“That’s pathetic,” I add. “Not the stalking. I’ll give you credit for that. What’s pathetic is the I hate her nonsense, because really, what the fuck?” I point at his phone.
He narrows his eyes. “You’re one to judge.”
Hunter exhales and rubs at his temple. “This is exhausting. How long do we have left on this flight? I’m starting to get a headache, and I’m already in a foul mood as it is.”
I snort, because when does he not have a damn headache.
Silence settles for a moment.
The steward passes again, and I wave him off. I don’t need another drink. I need to land, and I need it now.
Isaak sighs. “You know this might end badly.”
“What?” I ask.
“All of it,” Hunter says.
I grin into my glass.
“Good,” I say. “I was getting bored.”
I look in Arlo’s direction as he stares down at his phone.
“Care to share?” I say. “Seeing as it’s my woman on your screen as well.” As the words leave my mouth, I toss the lighter onto the table, and my hand itches for the blade.
“I actually zoomed in so only Ophelia fills the screen. I have no interest in another woman whatsoever.” He almost looks affronted that I would think otherwise.
Chapter 28
Octavia
The driver unloads our bags and brings them inside one by one.
The air is cool but not cold. The place does not feel lived in, but it is clearly cared for, which makes sense given that this is Adelaide’s family chalet and her people will have cleaned and stocked it in preparation for our arrival.
We disperse without speaking. I grab my bag and head upstairs toward the room I occupy every year. I drop my luggage and immediately head back down to haul up the shopping bags.
Once everything is inside, I pause in the doorway and take it in properly.
The room is spacious, centred on a king sized bed with a silk duvet that looks very comfortable. Two bedside tables sit on either side. There is a vanity set against one wall, and the carpet underfoot is thick and soft. Two doors lead off the space, one to the en-suite and one to the wardrobe.
I head for the bathroom. I turn on the shower, undress quickly, and step under the water the moment it heats.
I exhale as the water hits my skin, the tension easing as the travel finally washes away. I stay under the stream longer than usual because I froze out there, everything still numb, my fingers, my toes, even my nose, despite the hat, the gloves, and all the time spent in and out of the shops.
The temptation is too strong, and after washing and conditioning my hair, I rinse and start scrubbing my body with shower gel, unable to stop.
My skin turns raw, and the cuts on my thighs begin to bleed from the force of it, but I don’t care.
It feels grounding. I know it is wrong, but it feels good all the same, and whatever gets you moving, I suppose.
Eventually, I manage to stop myself. I wrap a towel around my body and another around my hair, leave the bathroom, and once back in my room, I dig my toiletry bag out of my luggage and apply serum, then moisturiser. I hiss when it touches my skin.
It has barely been a few hours in this country, yet the cold has already bitten. My face feels dry and irritated. I swipe on some lip balm and feel marginally better.
I find a hair dryer in one of the drawers and plug it in, drying my hair as I brush it out, then going over it again. I clip a small section back so it stays out of my eyes.
I take some clothes out of my bag and get dressed, pulling on a pair of fluffy trousers, a slim long sleeved top, and thick socks. Then I move to the wardrobe and look around.
