“But I think I’ll save that for our first date.” Without a word, he turned his face back toward the sky, the corners of his mouth fighting against a smile, and left me to ponder my racing thoughts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
PETER
I approached the front desk of the hotel, worriedly scratching my head and patting my pockets a bit overzealously. The young man behind the counter watched me with an apathetic stare, pushing the bridge of his glasses up farther on his nose.
“Can I help you?”
“Actually, yes. This is so embarrassing, but I’ve lost my room key somewhere, and I left my phone in the room. Could I get a spare?”
“Sure.” He looked relieved I wasn’t asking him to do something difficult as he typed something into the computer in front of him and asked, “What’s your room number?”
“It’s 408.”
He typed it in before eyeing my bandaged wrist suspiciously. I dropped my arm to my side. “Name?”
“Greenburg. It’s probably under my wife’s name, Ainsley.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes skimming the screen. “Do you have some ID?”
I produced my wallet in a flash, a carefree smile on my lips. “Of course. Thank you for asking.”
“No problem.” He half glanced at the ID and spun around, using one of the keys on his wrist to unlock a cabinet. Seconds later, he was handing me a new room key.
“Thanks. Uh, is there any charge?”
“Nah,” he said, rubbing a finger across the pimple on his chin. “You’re good.”
“Thanks, man.” I turned away from him and headed for the elevators, my body trembling with adrenaline.
I was so close.
So close.
The excitement was almost too much.
When I reached her room, I stood still for a moment, listening to be sure she was indeed gone. To make sure he’d taken her away like we’d planned. After a few moments, I pressed the key to the door and watched the light flash green. I turned the handle, waiting again as the seconds passed.
One…
Two…
On three, I pushed the door open and rushed inside, shutting it behind me and pressing my back to the door.
“Hello?” I called.
No answer.
I moved farther into the room, spying her open suitcase on the end of the bed. I picked up a T-shirt, lifting it to my nose and drawing in a breath. I sorted through the bag, filled only with her wrinkled clothing and toiletries.
I looked around, bending down to check the floor and underneath the bed. Where were the children’s bags?
I checked the bathroom, searching for any sign of their things—toothbrushes, clothes, anything, but there was nothing.
Next, I checked the mini-fridge.
No soda.
No bags of chips on the desk.
The small silver trash can only contained a few used tea bags and the unopened bag of chocolate-covered peanuts I’d bought her. Next to the bed, there were two plastic bags of snacks, a romance book Maisy would’ve never read, and two coloring books. Were these for the kids? I hadn’t seen them color in years…
It was obvious what was going on.
They were either staying in another room or they weren’t staying there at all.
Where did they go, Ainsley?
I moved back into the bathroom, looking around. In the trash can, there was a green box. What the…
I picked it up cautiously.
No.
Hair dye?
She couldn’t be serious. She wouldn’t have ever actually dyed her hair. This had to be for something else. Ainsley’s red hair was…part of her. It was special. Beautiful. It was one of my favorite things about her. How could she even consider changing it?
I felt as if I might be sick as I threw the box back into the trash with disgust.
How dare she?
How dare she?
I stalked from the bathroom. Next to the door, there was an armoire. I made my way toward it and pulled it open. Inside, there were hangers, plastic bags for dry cleaning, and an ironing board. I stepped inside of the space, trying to determine if there was enough room for me to hide.
I shuffled things around, shoving the ironing board to the opposite end and pushing the hangers over with it. Doing that gave me just enough room to shut the door and bathe myself in total darkness.
I pulled out my phone and checked the time.
Now, we wait…
Nearly an hour passed before I heard the first sign of their return. Her voice carried from down the hall in the form of a laugh. She sounded happy. Carefree.
Wasn’t that just the story of my life?
She was happy, and I was hidden in a closet trying to fix our marriage.