We hear another knock. I look at him panickily. “What do I do?”
“I think you answer it?” he says.
“Ok, you hide.” I point toward the corner of the room.
“Seriously?” he asks. “We don’t need to hide from her, we are grown adults.” I glare at him. He swallows, reconsidering. “We can tell her we were watching a movie.”
I keep pointing until he finally obliges, his back up against the wall and out of view of the door as I openit. I have to hold in a gasp when I do not see Anita on the other side, but Sutton.
“Sutton,” I say, trying to hide my stunned expression. “Hi.”
She’s in a pair of crisp white pants and a coordinating linen blazer with a pink scarf tied chicly around her neck. I feel self-conscious about the thinness of my robe and my sex hair. Isn’t she supposed to be back in London? “Sorry to just drop in like this,” she says. “I felt the need to apologize in person for throwing you to the wolves like I did the other night.”
“In bocca al lupo,” I mutter. Sutton looks at me with a quizzical expression. “It means good luck in Italian, but it literally translates toin the mouth of the wolf.” I smooth my hair with my hands. “I’m just realizing how apt of an expression it is, that’s all.”
Sutton stares at me blankly for another moment then blinks. “Right, well, will you let me buy you a drink? I fear we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot and it doesn’t sit well with me.”
I study her face, which is so completely frozen by Botox, I wouldn’t be able to tell if she had any emotions about her and Benito’s breakup becoming officially official. “I thought you’d be on your way home by now,” I say.
Sutton shakes her head. “Not quite. Please let me make it all up to you before I go.”
She’s up to something, that much is clear. But I’m kind of curious as to what her play is. “Sure. Why not.”
She grins. “Good. I know I’ve sprung this on you, so why don’t I give you time to freshen up”—she eyes my appearance—“and I’ll meet you at Bar Musa in an hour?”
I close the door behind her and wait until I hear her footsteps fade down the hall. I turn to Benito, who sheepishly creeps out of his hiding space. “The fuck was that?” I ask.
“You don’t have to go,” Benito says. He walks over to the bed and sits, propping himself up with his right arm. The vein in his forearm pops, and I resist the urge to run my fingers up it. “She’s like a bee: You ignore her, she goes away.”
I sit next to him. “Or you let it sting you and it dies later, learning an important lesson about karma.”
Benito raises his eyebrows at me. “Jesus.”
I tap his hand with mine and stand up. “I need to see what she’s up to. Maybe it’ll help.”
“Help?” Benito asks.
I run a brush through my hair. “With La Musa, with your father, with everything.” I lean and plant a quick kiss on Benito’s lips and shoo him out of my room.
I change into a pair of wide-legged jeans with a white bodysuit. Most of my clothes are thrifted or at least bought on sale, important during my campaign considering my politics, but now I wish I’d taken up the offer from the fancy Hollywood stylists who offered their services to me. I don’t want to feel inferior to Sutton. I have no reason to.
When the clock tower chimes 6 p.m., I find Sutton already on the patio of Bar Musa, sipping on aspritz. She stretches her hand into the air and waves at me as I enter. “Izzy! Good. For a moment there, I wondered if you’d changed your mind. What’s your drink?” She reaches her long arm back into the air and gets the attention of a server. He happily bounces over to us.
“I’ll take a glass of the pinot grigio,” I say.
Sutton shakes her head. “No, Izzy. Please, we’re celebrating.”
“We are?”
“It’s on me,” she says with a wink.
I rack my brain for a suitable replacement, but truthfully, I just wanted wine. “Glass of prosecco, then,” I say.
Sutton nearly jumps up. “Brilliant idea. Make it a bottle,” she says to the server. “Due bicchieri.”
“What are we celebrating?” I ask.
Sutton twirls her straw in her drink and finishes the last few sips. “Hm?”
