‘I don’t know. We’re just gingers. Pale and uninteresting.’ I could tell him so many names I’ve been called. Ginger. Carrot top. Casper, thanks to my pale skin. But I won’t say any of this because it’s as tedious as it is marginalising. Or it would be if I let it define me anymore. I know I’m never going to worry Scarlett Johansson, but I can bear to stand my own reflection. I suppose I’m passably pretty, even if one of the horrible bastards came up with the nameHeather Weirdington.
‘There.’ The zipper ends beneath my shoulder blades, the silk organza sheath held together by a catch at my nape. As he fastens it, his fingers tickle, and a wash of goosebumps spread across my skin. ‘Don’t you feel lucky I’m here?’
‘I’ll be even luckier when you move to another room.’ I pull the fabric over my thighs to straighten it, wiggling a little as my hair tickles again.
‘How will you get out of your dress tonight if I’m not here?
‘I’m sure I’ll manage something,’ I mutter. Suddenly, his hands land on my upper arms, and he twists me to face him.
‘So long as that something isn’t asomeone.’ His index finger tips my chin, bringing my gaze up to his. ‘You created this narrative. I won’t be made a fool of.’
‘You think I’m about to cop off with someone?’ Is that what he thinks? ‘I meant I’d sleep in my dress if I had to.’ I step from the heat of his skin and the heady scent of his aftershave. The hint of citrus and underlying the spice that just adds to the whole alluring/maddening affect. ‘If you haven’t already,’—because I’m not sure if this is part of his teasing nature—‘you need to book your room. Actually, you know what? Let me help you with that.’ I make my way over to the phone on the nightstand, intent on calling reception.
‘You’re sure you want to do that when we’re supposed to be here together?’
‘What has that got to do with anything?’
‘Seeing each other is usually a polite euphemism for fucking. Fucking requires proximity, or in this case, at least the appearances of.’
‘We don’t need to tell anyone we aren’t sharing a room,’ I reply quickly.
‘But someone might see. And we both know that’s how rumours start.’
‘We’ll just have to be careful,’ I argue, ‘because you can’t possibly stay here.’ My gaze slides to the bed, almost as though to imagine us both in there. As hard as I try, I can’t. ‘There’s no way I can sleep with you.’ Not even platonically. ‘No. I just can’t do it.’
‘I didn’t realise I was so repulsive,’ he retorts, a little arrogantly, totally hamming it up for effect.
‘I’m not insulting your desirability. I’m sure you’re very attractive to lots of girls.’
‘But not to you, of course. You’re above such carnality.’
‘Are you going to let me call reception, or what?’
‘Here, give it to me.’ He slides past me, picking up the receiver as he slips his hand into his back pocket again. ‘They’ll need my credit card.’
‘And then you really must think about getting dressed.’
He pressed a couple of buttons, muttering under his breath. I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but I think he just suggested I’d get my pound of flesh.
‘Hello. Yes. I’d like to book another room, please?’
Good. Yes, that’s what we need. A little distance. Because our current proximity would only bring us to homicide.
‘No, there’s nothing wrong with the room we’re in.’ Archer slides me a less than impressed glance. ‘We just need an additional one.’
Preferably on another floor.
‘Oh. Really. Well, I suppose that’s that. No, nothing else. Thank you for your help.’
‘No,’ I whisper as he replaces the receiver and turns to face me. ‘No—there must be a room.’ There has to be—there’s no question of us sharing a bed.
‘Do you know something that reception doesn’t? Because they’re under the impression the hotel is fully booked for this wedding.’
I drop heavily against the mattress, my mind awash with... things. There’s a spindly chair near the window which is not a place anyone could sleep. There’s no bath in the bathroom, come to think of. Just a shower. Which leaves the floor I know he won’t offer to sleep on and a bed that’s barely a double.
‘Which side do you sleep on?’ His tone is so mild, I look up, knowing his gaze has followed mine. And the bastard is wearing a smile like a half a pizza.
‘In the middle,’ I snipe.
