“Oh, you have to see the collar! It’s so adorable! I’ll go get it for you!”
Cheryl had studied the collar with the little dangling heart, intrigued. It wasn’t hard to imagine Patrick finding her curled in the middle of his bed wearing it along with the ears and tail. How often had he compared her to an angsty kitten? She could just see him running a hand down her spine. ‘Hi, pretty girl. Do you want someone to play with?’
“Try the ears!” the assistant had urged. “You’ll look so cute in them!”
Cheryl paused. “I don’t… I’m not a furry or anything.”
“I know, just try on the ears.”
As soon as she did it, she’d known she’d buy the kitten stuff. The ears just… worked on her. The way all the best outfits worked. Effortlessly. The pink brought out the gold tones in her skin and contrasted beautifully with her hair. Even discounted, the collar, ears, and tail were excruciatingly expensive, almost a hundred dollars. If Patrick didn’t like the kitten look, it would be the worst investment she’d made since that bag of coke that was ninety-nine percent baby powder. But she’d find out at the hotel if she could pluck up the courage.
They reached the plane door and Patrick handed over their passes.
“Good morning,” the handsome young attendant said. “Business class, down the carriage to your left.”
Cheryl bit her lip so she wouldn’t grin like a dork. She’d never flown anything but coach before. The chairs were so comfortable, and after they took off, the attendants kept bringing her coffee and juice and hokey-pokey ice cream. Patrick slept while she pretended to write in her journal. Really, she was going over her finances. She’d saved a little money since she and Patrick started hooking up—he kept buying all her meals—and if everything went to plan, she might have enough for an apartment deposit by April. Inner city real estate was a nightmare, but no matter how small or run down her place might be, it would be hers. No more landlords, no more rental inspections. She’d have something she’d never had before; brick and mortar security.
As the plane began its descent and they broke through the thick layer of clouds, she caught her first glimpse of Wellington. It was a clear morning and the sun was sparkling in the circular harbour and over the pretty houses embedded in high green hills. It looked like some ancient Greek metropolis. The kind of city she imagined her dad had grown up in. She took Patrick’s hand. He smiled without opening his eyes, as she wove her fingers through his. “I love you, KitKat.”
Her heart lifted so rapidly she should have boosted the 747 back into the heavens. She let herself think it: I love you too, Patrick.
Wellington airport was small but efficient. In half an hour they were wheeling their luggage past the Lord of The Rings dwarf statue.
“Do you think Kiwis are salty about The Rings of Power being filmed somewhere else?” she mused.
“Not as salty as Derek is about that whole show existing.” Patrick held up his phone. “Okay, we’ve gotta head to the taxi area. The hotel’s sent a car.”
Sure enough, a guy in a suit was waiting outside with a sign that read, ‘Patrick Normal.’
Rich people, Cheryl observed, got a lot of free shit. She thought of her handwritten budget, meticulously planned down to the dollar, then shoved it aside. Whatever came next, she was in a gorgeous city, on a beautiful spring day, with the professional footballer who was the best lover she’d ever had. Everything was more than okay.
Patrick helped the driver load their bags into the BMW and a few minutes later they had arrived at the Marionelle Hotel.
“That was fast,” she said. “Do you have to do anything football-related today?”
“Nope. I’m all yours.”
“Well, it’s almost your birthday. What did you want to do?”
He gave her a look.
“We had sex this morning,” she whispered as the driver got out and moved toward the trunk. “Give the thing a rest, Patty-Bear.”
“For now. But you wait.”
The hotel was posh, with royal blue carpets and fresh flowers everywhere. Patrick seemed right at home as they checked in and Cheryl tried to match his nonchalance. The receptionist gave them two key passes, and though she was polite, Cheryl was sure she was scrutinising her. She straightened her back and tried to smile in a way that wouldn’t make her wrinkle.
They got in the gold elevator with an older couple, who were bickering about where to have lunch. Patrick bent toward her. “Us in forty years?”
“No,” Cheryl muttered. “We’ll eat wherever I want to go, and you know it.”
He laughed. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”
Me too, she thought. And she might have said it, but the older woman was clearly eavesdropping.
Their room was huge. White walls and a bed big enough for five.
“Wow,” Cheryl said, turning on her heels. “Do you guys always stay in places like this?”
