“I need discretion, my man. Let’s not make this a big deal.” I lean against the wall and pull the remaining notes out of my wallet. “What if I double it?”
His eyes widen at the sight.
Jackpot.
Everyone has a price. Even if they don’t know what it is.
I slide the money into his waistcoat pocket, return my wallet to my pocket, and grab the two bottles of wine off his tray. I tuck one under my arm to retrieve my door key and place it on the card reader, then stop just as the door opens.
“In fact, while I’m at it, I’ll take the food too,” I say, sticking my foot in the door to stop it from closing. I set the two bottles down and return to grab the plate from the trolley.
If Christopher’s gonna deprive me of him, fine. But I’ll be damned if I’m the only one who is deprived tonight.
8.Christopher
Saturday
Ican’t tell if the pounding in my head is from consuming too much alcohol or the fact that Stephen hasn’t stopped talking since Alexander came to my room last night. It feels like the Spanish inquisition, only with an Irish accent.
How do I know Alexander?
Why was he knocking at my door at 2 a.m.?
Do I think he’s gay?
His questions come so quickly that I don’t have time to answer.
At one point last night, he even fired up Grindr to see if Alexander might be on there as a headless torso. He flung his phone on the bedside table when it turned out the closest guy was roughly two hundred meters away—close enough to potentially be in the hotel—but far enough away to confirm it wasn’t him.
Stephen’s disappointment is written all over his face. I have to swallow mine down and push it aside. I’m kicking myself for agreeing to let Stephen come back to my room when he didn’t want to call it a night—especially after I’d had to miss theprevious night due to my travel issues. His sad face had pulled at my heartstrings.
Guilt will be the death of me.
Now Alexander probably thinks Stephen is some random guy I brought back for a pump and dump, or worse, my boyfriend. My stomach churns at the thought.
Even in his sleep, Stephen was talking in between snores, such is his penchant for chatting away whether anyone is listening or not. All of this leaves me hungover, grumpy, and lethargic as we make our way down to the atrium for breakfast.
By the time we sit down, Stephen has finally stopped talking my ear off. Not to give his vocal cords a break, but to begin chewing, if that’s what one would call it, the pile of buffet food on his plate. He’s loaded his tray with a pile of sausages, bacon, baked beans, fruit, a muffin, and two fried eggs. A slice of smoked salmon dangles off the side.
I slouch into the padded chair, pushing my sunglasses up my nose and pulling down my baseball cap, hoping it will hide the fact that I am on tenterhooks, waiting to see if Alexander will make his way into the dining room. Just the smell of Stephen’s food is enough to make me dry heave, let alone the taste of the Taittinger champagne he insisted on both of us having.
I rub the side of my cheek.
God knows how I’m going to make it through my sister’s hen do later.
“I wonder if he’ll be down here for breakfast,” Stephen says between mouthfuls. He scans the room like a hunter on the prowl.
“I doubt it. Especially not with vultures like you trying to swoop in and pick him up,” I say. I shake my head as Stephen reaches for one of the strawberries on his plate and chucks it at me. He misses, hitting the woman at the table next to us.
Stephen ducks his head, hiding underneath the spare baseball cap I loaned him, leaving me to face her glare.
He had been insistent that he come down to breakfast wearing what he wore last night. Stephen prefers to call it the stride of pride, rather than the walk of shame, but I insisted he change into a clean black T-shirt and shorts. I admire his confidence in wearing what he does. But there’s only so much embarrassment I can take, and last night’s attire was not appropriate for a hotel like this.
I twist my neck slightly and see the look of disdain from the woman he’d hit, who is now moving the strawberry onto her empty plate. She and her companion get up to leave.
“I’m so sorry—he’s on a trial run in society, and clearly, it’s not going well.”
My tentative smile dies as the woman shakes her head and walks off. Stephen kicks my ankle under the table, forcing my attention back to him.
