“You have the guys, though, right?”
“I do, but I think out of anyone, you understand how deep a friendship with someone like Phoenix goes. I’ll never find that again in this lifetime.”
Now I’m smiling, because I truly do understand. My thoughts can’t seem to stir away from the shit show happening outside of our bathtub bubble. “I’m so sorry about Jay.” I say softly, laying the side of my head against his shoulder and shifting slightly onto my side between his legs.
“He’d been with us for years. Almost from the start, really. We used to pay him with beer.”
I laugh soundlessly, feeling his lip tug up slightly at the side. We lay clinging to each other in blissful silence for a while, before Wren sits me up and reaches for the nice shampoo he used on my hair before. As he turns the showerhead on again, getting the right temp, he wets my hair and runs his fingers through each strand. The scent of bubblegum and marshmallows encapsulates me. “What do you think your secret will be?” He asks, his tone unreadable, especially when I can’t see his face.
“I’ve thought about this since the murder mystery party, and I can’t think of anything. When I say I live like a retired recluse–without the cats, I’m not lying. I kept my head down in school and at university, hung out with other writers on my course and I only do yoga because I love that it’s in York Gardens. I barely party, I don’t go to clubs with Lil or Phin—I watch Jonathan Creek on repeat or Poirot reruns. As you can imagine, I read a lot, so apart from my unhealthy obsession with romantasy, there isn’t much to tell.”
“I’m not surprised in the slightest. I bet you love enemies to lovers the most.”
I scoff. “Obviously, it’s a top-tier trope.”
As he rinses my hair and tells me of what he likes to read when he gets the chance, I detach from my own secret and start tothink about the other guests. Phin's was the first and caused the biggest drama. I’ve managed to keep Cardinals to ourselves, but it would have been catastrophic if it was caught by the detectives or in fact Willow. Had Corbin known about their connection? Aya could have told him. It was obvious he’d found Lily’s out himself, yet she’d felt no shame and it was much tamer than her brother’s. Willow's could only upset Wren and his secret had been a burn on his reputation. We still hadn’t found Brans, but both of Merle’s were to definitely ruin his relationship. The end goal I assume was to cut their hotel dreams before it even started.
How had he known about the affair with his client? No doubt he had the money for the right people to dig things up, but already with one secret revealed, why nail the coffin shut with another? I went over and over each secret, the paper, the envelopes, the secret spots they were hidden. Would we have even noticed Corbin’s absence if we hadn't been looking for the next clue? The hand writing that clearly wasn't his, versus the typed secrets.
Lighting up like a Christmas tree reveal, a thread loops around a pin on my mental murder board that catalogues all events of this hellish hotel stay. “Wren, some of the secrets have been typed and some were handwritten. I’ve seen Corbin’s handwriting before—it’s not neat. He didn’t write the handwritten ones and if we found two secrets for Merle, it might mean someone swapped some out. They could have written their own, if they knew worse secrets.”
He's quiet for a long second, probably tossing over my theory. “Maybe Aya wrote them?”
“She doesn’t know Merle and she hasn’t been here to hide another secret after he found his own. Also, I really don’t think she would have agreed to the game if she knew he was going to reveal what her brother did.”
He straightens. “What did he do?”
I sigh. “It’s not my place to say, but he got into trouble when he was younger and it got swept under the rug because,hello, he’s privileged. But I really don't think he has anything to do with the murders.”
“We don’t know him, Roo.”
I want to argue I barely know him either, yet I’m sat stark naked with him in a bath whilst we look after each other. Instead, I lay back against his chest and think over any written secrets.
“I thought at the time Lily’s was pretty tame, so she may have another secret pop up too.”
“Do you reckon it’ll be bad?”
“She’d never do anything extreme. It’ll be something to do with money or she stole someone’s boyfriend.”
“So, if we connect him with the typed secrets, it means whoever wrote the others knew about Merle's affair. I can't imagine Corbin would have kept quiet if he'd known. Fuck, he would have kicked Phin down further.”
I’m vaguely aware of Wren’s tense body behind me, the way his palm is still against my stomach, but I’m too wrapped up in thinking over each guest's motive potential. Merle and Mavis both have incredibly deep reasons to want him dead when the party kicked off this weekend, but neither seem capable. Especially not when it comes to Jay.
Running through the secrets we’ve uncovered, I barely noticed his body moving or that Wren positions me to straddle his lap, until I register eyes the colour of earthy moss. His curls drip into his eyes and instinctively I push them from his forehead, trailing my finger over the tattoo of detailed leaves running into his hair line. He leans into my touch, breaking my train of thought as I just observe how breathtakingly beautiful he is. “What'syour favorite film?” he asks, his voice quiet and husky, his eyes drifting down my wet body like he won't care if I didn't answer.
“Isn’t it my turn to ask you a question?”
He gives my hips a little shake, settling both his hands on my waist. “Muse me.”
“Lucky Number Slevin,” I reply without hesitation, his eyebrows rising into his hairline. I chuckle, “Expecting me to say Little Women or something?”
“No—I was expecting you to say Clue or something by Wes Anderson. That’s a really fucking cool film.”
I nearly bounce on his lap. “I know, right! It’s such a good mystery movie. The set up, hidden identities, you’re literally wondering who the hell is he until you’re lured into a false sense of knowing what's going on,” I beam. “Plus, I always had a thing for Josh Hartnett.” I add, smirking at the way he frowns with a little green-eyed glare.
“I’m cuter than Josh Hartnett.”
I stroke his face. “That you are, Baby.”
