A/N: It has been too long, and for that I am sorry. But, I have written 3000 words of the next chapter today, and want to post it fairly soon after this one, so maybe by the weekend? Things have changed around a little life wise these past few weeks so can't guarantee, but it should be up by then. Hope you enjoy this one!
The Interloper
by Flaignhan
She wanders through the casino, a vodka tonic in hand. She would have asked for a straight vodka, but as much as she wants it, it's not really in keeping with her cover. She doubts that a vodka tonic is either, but it has a little more sophistication about it, and a touch less 'angry Russian'. As she walks between the tables, she can feel eyes on her, though it is a much different sensation to that which she experiences when there are a dozen guys who want to kill her. She's a different kind of target for these guys tonight, but none of them have the grey flecked hair or the faintly scarred cheek which she is seeking.
She pauses briefly to watch a final hand in a poker game, the pile of chips in the middle of the table easily passing the half million euro mark. When the cards are laid down, the loser's smirk falters, then becomes a tightly stretched smile, before he grudgingly shakes the winner's hand. With the show over, the small crowd around the table disperses, and Natasha continues her meandering route through the casino, sipping at her drink occasionally and keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of Sveltzer. During her slow tour of the main room, she is offered at least half a dozen drinks by men of various ages with varying levels of sliminess. Her only response is to show them her existing drink and offer a smile before she turns away, unwilling to waste any more seconds on them than she absolutely has to.
When she reaches the main roulette table, there's a fairly large audience watching as the wheel spins, the ball rattling around the edges. When it comes to a halt, though Natasha can't see which number it has landed on, the audience gasps, before breaking into a polite round of applause. Frowning, she moves expertly through the clusters of people, until she sees two things that cause her stomach to jolt unpleasantly.
The first, is Loki, still in his disguise, with a huge mound of chips in front of him, and an even bigger grin on his face. The second is the man sitting two seats away from him, shaking his head in mild mannered disbelief as Loki's fresh winnings are added to his ever growing pile. She recognises him immediately, his small dark eyes casting a shrewd gaze over the table as the bets are placed. Finally he decides to put his money on the black, opting for a fifty fifty chance that won't be beaten out by whatever ridiculous game Loki is playing.
Natasha squeezes her way through the crowd and comes to rest at Loki's side, linking her arm through his as he gestures to the attendant to place his chips on the number twenty seven square.
"Honey, are you gambling all our money away?" she says, just loud enough for those in the immediate vicinity to hear. The faintest hint of a smirk curves the corner of Loki's mouth.
"Actually," he says as the attendant spins the wheel, "I'm on something of a winning streak."
"Well hadn't you better quit while you're ahead?" Natasha asks, looking up at him with a wide, bright smile. She rubs his upper arm, hoping he'll take the hint, but then the wheel comes to a stop, the ball settling on twenty seven red.
Sveltzer huffs impatiently, but the sound is all but drowned out by the cheering of those watching, while Loki's pile of chips nearly doubles in size.
"One more," Loki says to her, eyeing the board. After a moment, he turns away, his attention solely on Natasha, and then he steps back from the table, taking her gently by the wrist and pulling her in front of him. He settles his hands on his hips and leans against her, resting the side of his face against hers.
"You choose," he purrs. "But make sure you choose well."
She glances around the table, noting that all eyes, including Sveltzer's are fixed upon her. She bites her lips as she surveys the board, hyperaware of Loki's warm breath fluttering against her neck, then, at last, comes to a decision.
"Number one," she says, interlacing her fingers with Loki's. "Put it all on number one."
The attendant looks towards Loki, and Natasha scowls.
"You do not need his permission to place the bet," she says pointedly.
Loki doesn't utter a word, and the attendant hesitantly places all of the chips on the number one square, before asking for any final bets. A few more chips are pulled onto the board and then, at last, the wheel spins. Behind her, she can feel Loki holding his breath, his entire body still, and the only giveaway that he's not a statue is the faint pulse she can feel in the tip of his thumb, beating softly against her hand.
The wheel seems to rotate forever, the ball skittering around the edges as the people watching crane their necks to get a good view. Eventually it starts to slow, and the blur of numbers become a little more decipherable as they whirr past. At long last, it comes to a halt, and the ball drops into the slot that Natasha always knew it would.
"Unbelievable," Sveltzer mutters, as the attendant pushes Loki's enormous pile of chips towards him.
"That's me," Loki replies smoothly. He presses a kiss to Natasha's neck, his lips brushing softly against her skin. "Or rather," he adds, "that's Alicia."
"Well I've never met a man so damn lucky in my entire life," Sveltzer says, stacking his last few thousand dollar chips into a neat pile. "All the luck at the tables and the beautiful girl on top of it. D'you sell your soul to the devil or something?"
"Worse than the devil," Loki murmurs in response, but Sveltzer doesn't hear, too easily distracted by the new flurry of bets being placed.
"Are we done?" Natasha asks, guiding his arms around her, making his embrace tighter. She feels him shake his head minutely.
"Let me choose one more," he says, then turns his attention towards the attendant. "Put it all on thirteen."
A gasp ripples through the crowd, and Natasha feels Loki stiffen behind her, apparently not expecting such a reaction.
"Honey," she says slowly. "Thirteen's unlucky."
He relaxes a little at this, and she doesn't know what he possibly could have assumed that was worse than a silly superstition.
"Maybe for some," he says coolly.
"Tempting fate?" Sveltzer asks, a small smile curving his mouth. He arches one dark eyebrow, and then moves his gaze from Loki, onto Natasha, his eyes trailing down her body in a way that she will be sure to repay him for later.
"I can afford to," Loki says airily, then turns to the attendant, whose rake is still hovering uncertainly over Loki's chips. "Thirteen."
The crowd begins to mutter, and Sveltzer gestures to put all of his remaining chips on the red, presumably confident that this time he'll see some return. Natasha is willing to bet all the chips on the table that he won't see one cent for his gamble.
The crowd is larger now than when Natasha first arrived, and it's sending her senses haywire. With so many eyes on her, she doesn't know where she ought to be focusing her attention, if anywhere. She shuts down that part of herself and gives Loki's hands a squeeze. If there is someone of dubious moral stance in the crowd who is on to her, at least she can take comfort in the fact that she's currently fairly well protected by a god, his large frame shielding her from those gathered behind. Even though he's completely physically different to the Loki that she's used to, she still finds a strange sense of comfort in his closeness. Perhaps that lingering nagging at the back of her mind, the one that reminds her all too often that Max Sveltzer and his dumb lab tech nearly killed her, is quietened by the fact that if push comes to shove, Loki will cross the universe to ensure she doesn't die.
The attendant spins the wheel, and the red and black blur into one as the numbers slip by in a streak of silver. Natasha doesn't know why she's holding her breath, she already knows what the outcome will be, but everybody else around the table is watching in anticipation, the tension mounting with every second that passes. Loki is frozen in place behind her, and as the ball skips around the wheel, she wishes the whole drawn out process would come to an end. Admittedly the wheel probably only spins for twenty seconds or so, but each of those seconds seems to last a minute, and her ability to focus on the wheel lessens by the moment.
She closes her eyes, and when she hears the final clunk of the ball settling into a space, the rapid clicks of the wheel slowing and eventually stopping, she opens her eyes again, her lips curving into a smile when she sees what she always knew she would. There is a gasp of delight from the crowd and they burst into applause as the attendant pushes all of Loki's winnings towards him
"I think that's quite enough for one night, don't you, darling?" Loki says loudly, his hands coming to rest on her upper arms. He presses a soft kiss to her shoulder, his lips curving into a smile against her skin, then leads her away from the table, Natasha's hand held loosely in his own.
"You've changed your tune," he says as Natasha locks the door to the suite. She fastens the security chain then raises up on her tip toes to twist the handle of the deadlock. "One minute I'm jeopardising things, the next you can't stay away from me."
Natasha grits her teeth as she crosses the room, and when she sees the brief blur of green light illuminate the room, she knows that Loki has cast away his disguise.
"The guy at the roulette table is the guy I'm supposed to dealing with," she says impatiently, tugging the thick curtains shut with a touch more force than necessary. "I need to get close to him."
"And you need my help," Loki tells her.
"I need you to keep your cover," she says, toeing off her shoes before she heads over to the dresser, removing her earrings. She drops them into her jewellery box and then turns around to face him, her uncertainties about him and her fear that this whole operation will go to hell coming together to give her one hell of a headache. "Have you told anybody a name yet?"
Loki shakes his head.
"Okay," Natasha says, "We can work with that. But, dammit, I told them I was Miss Jensen."
"You mortals are allowed to keep your names, are you not?" Loki asks, hanging his jacket on the back of a chair before pulling off his bow tie and dropping it onto the bedside cabinet. He unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt then hops onto the bed, plumping up his pillows and making himself comfortable.
"Yeah but…" Natasha sighs and runs her hands through her hair. They're going to have to work with what they've got and hope that nobody cares enough to dig too deep. She's furious with him for screwing up all her plans. Without him, she could have waltzed around in pretty dresses, drawing attention to herself until she got Sveltzer alone. But no, now she has to cover Loki as well. She lets out a sigh and tries to pull a name from thin air. Her imagination isn't up to much however, because the first thing that falls from her lips is "Lucas. Lucas Odell."
Loki's eyebrows twitch into a frown, but at her cool stare he apparently decides it would be in his best interest not to argue. "I need to know what's going on," he says, changing the subject. He shifts on the bed, apparently not happy with the wealth of scatter cushions the hotel has deemed necessary, but soon he stills, awaiting her answer.
"All you need to know is that he's involved with the lab I went to the night I..." she trails off, not wanting to bring the subject up again, but Loki bristles at her words, his back straightening as he pushes his shoulders back.
"Are you here for vengeance?" he asks.
"Information," Natasha says firmly.
"There's no reason one can't follow the other," he replies, smoothing out the legs of his trousers. He looks up at her with the faintest sense of hope in his expression, but Natasha shakes her head.
"I'm not a lone assassin. I work for the government, there are protocols."
"Protocols can't prevent accidents," Loki says, his eyes fixed on hers.
Her head offers up an unpleasant mesh of memories, the sensation of her heart pounding so rapidly in her chest she thought it might explode, day after day trapped in a hospital bed, slipping in an out of consciousness while they searched for a solution, the after effects that left her body weak and confidence dented. For a moment, she is tempted to task Loki with engineering such an accident after she's touched back down at JFK, but the desire passes, like the flame of a candle being snuffed out between a forefinger and thumb.
This is not about her.
"No accidents," she says at last, pushing herself away from the dresser and heading over to her suitcase to find her pyjamas. "But you've gotta play the terrible husband."
"Why terrible?" he demands, unable to hide his defensiveness.
"Because why else would I go looking for another man?" she says, turning around, pyjamas in hand. "If I've got a loving and devoted husband who happens to be super rich, why would I ever want anything else?"
"I think a husband you love might be a good idea," Loki says with a scowl. "Or are all you mortals materialistic?"
"You're in Monte Carlo, tax evasion capital of the world," Natasha says, swatting his arm softly with her pyjamas as she walks past him on her way to the bathroom. "Loveless marriages and illicit affairs are everywhere."
Loki huffs. "Well that's just pathetic," he says, folding his arms. "You get a measly hundred years of life and you waste it on this." He gestures towards the hotel room, but she knows his issues have nothing to do with the shot silk curtains or the ornate furniture.
"I had no idea you were so sentimental," she replies, opening the door to the bathroom and slipping inside before he can shoot back a grumpy reply.
She changes into her pyjamas quickly and hastily removes her make up, her mind whirring as she forms a plan of action for the following day. When she goes back into the bedroom, Loki is settled under the duvet, his dark hair splayed across the pillow beneath his head. He lifts up the covers when Natasha approaches and she slips underneath, making herself comfortable before she reaches up to the switch next to the headboard and turns off the lights.
"Promise me you won't do anything stupid," she says quietly.
"Define stupid," he replies after a moment. He shifts his position on the mattress and Natasha turns her head, looking across at him. In the dark she can just about make out the shape of his face, and when her eyes focus more, she can see him watching her closely.
"Anything that would blow our cover," she says. "Anything that would get me in trouble with the powers that be. Don't reveal yourself, don't use magic - "
"You weren't complaining about my magic when it won hundreds of thousands of euros for us."
"What are you even going to do with that?" Natasha asks exasperatedly. "You know you can't take that kind of money on a plane, right?"
"You have it then," he says sulkily. "Put it in your...what do you call it? Bank account."
"SHIELD monitors my bank account," Natasha tells him. "If I randomly get a payment of half a million euros from an unknown source, they're gonna think I'm going freelance."
"Well we'll spend it then," Loki tells her. "All of it."
"Good luck," Natasha tells him. "You can't just fritter away that kind of money. Not unless you put it all on black and make it come up red."
"We'll see," Loki says, and there is nothing more from him after that. Natasha watches his chest rise and fall in the darkness until, eventually, she succumbs to sleep herself.
When she awakes, the first thing she notices is the loud hum of the air conditioner. Her face and shoulders are freezing, and she snuggles down deeper under the bedclothes, clenching her back teeth as she tries to suppress a chilly shudder. She rolls over and glares at Loki, who is quite content with the temperature of the room. He's sitting up, watching the TV with the sound turned down, a cup of coffee held against his chest.
"Turn it down," Natasha grumbles.
"You can't even hear it," Loki retorts, casting a frown in her direction.
"The air con," Natasha replies haughtily. "It's freezing."
"Oh," Loki says simply, and he gets out of bed, heading over to the control panel on the wall, and flicks the switch, the vents immediately cease their outpouring. With the humming gone, Natasha can now detect the faint dialogue of the characters on some cheesy French soap opera, and she casts her eyes in the direction of the television, watching for a moment as one character angrily storms out.
"Why did you have to make it so cold?" she groans, pulling her attention away from the TV as Loki climbs back into bed.
"Because it was hot," he says simply, then adds: "It's too hot here."
"Well go home then." She rolls over and pulls the quilt over her head, fighting the urge to shift closer to Loki in order to steal some of his body warmth.
"No," he says with a scowl. "Don't think you can keep all the fun to yourself."
"We're gonna be sitting in the sun today," she tells him, poking her head out from under the covers. "Can your fragile body handle that?"
"Yes," Loki says tartly. "It's not going to be my fragile body either. It'll be this fragile body."
There is a soft green glow, and Loki's features change with ease, his pale skin transitioning seamlessly into the smooth golden colour one might see on a surfer. His hair drains of colour, the black becoming a light brown over the course of a few moments. The structure of his face changes, his nose shortening, his jaw widening, and his eyes become the tiniest bit larger, and a little darker. Natasha wishes she could pull off such effective disguises with minimal effort, but instead of complimenting him on his talents, she shakes her head and reaches for the phone, ordering breakfast for two before she collapses back down onto the mattress and buries herself under the bedding.
When breakfast arrives, they eat in bed, the room not having lost quite enough of its air conditioned chill for Natasha's liking, and once they're done, she gives Loki orders to ready himself for the pool, while she heads to bathroom to get changed into her bathing suit. They step outside a quarter of an hour later, the sun beating down on Natasha's shoulders, warming her through, and Loki immediately heads for the sun beds positioned under the crisp navy parasols.
"Drink?" Natasha asks quietly, gearing herself up to take on her cover once more. She's made do with wide smiles and an accentuated sway of her hips so far, but now she has to speak to other people, something which she tries to avoid even at the best of times.
"Please," Loki says, opening his newspaper to the centre pages and feigning interest. He's under strict instructions to give her minimal attention today. She needs to win over Sveltzer somehow, and the beautiful neglected wife card comes up trumps every time.
Natasha sets her beach bag down by the foot of her lounger, then saunters over to the bar, her eyes scanning the poolside for any sign of Sveltzer. He's nowhere to be seen, still probably sore from his downfall at the roulette table. It's of little consequence however, and so Natasha lowers her sunglasses and bats her eyelashes at the bartender who comes scuttling over to assist her. She orders a couple of virgin cocktails (she might be in Monte Carlo but it's still morning), tells the bartender her room number, then makes idle conversation with him as he pours a variety of fruit juices into the cocktail shaker.
"You like working here?" she asks, flashing him a smile as she leans heavily against the counter, chin resting on the heel of her palm.
"Very much, madame," the bartender replies politely as he fetches a couple of glasses. "Before, I worked in a bar in Lyon, but it is much nicer here."
"Well I'm glad to hear it," Natasha replies. She slides her finger along the stem of the first glass while the bartender prepares the second. She glances across to Loki, his face hidden by the stupidly large pages of the broadsheet newspaper, the tips of his toes just catching a strip of sunlight not blocked out by the parasol.
"Et voila," the bartender says, setting down the second cocktail in front of Natasha. "Have a wonderful day, madame."
"I'll try," Natasha replies, nodding pointedly towards Loki and rolling her eyes. The bartender smiles sympathetically, but keeps his mouth firmly closed, not daring to say a word against any hotel guest, no matter how pretty the bait may be.
She returns to the loungers and sets the drinks down on the small wooden table between them. Loki doesn't say a word, and Natasha smiles inwardly. He's settling into his part rather well, and she supposes that back on Asgard he was quite used to being the entitled asshole she needs him to be today. The only difference between Loki and most of the people in this city is that they all act like they're royalty, while Loki actually is, albeit on another planet.
Natasha makes herself comfortable, the shade cast by the parasol leaving her cool. She'd rather be in the sunshine, but, she supposes, she'll attract a lot more attention in shadow, conspicuous by her distance, while everybody else is much closer to the edge of the pool, bronzed bodies glinting in the sunlight. From behind her sunglasses, her eyes keep watch, inspecting every single body artfully sprawled across the sun beds. Upon closer inspection, Natasha notes that she is the only one who's wearing a full bathing suit. Every other woman is maximising their tan, their unmarked bodies clad in skimpy bikinis. Natasha skews her lips to one side then looks across to Loki, and his magically smooth torso. No scars for him either.
He must notice her looking, because he lowers his newspaper, his eyebrows knitting together as he follows the direction of her gaze.
"I can hide yours too if you like. It'll still be there but no one will be able to see it."
"Hide what?" she asks, frowning at him.
"Your scar," he says obviously, his tone kept low to avoid attracting attention. "If that's the only reason you wear that thing then you're being stupid." He gestures vaguely to the bathing suit then returns his attention to his newspaper.
"And the solution is for you to do some magic so I can show a little more skin?"
"No," Loki says, sighing heavily. "If it bothers you I can do some magic. But if you did suddenly get a surge of confidence then it would be unwise to flaunt a bullet wound in front of Sveltzer. He'd ask questions."
Natasha sinks back against her lounger, staring straight ahead. She knows he's right, that she can't afford to let Sveltzer get the faintest whiff of what she does for a living, but it's been her stance, ever since she incurred the injury, to cover it up in order to avoid questions from anybody. She needs to blend in, not be the girl with the bullet wound, but it might be easier to hide it, to not have to plan around it on assignments like this.
"How d'you even know I have it?"
"We live together," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "We share a bed. You fidget in your sleep. I've seen it. You've seen mine." He says the last bit with an almost accusing tone, patently ignoring the fact that when she saw his scar, he lifted up his shirt to make a point.
"Don't you ever think about hiding yours?" Natasha asks.
Loki shakes his head.
"Why not?"
"It's a reminder," he tells her quietly, fingering the pages of the newspaper absentmindedly, his eyes fixed on an advertisement for life insurance.
"Of what?"
"Of what I'm prepared to - " he stops abruptly, then turns the page and gives the newspaper a crisp shake. Natasha turns around slowly, under the premise of getting her beach bag, and her eyes land on Sveltzer, towel thrown over his shoulder, his chest bared as he waltzes alongside the pool, his eyes trailing over the bodies of sunbathing women until he finds a free lounger. He dumps his towel and his sunglasses down, then strides back towards the pool, his dive into the crystal clear water heading dangerously close to belly flop territory. The surface of the water ripples, waves splashing up against the topmost tiles of the pool wall, before Sveltzer resurfaces, his dark hair saturated and slicked back.
"What an asshole," Natasha murmurs softly, so only Loki can hear. He doesn't say anything, but smirks behind his newspaper, eventually turning the page and shaking the creases out once more. Natasha reaches out for her cocktail and takes a sip, watching Sveltzer as he splashes around, swimming lengths with a clumsy, inefficient front crawl that makes far more commotion than is necessary, though she is sure he thinks it's very impressive. When he stops for a breather after a measly three lengths, he glances over at Natasha. He flashes her a smile, which she returns, despite the crawling sensation sweeping over her skin, and then Sveltzer decides that he has rested long enough, because he kicks off from the pool's edge, his hands clawing at the water and feet kicking wildly as he makes his way to the opposite end of the pool. Every so often he glances at Natasha, perhaps to check to see if she's still watching him. She is, and she makes no secret of that fact.
It's not too long before he slows up, and not long after that before he gives up entirely, and clambers out of the pool, his swim shorts dripping wet and clinging to his legs, giving Natasha far too much of an idea of what lies beneath. She sighs, and reclines on the lounger, glancing over to Loki, who must surely be getting tired of holding that damn newspaper in front of his face by now. Regardless, he carries on, staring at the pages, his brow furrowed as though deep in concentration.
"You should probably go swimming," Loki says quietly. "The old lecher will likely appreciate that."
"What makes you think he's a lecher?" Natasha asks, holding her cocktail glass in front of her mouth as she speaks, before taking a sip.
"The fact that he's eyeing up another man's wife," Loki says with a hint of impatience. "And the fact that his pathetic display is all for your benefit. I can smell his desperation from all the way over here."
Natasha has to fight the smile that wants to form on her face, but instead says in a soft purr: "Desperation, by Yves St Laurent. Bring out the lecher in you."
Loki quickly turns his snigger into a cough, and she's glad that her joke has gone down well. She supposes the only upside to him watching so much damn TV is the fact that she can make pop culture references and he will understand them. It's like the opposite of speaking to Thor. She doesn't tell him that however, it'll either earn her a satisfied smirk or will go down like a lead balloon, and she's not prepared to risk it.
"You should go swimming though, if you want to lure him in," Loki says when he recovers. "I've seen it on the TV. They make it slow and they play horrible music whenever a girl gets out of a swimming pool." He scrunches his nose in distaste and turns the page of his newspaper. He's not got very much left, so she should probably get a move on, but she can't help smiling when she wonders just how he would react to an episode of Baywatch.
Natasha downs the last of her cocktail in the most elegant way possible, then rises gracefully from her lounger, removing her sunglasses and setting them on the wide, wooden armrest. She heads over to the pool, turning around when she reaches the shiny chrome ladder and descending carefully into the water. It's cooler than expected, the hot sun not having had quite enough time to warm the water through, but she swims a very slow length of the pool, her breast stroke steady and measured, propelling her forward in short bursts. She can feel Sveltzer's eyes on her, but doesn't acknowledge him. When she reaches the edge of the pool, she turns and kicks off in the opposite direction, maintaining her slow and steady progress. She can only keep up the snail pace for a few more lengths however, because she soon becomes bored, and when she kicks off for the next length, she submerges herself beneath the water, her hands pointing straight ahead of her as she glides along like a torpedo, then sweeps her hands back towards her hips, sending her smoothly forward another few metres.
She continues to cut neatly through the water for another few lengths, only occasionally surfacing for breath, but then, with Sveltzer's eyes glued to her every move, she feels she has achieved all that she can, and climbs up the pool ladder, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders. She heads over to the loungers and picks up her towel, placing it around her shoulders.
"You want another drink?" she asks Loki.
"No thanks," he says, not even lowering the newspaper to look at her when she speaks. She rolls her eyes, uncertain of how closely Sveltzer is watching her, but determined to lay every tiny brick of the unsteady foundation of her and Loki's faked strained relationship. She pulls the towel off of her shoulders and tosses it onto the lounger, then dons her sunglasses before waltzing over to the bar, the bartender smiling widely as she approaches.
"Same again, Madame?" he asks, reaching for a couple of cocktail glasses.
"Just the one if you don't mind," Natasha tells him airily. "He's being miserable." She pouts after saying the last word, looking over the tops of her sunglasses at him.
"Ah," the bartender says with a knowing smile. "He does not like the sunshine?"
"No," Natasha replies in a sulky tone. "I don't see the point in coming all the way to Monte Carlo just to stay inside. It's beautiful out here."
"It certainly is."
Natasha turns at the sound of a smooth, deep voice, and she can detect a faintest hint of a Virginia accent, though he does his best to hide it. She tries not to smirk at him, despite his predictability and audacity. Instead, she flashes a bright smile.
"Well hello there, Mr…" she trails off, offering a limp hand to him.
"Sveltzer," he says, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips. He presses a kiss to her knuckles and Natasha offers him another smile, simultaneously trying to force her brain to ignore the residue of spittle on the back of her hand. She doesn't even have any clothes to surreptitiously wipe it on, her bathing suit leaving her vulnerable in more ways than one.
"Mr Sveltzer," she says softly. "It's a pleasure."
"Likewise, and please, call me Max," he replies, his thin lips twisting into a smile.
"Alicia," she says, smiling shyly. "Alicia Jensen."
"Quite the win you had at the roulette table last night, Alicia."
"Oh well," Natasha says, curling a damp lock of hair around her finger. "My husband is quite the gambler…always seems to get all the luck."
"Tell me about it," Sveltzer replies grimly, shaking his head. He leans against the bar then addresses the bartender. "I'll have a vodka martini."
"Of course, Monsieur," the bartender replies, putting the finishing touches on Natasha's cocktail and sliding it across to her before he begins work on the embarrassingly pathetic James Bond tribute. Natasha briefly wonders whether Sveltzer does this at every bar, desperately waiting for the day when the bartender will ask him if he prefers it shaken or stirred.
"Sorry about that," Natasha says shyly. "He can get a little carried away. I'll try to keep him at the poker table tonight, if you'd prefer."
Sveltzer shrugs, turning his body so his back is against the bar, his chest catching the heat of the sun rays. "Doesn't bother me," he says. "I lost a pittance last night, I won't miss it."
"Well that's good to know," Natasha says. She picks up her glass and takes a delicate sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving Sveltzer.
"You know," Sveltzer says, his eyebrows drawing together in a scrutinising frown as he stares across the resort. "I haven't seen him put down that newspaper all day. If I had a wife like you, I wouldn't be looking at the darn sports pages."
Natasha looks across to Loki, who is indeed making the most of the final section of the newspaper, his eyes trailing lazily across text that she is certain he has read half a dozen times. "He likes to bet on horses," she sighs. "And cricket." When Sveltzer looks a little confused, she adds: "It's a British thing. Kinda like baseball I guess, but terribly dull." She's getting sick of the sound of her own sing song voice now, and the fluttering of eyelashes that has to accompany every other sentence. Sveltzer nods regardless, his eyes still fixed on Loki, until eventually, he turns his gaze back to her.
"Maybe he's more of an evening guy," he says with a shrug. "Could hardly keep his hands off of you last night."
"Well," Natasha says, looking down at her feet and skewing her lips to one side. "He likes to show me off. You know, to make a point."
"He's not like that normally?" Sveltzer asks, and although she is still looking down at the ground, she can sense him move closer, her personal space invaded just that little bit.
"No, don't be silly," Natasha replies, injecting the slightest crack of insecurity into her voice. "Why would have time for me? He can't leave me because Daddy would ruin him, so he keeps me happy in some ways, but…he keeps his distance in the only way that matters."
"How would Daddy ruin him?" Sveltzer asks in a low, curious voice. "Did he not make his own way to the top?"
"Oh no he did," Natasha says, looking up at Sveltzer and nodding enthusiastically. "Daddy wouldn't have let me marry a tagalong. But Daddy's on the board of a lot of companies, and you know what this world's like - everybody knows everybody. You get on the bad side of somebody like Daddy and you're a goner."
"Your father sounds like a very powerful man," Sveltzer says, puffing his chest out with a hint of admiration. "What exactly does he do?"
"Oh I wouldn't know anything about that," Natasha says with a coy smile. "Business, honey, he used to say. All I know is that it paid for a lot of nice things when I was growing up. And now, Lucas pays for my nice things, so I'm doing okay. Can't complain." She smiles, but lets it drop quickly, hoping that Sveltzer is astute enough to infer that it is not money she seeks, but something else entirely.
Sveltzer is apparently satisfied with her vague answer, because he nods in approval, then turns to pick up his freshly mixed drink. He takes sip of it and smacks his lips together satisfactorily. "Well," he says, standing up straight and squaring his shoulders. "I should let you get back to your husband, even if he doesn't know a good thing when he sees it, but I suppose I'll see you at the casino tonight?"
"I suppose you will," Natasha replies, allowing a grin to spread across her face. Sveltzer departs, and after he's made it halfway to his lounger, she sees his head twitch, just a fraction, as though he had almost given in to the temptation to look back at her, but just managed to contain himself at the last minute. Natasha bids a cheerful goodbye to the bartender and heads back towards Loki. She settles down on the lounger, frowning up at the parasol that is preventing her from getting dry, then looks across at Loki.
"Daddy will ruin me, will he?" he asks quietly.
"I'll ruin you if you don't keep your cover," Natasha replies darkly, wiggling her toes and taking advantage of the small amount of sunlight that is falling across her.
"I'm sure you will," Loki replies. He closes his newspaper and folds it in half, then gets up, stretching his arms high above his head before he relaxes again, looking down at Natasha critically. "Come on, wife," he says, swatting the side of her thigh with his newspaper until she lets out a huff and swings her legs off the side of the lounger.
"We're going inside already?" she asks, pouting her lips in an exaggerated way as she gathers up her beach bag and towel.
"Yes," Loki says, casting his eyes towards the opposite side of the pool and allowing them to linger on the form of a pretty brunette. Natasha's not sure whether he's keeping up the lousy husband act or whether that's the real Loki allowing himself some enjoyment, but her mouth automatically drops into a sour expression, and Sveltzer catches her eye. Before he can communicate any kind of meaning however, Loki is guiding her back towards the hotel doors, his hand resting at the small of her back.
"You think you can take him down tonight?" Loki murmurs as they cross the marble floor on their way to the elevator.
"Oh yeah," Natasha says, her stomach tingling with anticipation. "I can take him down."