I nodded. “You’re very touchy-feely. Even for you.”
He tipped my chin up to his face then and kissed me. As if we weren’t in a crowded restaurant. As if we didn’t already stand out as the table with the current most visible band in the world. As if we were not just in every tabloid on six continents blasted for our public display of affection. He kissed me as if none of that mattered.
“Don’t leave me…” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“… ever.”
When I didn’t say anything, he kissed me again and repeated it: “Ever.”
“Okay,” I said. And at that point I could not be certain as to who was more intoxicated.
Late in the night I slipped away to the restroom, and on exiting I encountered Oliver in the adjacent vestibule. We had until that point exchanged very few words.
“Well, you seem to be hanging in there.” He smiled, coy.
“Excuse me?”
“I just assumed you’d leave our boy after those photos.”
I paused. It was the way he’d phrased it. “Well, you assumed incorrectly.”
“Clearly.”
The vestibule was narrow, dimly lit. I could smell the gin on him.
“Where’s Charlotte?”
“It’s over. We’re through.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yes, well… She ended it.”
“Can you blame her?”
He laughed. “Oh, Solène…” He was drunk. “Did Hayes ever tell you what he said when he first saw you in Las Vegas? Did he?”
I didn’t respond. Somehow I knew where this was going.
“‘I just want to fuck her mouth.’” He said it slow, soft. “Did he tell you that? ‘Did you see that mum? I just want to fuck her mouth.’”
I stood there, not moving. Feeling his closeness in the tight space.
“What’s wrong, Oliver? Do you just not want him to be happy?”
He shook his head then, and there was something in his eyes that seemed to me sad. “You have no fucking idea, do you?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
But I’d begun to wonder.
On Friday morning Hayes and I flew to Aspen for four days to celebrate his birthday. I’d booked us a luxury suite at the Little Nell, a swank resort at the bottom of Ajax Mountain. The property was elegant, serene. Our suite decorated in soothing grays with multiple fireplaces and cozy throws and pristine views. The perfect winter hideaway.
In the late afternoon, after massages and lovemaking and a walk around town, Hayes decided that he wanted a “proper tea.” He rang up room service, and I listened as he requested a “spot of Earl Grey and something sweet like scones or digestive biscuits, if you have any,” and my heart ached. My sweet, sweet boy, so far from home.
“Well, that was a first,” he said, hanging up the phone. We were in the living room, peeling off our layers. Snow falling outside on the terrace.
