I close my eyes.
Breathe. Everything is going to be fine.
Tomorrow we fly to New York, and everything changes.
I push off the cupboard and turn to toss my clothes in the wash.
The door opens behind me.
Before I can react, there's a body against my back, pressing me into the industrial machine. Big hands grip the metal on either side of me. His scent hits before his voice does.
"Fuck, I missed you."
"Tristan." I spin around inside the cage of his arms. "How did you?—"
"Watched her leave. Who was that?"
"Lotte. One of the live-in cleaners."
"She was here when I came to find you." His hands are already working the buttons of my shirt. "I had to wait in the fucking hallway for four minutes while she folded towels at midnight."
He says it like she was committing a felony.
"We leave tomorrow. I don't know when I'll get you alone again before everything goes down." He tugs my blouse open. "And that woman stole four minutes from me."
The anger in his voice is so disproportionate to the situation that I can't help but laugh.
He stares at me. "What's funny?"
I shake my head. "Nothing. Just…the irony. You're here, about to rail me against a washing machine, and she just called me a useless whore. I was furious, but now that I think about it?—"
Every trace of warmth drains from his face.
"She said what?"
"In Dutch. She didn't know I understood. It's fine. I handled it."
"Where did she go?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Which direction?"
"You're not going after her."
"Give me one good reason."
"Because we're twelve hours away from getting on a plane, and you murdering a housekeeper would complicate that."
He looks at me, letting out a reluctant exhale. "I hate this place."
"I know."
"I hate that people talk to you like that."
"I know."
"When we get out…" His voice drops. "No one will ever speak to you that way again. I'll make sure of it."
