The door opened, and I glanced up from the porcelain bowl, gaze finally on the accursed mirror. My eyes crashed with Whit’s, his tall presence behind me. I spun around and threw myself into his arms. He made a noise of surprise and kicked the door shut behind him as his arms wrapped around my waist. His scent enveloped me, fresh air and the hint of sun-warmed citrus. He smelled like a long traveling day.
“You’re back,” I murmured against the soft linen of his shirt. Another blue hue that complemented his eyes.
“I’m back,” he confirmed. “Was that ever in question?”
“You didn’t write.”
“There wasn’t time,” he murmured. Whit pulled far enough away so that he could look down into my face, his own expression clouded. He studied me intently. “You’ve been crying.”
“A little.”
Tension gathered across his brow. “Right. I can handle this.”
I blinked, confused, but he’d stepped away and yanked open the door. Because he had only just returned from Philae, I knew what he must have discovered and how it had impacted not only him but Abdullah and my uncle. Still, when Whit raised his voice, I let out a startled gasp.
“What thehellare you doing here?”
I rushed out of the water closet, gaping and carefully avoiding the tall stack of trunks. I’d never heard that tone from him. This wasn’t anger; it wasn’t cold—this was scathing contempt at its most profound capacity. I didn’t think him capable of it.
“Whitford Simon Hayes.”
My husband swung his head around to look at me. He appeared astonished to hear his full name out of my mouth. But when Isadora loudly cleared her throat, he fixed a glare at her. “I asked you a question. What thebloodyhell are you doing here?”
“What are you?” Isadora countered, her cool composure intact, but her words sounded threadbare. As if she’d been crying while I hid in the water closet. My heart gave a strong tug, as if she’d pulled on it herself. My protective instincts flared.
“This ismyroom,” Whit said.
“No, Inez sleeps here.”
There was a long silence. I could guess at Whit’s thoughts. The rueful twist of his lips gave him away. Neither of us had publicly announced our marriage to the people we knew here, and I hadn’t prepared myself to answer the complicated questions that came with the revelation. But the truth was bound to come out, even some of the staff at the hotel would have guessed. Many of them had helped me transfer rooms.
“She’s my wife.”
Isadora gasped. “Since when?”
“We married a few days ago,” I said. “Surprise.”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Whit said, leaning against one of the towers of crates. “I’m still waiting for that answer, though.”
Isadora drew her shoulders back. “I came to Inez for help.”
“Look elsewhere,” Whit said through gritted teeth. “Maybe you canjoin your father wherever he is. No doubt sorting through all the stolen artifacts from Philae, the bastard.”
“She had nothing to do with it,” I said sharply.
“Of course she did,” Whit said.
“No,” I said calmly and then turned away from him. Isadora held herself stiffly, as if she didn’t quite believe that I’d take her side. “I’ve thought about it—you may stay with us,” I reassured her. I gestured to the small space. “It will be cramped, but we can make it work. Perhaps we can get—”
“Inez,” Whit growled.
“—a cot,” I finished loudly. I glanced at him. “You look tired.”
“I am,” Whit said. Then he pointed his index finger at Isadora. “She can’t stay here. In fact, I’m taking her to the consulate where she can be thrown into the dungeon.”
“The dungeon?” I gasped.
“Where she belongs.”
