Watching poker without knowing what their cards are, like you see on TV, is often dull and boring. I got up to stretch my legs. I found Beth, Harry’s sister, leaning against the wall, playing with her phone. She saw me coming and smiled.

“Did you see that Erika released a statement?” Beth said.

“No. I came here to get that off my mind.”

“She supported what you said and explained that the reason she’d broken the engagement off was that Harry had been caught with his mistress. Now the press is hot on the trail of who the other woman is.”

“I wish I’d known.”

“That would have stopped you?”

It made me sad that she would assume something like that.

“My mom had a similar experience. I have a half-brother who is only a couple of years younger than me. When she found out, it devastated her. I made her a promise I would never be involved with something like that,” I explained.

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Have you talked to Erika?” I asked.

“Only for a moment. She’s going home to Germany and then back to New York. I got the impression she didn’t want to see any of us again, and I can hardly blame her. My brother has a habit of doing things like this. I’d hoped he would settle down with her,” Beth shared.

“I was told this was an arranged marriage. Something to do with your dad putting his foot down.” I couldn’t help myself from digging for some gossip.

Royal scandals, when I wasn’t involved, were good sport.

“Let’s just say that he was caught with someone he shouldn’t have been with. In a way, you sleeping with Erika was karma biting him in the butt.”

I could tell that on some level, that pleased Beth. I nodded my agreement.

“This is boring. Go for a walk with me so we can catch up,” Beth suggested.

We ended up playing some blackjack for about an hour. I lost a couple hundred euros, while Beth was only down a little. I thought that I should get my entrance fee back after losing money to the casino.