“Look at me,” she exclaimed for anyone who might be listening.“I’m about to turn into a prune.”
He laughed loudly.
“Oh, I left the my night cream in the bag.”
He averted his eyes while she shed everything but her bra and panties.Then she reached for one of the thick robes on the stand near the tub and wriggled into it.As she left the bathroom, she palmed the nail clippers from the manicure set on the vanity and slipped her night cream into her pocket.
She walked casually to the pair of roller bags, angled her body to block the camera in the peephole, and crouched on her heels in front of Omar’s bag.With three quick snips, she used the fingernail clippers to clip the stitching that had sewn the covcom into the bag's interior lining.
She palmed the small, flat device like a magician.Then she tucked it into her robe pocket, removing the night cream in the process, and stood.She turned slowly so the cameras could pick up the jar of night cream in her hand.And then she returned to the bathroom.
In her absence, Omar had switched his pants for an oversized bath sheet, which he’d wrapped low around his hips.Her gaze settled on his defined lower abs.
“There’s another robe,” she offered faintly.
“I’m good.”His smile was sly and maybe just a touch cocky.
She shook her head and passed him the covcom.They huddled near the tub, their backs to the camera while he powered the device on.The tiny screen lit up and he began to type quickly on the minuscule keyboard:
Veep son on board.2 USSS agents.Cameras everywhere.
Marielle leaned against him, her head on his shoulder so she could see the screen.
The response took less than a minute:
ABORT.TOO RISKY.EXTRACT YOURSELVES ASAP.
They exchanged a look.Then she reached for the device:
Extraction riskier at this point.Will touch base closer to Marseille.
She handed it back to him.He powered it down and left the bathroom.
She remained out of view of the camera while she swapped her clothes for the silk shorts and a camisole the equipment team had packed for her.Then she stood under the camera and made a show of brushing her teeth and lathering on her face cream.
When she turned out the light and walked into the bedroom, Omar stood at the foot of the bed.He wore soft sleep pants and a thin t-shirt and stared at the bed like it was made of nails.
“Well,” he choked out, “here we are.”
“Yep.”
The bed was enormous—a king, maybe even a California king.Whatever it was, there was more than enough space for two people to sleep without touching.But the cameras were watching.
“Which side do you want?”Omar asked under his breath.
“I usually sleep on the right.”
“Perfect.I sleep on the left.”He paused.“Do you, uh, do you want to—I mean, should we?—”
“Cuddle?”she supplied.
“For the cameras,” he said quickly.“Oscar and Margaux would probably?—”
“Yes.For the cameras.”
They climbed in from their respective sides.The sheets were impossibly soft, the fluffy pillows, cloud-like.Under other circumstances, she would have melted into them as if she’d gone boneless.Instead, she lay rigid on her back, hyperaware of Omar doing the same thing beside her.
“This is ridiculous,” she whispered.
