Here we go.
“Only thinking of myself? Robin dear, I’m thinking of us all. Wouldn’t want secrets like this just being available for anyone to find.” Uncurling the long strip, she holds it up and theatrically clears her throat before reading. “Mr Wilson has been a very bad boy. He slept with a married journalist to kill a story and ruined her marriage.”
Well I certainly feel irrationally icky, and foolish.
Snatching the strip of paper, a dull ringing starts in my ears as I look over the cursive, handwritten text. My skin itches–burns really, making me fidget and want out of these fluffy socks.Maybe they're trapping my circulation, making the kitchen rise rapidly in temperature. I need out of these fucking socksnow.
“Mate, I thought yours would be worse.” Bran mutters under his breath, doing nothing to slice the tension.
I pull at the t-shirt that now feels scratchy, the neckline tight and all I want to do is go back to my hotel room, take it off and scream. I want to shriek so loud because fawning over a man who would do that, is only going to get me hurt. Wren moves at the same time I do, but I edge away from his touch and don’t look at him. The sense of safety he gave me shatters.
“I’m going to bed.” I croak, feeling small, empty and so fucking tired. Also a little butt hurt, but I can’t really think about whether I’m being ridiculous. I hear shoes scraping against tile, but I’m already leaving. Willow's voice is gentle but someone cuts her off and of course an argument ensues. It always does with her. Floating up the stairs, my feet ghost each step back to my room, but instead of turning left, I take a sharp right in hope I can find a home comfort. Finding the correct door, I gently knock a couple of times and wait. There is some shuffling, before her familiar blonde head comes into view. Lil’s skin is blotchy and makeup less, but she still has a clean glow to her face that just never goes away. We immediately hug and I feel worse for not coming to make sure she was ok sooner.
“Can I stay in here with you tonight?”
“Oh Darling, Of course you can.”
Chapter thirteen
Robin
LATEmorning light dances along the almond carpet of the corridor, the trees closest to the windows swaying to make the streams flicker. It’s warm on my bare feet and even with the windows open around the hotel, there is no relieving breeze. I stare at specs of dust as they levitate in the air, disappearing into the shadows as I pass bedroom doors and carry on past the staircase.
Lil kicked me out of her room pretty early because she didn’t want to ruin her routine, and I was not going to tear my limbs apart to join in with yoga. I’d probably wallow in child's pose–at least attempt downward dog, completely not in the mood. She didn’t elaborate on our missing phones and once I saw clearly how exhausted she looked, we’d both curled around pillows and fallen to sleep. I don’t remember my dream, but I’d slipped on blood soaked pebbles and awoke when my younger self smashed through the floor into free fall. My nightmares were always the same, but it had been such a long time since I’d been plagued by that one. I’m clearly overwhelmed, my subconscious smarter than my denial so of course I’d start to have sombre dreams. Adepressing sentiment, but everyone seemed to die around me.Us.Phin, Lil and I. What had we done in a previous life to keep experiencing such hardships? Did I need to promise my first born or sacrifice my soul to make it stop?
Before I can freak myself out imagining demons hexing my naked body whilst I sleep unprotected, my steps pick up as I count the room numbers down in my head, until I come to the one opposite Wren’s room. I’m very much ignoring all feelings from yesterday, especially last night. Fresh embarrassment washes over me and I bury my face into the crook of my arm, using the pressure to halt any tears trying to fall. My eyes sting, but it’s better than drawing attention with my sad wails.
Miscommunication is not my bag, but what makes me feel so naive is how I truly believe I wasn’t misunderstanding him at all. Wren has been nothing but caring–a shamelessly flirting yes, but eagerly awaiting me to reciprocate. I can't forget the way his entire face lights up whenever I touch him first, like knowing I'm choosing him back means everything. I don’t think I could bear it if this was just a game to him, which is insane because I've only known him for two bloody days! It’s the only logic my brain can sabotage me with, because gorgeous rockstars don’t pick women like me. A kinder voice in my mind tries to tell me that Phoenix wouldn’t love him so much if he was a villain in disguise, but my inner saboteur has the louder voice. If Wren's secret is real, I want nothing to do with a man like that.
I get that itchy feeling again and want out of my own skin, the bodice of my sun dress feeling too tight. Brushing my clammy palms down the soft fabric, I play with the skirt pleat and steady my breathing. I just need to collect myself, spend some time alone to figure out who I am again. That's the thing about being here in Nightingale; I’m starting to forget my reality.
I don’t know if the door will be unlocked, but for once luck is on my side and the wood groans as I push it open. The bedroomthat was for Corbin and Aya has deep steel blue walls, rough dull toned wood and has a rogue sea quality to everything. The bed is made, with a mixture of blue, white and stone scatters; a chunky knit blanket drapes over a rattan storage box at the end. There's matching drawers, lampshades and baskets with more blankets in. It’s masculine but cosy, well put together but homely. What really catches my attention is the large landscape painting above the bed of the sea in its wild glory. White paint mists over the waves crashing onto the shore, each stroke with the brush sharing a different shade of blue. It fits so well with the room, like the guys centered everything around this piece.
I don’t spend long looking over anything else in the room, there isn’t any sign of life and well, it hits me that there won’t be. I don’t recognise any of the remaining luggage being his and before I can think better, I walk over to where a suitcase sits on top of the drawers and flick back the lid. Makeup products and women's clothing greets me, causing a little indent to appear between my brows as I frown. It’s weird that Aya would leave without taking all of her stuff. I overheard Cardinal say some of her belongings had gone, but this suitcase looks fully packed.
Feeling unnerved slightly, I flick the lid back into place and pull the red card out of my bra cup.The reason I’m here in the first place.
A retreat where ripples meet the shore,
Its walls remain in whisper lore.
I look over the clue again and hope I've got it right. At first I’d thought of the lake house, an obvious bet so it would be too easy. The lake house is a restaurant not a place to stay, so I continued thinking of other possibilities till I remembered this art piece and the sea themed room.Its walls remain.Art hung on walls and well, you whisper in bedrooms. It was just a theory, but better to help find all the secrets then sit around moping becauseI couldn’t trust my erratic feelings. This entire thing with Wren was coming on quick and hot. Too quick. No sane person threw away their boundaries for a guy they only just met. It wouldn’t be like dating Steve from down the shops; Wren was a public figure. A celebrity, with a crazed fan base of women who picked apart everything about his life. I already let four star reviews on Goodreads tear me apart, I wouldn’t stand a chance seeing what strangers thought of me.
Ending my pity party, I lean over the bed with my knee pressed onto the pillows, running my finger under the picture frame. Nothing falls out from behind it and carefully I pull it away from the wall, peering at the back but there isn’t a red envelope.
“Bloody hell.” I sigh, certain that was going to be the right hiding place.
WASTING no time, I quietly close the door and move back down the way I came. There is a beach painting in one of the other rooms–Cardinals to be precise, next to my own.
“No Darling, unfortunately they’re all still a miss. I don’t want to think ill of anyone here, but someone’s clearly taken them because I know I definitely put them all in my wardrobe.” Lily calls down the stairs as her sandals hit the landing step. I don’t know which guest she's talking to, but her voice in the silence of upstairs has me rearing back, bumping the wall. “Jesus Robin, why are you lurking around up here?”
“I was not lurking! You fucking scared me.”
She clicks her tongue like she usually does when I swear, something years at a prestigious boarding school couldn’t bore out of me. Sometimes I forget even though our families lived together in London, my Aunts who I lived with were Northern. My Mum was too, meeting my Dad at university–the only tidbit of information she ever gave me about him.
I cross my arms, returning to her conversation because it’s more than what I got out of her last night about our phones. “Do you think we should be worried?”
“Starling said not to worry. It could be completely unrelated to…” She stops talking and I see her throat bob.It could be completely unrelated to Corbin’s death.
