its steep flanks, waving banners and punching the air, surrendering to the adrenalin of the night. The focus: a small square lined with red rope. In minutes, two of the world’s greatest fighters would take to the stage.
Elisabeth arrived late–it was the first event in months where she and Robert hadn’t made their entrance together. She peeled off her fur coat and took a front row seat next to her fiancé. He was talking to the city mayor but smiled and stood when he saw her.
‘Hello, darling,’ he said, kissing her chastely.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she muttered. She offered no excuse. In truth she had fallen asleep after the spa session and had been dreaming of Alberto Bellini so vividly that she had missed her alarm.
‘Don’t be.’ He stroked the hole of flesh her gown revealed at the small of her back.
‘Elisabeth, what a pleasure to see you.’ Oliver Bratman, mayor of Las Vegas, stood to greet her. He was clad in a royal-blue pinstripe suit with a beetroot cravat spilling out the top pocket. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Oliver.’ Elisabeth kissed him. ‘You look well.’
‘As do you.’ He grinned. ‘Must be the flush of an imminent wedding.’ His eyes glittered. Oliver was tall and bald, with thick, dark eyebrows and a nose mapped with burst blood vessels.
Elisabeth’s eyes flitted to Robert’s and he laughed smoothly. ‘Fear not, Oliver, you’ll get your invite.’
The roar of the crowd was deafening as the boxers were brought in. One was Mexican, his opponent British. Elisabeth had been watching these fights since she was a girl, dragged along by her father and not understanding why anyone would want to watch two sweaty men punching the lights out of each other. But over the years she had started to see a grace in it and now she found herself swept along in the pulse of the night.
Robert kept his hand on the small of her back. Once she would have found it electric; now she found it stifling. She focused on the fight.
The men’s bodies were slick with sweat as they swiped and punched, bouncing on their toes. The clash of their skin as they intermittently held each other was mesmerising.
Elisabeth was on her feet, so caught up in it that she barely noticed Robert taking a call. When he hung up he looked alarmed.
‘I’ve got to take this outside,’ he said. His face had gone completely white.
‘Is everything OK?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
He shook his head and said something in her ear. It was impossible to hear above the noise and he had to repeat it. Still she couldn’t understand.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she shouted.
‘No,’ he said quickly, patting down her concern with his hand. ‘I’ll be back.’
Elisabeth watched him go. When she turned to the ring she saw the British guy was down. His eye was split and there was blood spurting from his nose. He got to his feet, resuming the dance, a pink bubble popping at his lip.
And then, on the far side, she caught sight of Alberto Bellini. He was staring at her. He looked taller than usual, his snow-capped frame even whiter beneath the lights. The rest of the room vanished–it was just the two of them, their eyes locked. She averted her gaze. He could not know what he had done to her.
They had been avoiding each other since the night of the Oasis. She had expected him to visit her dressing room, half of her wanting him to, half of her not, but so far it hadn’t happened. This made him even more desirable–Elisabeth couldn’t account for his apparent indifference. She knew she was incredible between the sheets, he couldn’t have been disappointed. Perhaps it had been her reaction the morning after. Waking early from a dreamless sleep, a pair of strong arms, thick with hair, wrapped round her waist, her initial response had been one of disgust. She was disgusted at how freely she had given herself to him; disgusted at her terrible betrayal of Robert. Quickly and silently, she had dressed and made her exit before he awoke.
The boxers were in a tussle now, gripping each other’s heads, pounding their gloves. What fascinated Elisabeth the most was the strange intimacy that existed between them. Two men: both strong, both powerful, both wanting the same thing. Both prepared to fight for it.
A jet of blood spurted into the air and it was KO.
34
Los Angeles
Cole Steel’s agent poured his sixth coffee of the day and lost count of