I sprint back into the hallway. “Excuse me!” I call, my voice already shaking. “Has the guest in that room returned?”
The cleaner looks startled. “No. The guest checked out this morning.”
Checked out?
“What time?” I whisper.
“I—I’m not sure. The front desk would know.”
I don’t wait as I run for the elevator. When the doors open into the lobby, I rush to the desk and Paolo hurries after me.
“Lea, what’s wrong?”
“Excuse me,” I say breathlessly to the man behind the counter but he doesn’t respond.
“Mi scusi, signore, è occupato?” ?*Paolo steps in smoothly.
The man turns. “Come posso aiutarti?”?*
“He doesn’t speak English,” Paolo says gently to me. “I’ll translate.”
I nod, my throat tight. “Can you ask him if the guest from room 611 left anything behind when he checked out?”
Paolo relays the question and the receptionist types something, scanning the screen before he nods.
“Si.”
He asks for my ID, and I pull my passport from my bag and hand it to him. After he’s double checked the details with whatever is written on his monitor, he bends down and retrieves a white envelope from beneath the counter with my name written on it. My breath catches as he hands it to me and I tear it open, finding a key and a folded piece of paper inside.
The key to the apartment. — G
He came back, and I missed him.
Below the note is the address to our new home which I’d completely forgotten about given everything else that’s been going on.
I look up at Paolo, tears blurring my vision. “I need to go here,” I say, my voice trembling as I point to the address. “Now.”
“Go change,” he says immediately. “I’ll get my car. It’ll be faster than a taxi.”
I nod and race back to the elevator while he runs outside, and once I’m in my room, I pull on a grey sweatsuit and begin throwing everything I own into my suitcase. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely zip it closed.
When I double check the closet, I realize the dresses Gabriel bought me in Positano are gone, and for a split second, my stomach drops.
Did he take them back to return them? Can he erase me that easily?
But I shove the thought away because I don’t care about the dresses. I just need to know if he’s still here, in Italy, or if I’m already too late. Once everything is packed, I rush back down to the lobby and slap my room key onto the reception counter.
“I’d like to check out,” I say, breathless.
The man behind the desk nods and begins typing. I wait for him to tell me the total, bracing myself for the damage.
Instead, he simply smiles. “Grazie.”
I blink. “How much do I owe?”
“Owe?” he repeats, confused.
“Yes.” I pull out my credit card. “How much?”
