AN: It's amazing what 7+ years of disuse can do to one's extremely rudimentary knowledge of the French language, so please excuse me if you speak French and are appalled by the way I butchered such a beautiful language. Other than that-umm, enjoy and review please. :)

Rory took one last look in the mirror, smoothing her skirt down and tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She had to admit, Steph had been right—once she'd let herself, she had enjoyed her massage and she was left feeling lighter and slightly rejuvenated. Although one thing her massage hadn't cured was her hunger; time zones were bad for her sleep cycles, and her feeding cycles. Luckily, it was time for dinner. She headed out to the common room to meet the others.

"Hey guys, I'm staved. Ready to go?" she asked the group. She looked around the room curiously—someone was missing. "Where's Finn?" she asked.

"Finn appears to be MIA," Stephanie revealed.

"I think he went off in pursuit of the hot, Irish red head in the room down the hall," Colin added.

"So it's just the four of us for dinner?" she asked.

Steph chuckled nervously. "Yeah…about dinner…" she began.

"What about dinner?" Rory asked, furrowing her brow.

"Yeah, Steph, what about dinner?" Logan asked, a tinge of annoyance to his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Go on, tell her."

The blonde girl shot him a look of death before turning back to Rory. "So there's this thing that happens here once a year—the Monaco Grand Prix…"

Rory raised her eyebrows. "Grand Prix—isn't that like…cars?" she asked warily.

Steph scoffed. "It's only like, part of the triple crown of car racing."

"You like…car racing?"

"Duh."

Rory sighed as she took note of another nauseating stomach contraction. "Well, if you guys really want to watch a car race tonight, I guess I can deal—but I really have to eat something first, and I must be allowed to mock."

"Oh, no, the race is tomorrow," Steph quickly corrected.

"So then what's the matter with dinner?"

"Well, see tonight there's a car show where you can see the cars they're racing, meet the drivers. It's really exclusive and Colin managed to get us tickets—" Steph turned to smile at her pseudo boyfriend.

Rory tried not to roll her eyes. She could count on one hand the number of things she wanted to do less than go to a car show—living the rest of her life without coffee, among them. But then again, who was she to complain? It was their vacation, she was mostly just along for the ride—a free ride at that. "Fine," she agreed, less than halfheartedly. "If that's what you guys want to do, then I'm in."

"Well…see…umm—the thing is…" Stephanie trailed off, but then picked up again at the impatient look in Rory's eyes. "It's just that, when I said Colin got us tickets—I meant he got him and me tickets," she finished. "Just the two of us."

"Just the two of you?" Rory asked.

Stephanie nodded uneasily.

"So you're just going to abandon me in a foreign country?" Rory asked, mouth agape from shock. Steph had assured her she wouldn't let Rory feel out of place or left out and here she was, running off to some stupid car thing with Colin.

"No! Of course not," Steph quickly assured her. "You'll be with Logan." She turned to her blond friend. "Right, Logan?" she asked pointedly.

Logan glared at her heatedly. "Not all of us ditch out friends just because the smell of car leather and the thought of driving a stick makes us horny."

"Well I certainly hope the thought of driving a stick doesn't make you horny," Colin muttered. "Now the thought of someone else driving your stick—that's a different story."

Logan turned his glare to Colin. "Don't you have an elsewhere to be?"

"We're going, we're going," Colin stated, holding his hands in front of him and taking a few steps back from the hostility.

"And we called the restaurant and changed the reservations, so you don't have worry about that—" Rory was almost certain she saw a fleeting glimpse of something in Steph's eyes as she said this. She looked from blonde to blond and fought the urge to roll her eyes. She knew what Steph was trying to do—this was not the spur of the moment change in plans her friend wanted her to think it was. Still, what was she to do about it?

Rory harrumphed, and crossed her arms over her chest to note her displeasure. "How very thoughtful of you," she replied sarcastically.

"We'll make it up to you, I swear," Steph promised. "Besides, you and Logan will have a great time. You won't even miss us."

"I'm sure," Rory grumbled, rolling her eyes. This was typical Stephanie.

"OK, well we should get going so, uh…" Steph looked from Rory to Logan with a big smile on her face. "Have fun," she said with a little too much pep.

Rory watched as her friends headed out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Stephanie was going to pay for this.

"I think we've been set up." Logan said as the maitre d' sat them at a cozy table for two in a secluded corner of the restaurant and poured them some expensive champagne.

"You're just figuring that out now?" Rory questioned, looking at the single red rose laid across her place setting. She tried to sound annoyed—she was annoyed—Steph had no right to meddle in their lives like this. But then why couldn't she control the little flip flop of her heart as he smirked at her from across the table? Why wouldn't her palms stop sweating? Why couldn't she stop smiling? Stupid Steph! That's all this was—Steph's doing. Logan was just as much an innocent pawn in this as she herself was. He didn't plan this—it wasn't a date. He was probably counting the minutes until dinner was over and he could ditch her for some European bimbo.

"I had some suspicions," he confirmed. Hell, he'd known since Rory had first been conned into the trip that his friends had something up their sleeves. It was typical of them after all—butting into each other's lives was what they did best, especially Steph. He was mad at them though—he'd told them time and time again that he didn't have feelings for Rory. It was a lie of course, and they knew it, but that was besides the point. Nothing could happen between him and her—that was the point. Still, looking up at her amused face as she lightly fingered her flower—he felt happy, and not his usual getting drunk, getting ass, having fun kind of 'happy'; this was more…content. Just being with her put him at ease. Of course that was what worried him; he couldn't afford to let his guard down or he'd wind up doing something he regretted.

"Salut! Je suis vous garcon ce soir. Avez-vous choisi?" Logan looked up at the waiter, then back at Rory who was staring at her menu with a confused look on her face.

"Un moment, s'il vous plait," he replied.

"Oui, monsieur." The waiter backed away from the table, leaving Logan and Rory alone.

"Madamoiselle Bijon would not be pleased with my menu reading abilities," Rory remarked as she continued to stare blankly at the menu in front of her.

Logan laughed. "It's a little different in the classroom than it is in the real world. It's OK," he assured her. "Why don't I just order for both of us?" he suggested.

"I don't know," she raised her eyebrows at him. "How do I know I can trust you? You could wind up ordering me pickled snail eggs in a creamy hollandaise sauce or something equally disgusting. I would be forced to shun you forever if such a travesty were to occur. Do you think you can handle the pressure?"

"Jeez, Ace. Way to make a guy nervous. Alas, I think I'll take my chances. What do I get if I order right?"

"Umm, my pretty, pretty smile?" she replied, flashing him a glimpse of said smile.

"Well, in that case…" he trailed off, perusing the menu for a few moments before beckoning the server back.

"Monsieur, mademoiselle," the waiter greeted. "Que voudriez-vous?"

"Pour l'entrée, nous voudraient le soufflé a fromage."

"Bon choix, monsieur."

"Merci. Et pour le plat principal, nous voudriant le boeuf bourguignon et le coq au vin. Et le soufflé au chocolat pour dessert, s'il vous plait."

"Oui monsieur." He bowed slightly and backed away from the table.

"I'm going to like this, right?" Rory questioned. Fancy food really wasn't her thing.

"Well, it's not burgers and onion rings from Luke's but it's not pickled snail eggs in a creamy hollandaise sauce either," he assured her.

"Mmm, onion rings," Rory moaned. "Luke makes the best onion rings. It's strange really—I mean, it's an onion and Gilmore Girls do not eat onions—unless of course they're battered and fried in ring format. Really, if you think about it, it should be quite appalling, deep fried onions—seriously. Deep frying in general is a disgusting thought, and yet it produces some of the yummiest foods—fries, mozzarella sticks, doughnuts, chicken fritters—and what exactly is a fritter anyway? Do chickens even have fritters? I mean, they don't have fingers, or nuggets either I guess. Anyhow, as big a fan of the deep fried food group as I am, I have to say, the thought of a deep fried Snickers bar is quite repulsive. Really, a Snickers is classic just the way it is—why would they ruin it like that?" Rory looked up at Logan to see him leaning back in his seat and grinning at her. "What?"

"You're cute when you ramble."

Rory blushed furiously, quickly picking up the wine menu and opening it, just so she'd have something to hide her flaming red cheeks behind.

Logan chuckled. "See anything you like?"

"Well, the...uh...'99 Bordeaux looks good," she offered lamely.

"I'm sure it does," he placated, gently taking the menu from her hands and setting it off to the side. He smiled at the flustered look on her face as she cast her gaze down towards the table, then looked back up again, this time with a serious look on her face.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in confusion. "For what?" What could she possibly have to be sorry for?

"That you got stuck babysitting me tonight. After dinner I can just head back to the room and you can go off and do your thing."

Logan rolled his eyes. She had to be kidding. "We didn't want you to come on this trip so you could go hide in the room all night, Ace."

"You didn't want me to come on this trip at all," she reminded him.

He sighed. "Not because I didn't want you here," he insisted. "Because I knew you'd feel like this…" And because he knew he'd feel the way he had been all night—like he wanted to say 'to hell' with propriety and just kiss her senseless. Why the hell did she have to have those damn pouty lips, anyhow? This was exactly why he didn't want her to come; but now that she was there, he just wanted to keep her by his side.

"Yeah, but you could be doing something much more fun than sitting here with me right now. You could be having dinner with some hot, Swedish bikini model or something."

He couldn't help but laugh at that. "Well, you may not be Swedish, but I must say, after seeing you in that itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, yellow polka dot bikini earlier, you could definitely fit the rest of the description."

"Logan," she rolled her eyes.

"Besides, you're much better dinner company—my French may be pretty decent, but my Swedish is severely lacking and I bet most Swedish bikini models don't eat much. No conversation, no food—what kind of dinner would it be?"

"You know what I mean, Logan."

"Yeah, I do," he agreed. "And you're wrong. I came here to kick back and relax with my friends—that includes you, Ace. I want to spend time with you. I'm not going to let you lock yourself in your room so you don't get in our way. We want you in our way."

Rory sighed reluctantly. "Fine, but you get to pick what we do tonight."

Logan smirked at her. "Only if you get to pick tomorrow."

Why, oh why, had she told him to pick the evening's activity? One moment of weakness and insecurity and now as a result she was being pulled across a smoky casino where a bunch of drunk people were playing games she didn't understand and couldn't afford. What was she supposed to do? Sit around and play Fanny Brice to Logan's Nicky Arnstein? And yet she followed him willingly, and without complaint. This was so not like her, yet she couldn't seem to help herself; every time he'd smile at her, all her defenses would crumble.

"Sit," Logan pulled a seat out at a table for Rory.

"Oh, no, Logan, I can't play," she insisted, looking at the sign on the side of the table that listed the minimum bet. "A Euro is worth more than a dollar, right?" she furrowed her brow at the numbers before her. €1000. She really hoped she was wrong about the whole exchange rate thing.

"Don't worry about it, Ace. Just take a seat," he insisted, guiding her to the chair before sitting next to her and placing a very large bill on the table in front of him. The dealer took it, replacing it with a big stack of chips.

"What are you doing?" she asked, wide eyed, as Logan placed a few of the chips not only in front of him, but in front of her as well.

"Playing two hands," he shrugged.

"All bets down," the dealer called.

Before Rory could protest, cards were swiftly and seamlessly placed in front of her.

"What do you think? Should I hit or stay?" Logan asked her, as the dealer dealt more cards to the man on the far right.

"Do I look like I know how to play this game?" she growled at him.

"You ever watch The Price is Right?" he enquired, seemingly randomly.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Who ever comes closest to the price of the dining room set without going over, wins."

"Huh?"

"You have to get as close to 21 without going over as possible," he clarified. "If you're closer than the dealer, or the dealer busts and you don't, you win the hand."

Rory looked down at the King of hearts and Queen of spades in front of her. "So what do you do with these?" she asked, of the numberless cards.

"Face cards are worth ten."

Rory looked down at the cards again. "You've got twenty. Why would you hit that unless he's got twenty-one?"

Logan shrugged. "Hmm, I guess you're right."

"You're not going to con me into gambling with your money, Logan," Rory warned, obviously clued in to what he was trying to do.

"Of course not," he insisted. "I'm just looking for a little input."

"You don't need my input—you know what you're doing and I don't."

"Well then, I'll teach you," he suggested. "Then you can tell me what you would do if it were up to you, and I can tell you if it's the right move or not. I make all the final decisions, I promise. I won't let you lose all my money. Only I can do that."

Rory sighed her reluctant acceptance. At least it would give her something to do. "Fine."

"Good, now tell the dealer we're going to stay."

"Me?" she asked, pointing at herself.

"Yes you."

She rolled her eyes and turned to the dealer. "Umm, no more, thanks."

Logan laughed lightly from the seat next to her. "It's 'stay', Ace. And you have to make the hand motion."

"Hand motion?" she asked, turning to look at him like he was crazy.

"Yeah, like this…" He held his hand up parallel to the table and cut it through the air twice. "Go on," he nodded his head towards the dealer, indicating she should copy his motion.

She grunted in annoyance, but did as he said. The dealer acknowledged her decision and moved on to Logan. They played a few more hands as Logan continued to explain the intricacies of the game to her.

"Well will you look at that," Logan chuckled, as another hand was dealt to them. "An Ace for an Ace." He smirked at the Ace of diamonds and the 4 of spades laying in front of Rory.

Rory looked down. "Are Aces worth ten too?" she inquired, ignoring Logan's comment.

His smirk faded into a genuine smile as his eyes caught hers. "No," he shook his head, slightly, but left his eyes locked onto hers. "Aces are special"

They both stared for a few moments until a shrill "Awww," broke their trance.

They both jerked their heads around to look at the fifty-something woman sitting to Rory's right.

"I'm sorry, you two just make such an adorable couple."

"Oh, we're not…"

"That adorable," Logan interrupted Rory. He wasn't sure what possessed him to do it. So what if people knew they weren't actually a couple? They were friends, it's not like it was some shameful secret. Still, he couldn't help but throw his arm over her shoulder and squeeze her to him. "She's a little modest. And she just hates public displays of affection. Isn't that right—honey?" he added the last part in a low husky voice, just millimeters from her ear. He took his arm away from her shoulders and dropped his hand to the bare skin of her knee just below the hem of her midi-length A-line skirt, giving it a squeeze as he nuzzled his nose just below her ear. She jumped, quickly shoving his hand off her leg. He'd just gone way passed inappropriate, which to be honest, was what he'd been worried about with her along. But her skin was so soft and she smelled of vanilla and coffee beans and he just couldn't find the will power to care anymore. "See?" he said to the woman, as he brought his hand back to Rory's knee, this time just resting it there; Rory made no further attempts to remove it, he noted with a smile.

"Aww, sweetheart. With a guy like him, I'm amazed you can keep your hands off each other at all."

"Well, it's not as hard as you'd think," she responded, glancing at Logan with a glare in her eyes. But despite her words, and the tone with which she said them, the truth was in the tingling feeling where his hand rested on her knee. She knew this was just some game to him—see how many people they could fool. It had nothing to do with any real romantic feeling for her. And yet, if it meant more lingering touches, move loving gazes (fake as they may be), she couldn't find it in herself to stop it. She knew letting a guy get to her like this was pretty much against everything she stood for, but it seemed that the matter was very much against her control.

"So," she said, wiping the fake glare off her face, and letting the smile she was holding back take over. "Aces are special, huh?"

"Oh yeah," he smiled back. "They're definitely something special."