“There are no journalists here.”
“That doesn’t stop people from sending info to the media. Everyone’s a journalist these days.”
I reach for Fabiana’s hand and give it a squeeze. “Don’t worry about the one-bed thing. I’ll take the floor,” I tell her.
“No, I will,” she replies.
“Fabiana—”
“What? You’re the prince here.”
“I’m not going to sleep in a bed while you’re on the floor. It would be elitist and wrong.”
“There’s the socialist in you coming out again,” she says.
“I’ve slept on floors before.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, a hint of impatience in her voice. “It’s a big enough bed for two, Max. I think we can both survive the night.”
“Right,” I murmur.Survive.“We're both adults. We can share a bed without—" I trail off, realizing what I was about to say.
Without what, exactly? Without me wanting to kiss her again, to hold her, to tell her how she makes me feel?Without noticing how beautiful she looks even when she's drenched in the rain, worried about her grandmother?
If she knew where I was going with that, she doesn’t mention it. “We could make a wall of pillows between us,” she says, her cheeks flushing pink.
“That sounds reasonable to me.”
“It should be only one night.”
An awkward silence settles between us as Toffee sniffs every corner of the room. Her little paws click against the wooden floor, the sound far too loud in the stillness.
The bed looms in my peripheral vision like it’s taunting me.
It’s time to address the elephant in the room. The very large, very plush, double-mattress-sized elephant.
“About last night,” I begin.
“We don’t need to talk about it. Really. It’s fine.”
“I think we do.” I run a hand through my hair. “Especially now we’re here for the night. Maybe two.”
She presses her lips together, her eyes flicking briefly to the bed before darting away.
“I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of man who would…take advantage of being here with you.”
“I don’t think that,” she says, her voice soft but steady. “I’ve seen what kind of man you are, Max. Remember?”
Her words land somewhere deep in my chest, and for a second, neither of us speaks. The air hums around us, my mind darting to things I should not be thinking about.
“I’m glad,” I manage, but my voice comes out rougher than I intended.
Toffee hops onto the bed, circles once, and flops right in the middle.
“Well, it looks like the dog’s claimed Switzerland,” I say, hoping to cut the tension with a joke.
Fabiana’s lips pull into a tight smile. “You can have the left side. I’ll take the right,” she concedes.
“You sure?”
