“I apologise about the bath . . . situation.” I can hear how stiff I sound. I’m being the Lucas she used to know, the one I’ve been working so hard to help her forget. That guy.
“Thanks. And how about the disappearing act?”
“I heard you on the phone. I had to leave.”
Her eyebrows fly up. “You were listening to my phone call with my friends?”
“No! No. I went to run you a bath, and the wall . . . I just heard it.”
“Right.” Her gaze is level. “And what exactly did you ‘just hear’？”
The air crackles between us. It always does. I’m furious and scared, but I still want to walk her back against the wall and kiss her.
“What you really think of me. That’s what I heard.”
She frowns. “I don’t remember exactly, but I don’t think I said anything about what I really think of you except maybe . . .” Her cheeks are turning slowly pink. “How good it is between us. The sex.”
There’s a knock at the door just as she says sex. We both jump as if we’ve been caught half-dressed.
Izzy opens the door. It’s Louis Keele. The way my body reacts is shameful. A rush of adrenaline, my fists bunching, muscles flexing. It’s pure, animal jealousy and there’s no place for it—but the way he looks at Izzy makes me want to hit him.
He’s still a contender, she said. That’s how he’d put it.
?, com certeza . . .
“Can I grab you for a sec, Izzy?” he says. Ignoring me completely.
They walk out into the lobby. I follow. Louis clearly wants to have Izzy to himself. I hover within reach, looking busy, making it obvious I’m in earshot. Louis stays on this side of the desk, crossing that line, because he’s just the sort of man who doesn’t respect a boundary.
“Listen, I’m still weighing up the investment,” he says. “My dad suggested getting another tour from someone who really knows the heart of the place. And who does heart better than Izzy Jenkins? What do you say—could you spare some time this afternoon?”
“Sure!” Izzy says. “Whatever you need.”
They chitchat. Izzy pats his arm when he says something about his father, and I remind myself that she is like this: tactile by nature with everyone but me. Even now, she still won’t touch me like that at work.
I’m exhausted. I scan over the hotel’s Kickstarter page and am unable to register whether the sum has gone up since I last hit the button. Someone drops by to pick up an item they saw for sale on our Facebook page, and says “Totally love you guys!” on her way out, which strikes me as a sign that Poor Mandy is selling things far too cheaply. Then Arjun leans his head through from the restaurant and calls for Izzy, finally pulling her away from Louis.
“Are you all right, Izz?” I catch Arjun saying as they walk through to the kitchen.
He glances back at me. I wonder how much she’s told him.
“I’m fine! It’s chopped parsley you want, right?” Izzy says brightly, because of course she already knows exactly what he needs.
“I’m shooting my shot with Izzy today, you know,” Louis says to me. He leans forward on the desk, watching Izzy disappear through the restaurant doors with Arjun. “Got high hopes.”
“Have you?” I snap, not even bothering to veil the dislike in my voice—I don’t have the energy. “I thought you two were finished.”
He gives a coy smile. “This thing with Izzy’s been slow-building since last December—we’ve had the odd setback, but . . .”
I grip the back of my desk chair, breathing too fast.
“Last December?”
“Yeah. When I first came to the hotel.” He fiddles idly with the cord on my telephone. “She told me how she felt about me then.”
My whole body flinches, knuckles turning white on the back of the chair.
“I had a girlfriend at that point, so I didn’t act on it, but I kept the card she sent me.” Louis pats the back pocket of his trousers. “I’m going to whip it out today. Win her round once and for all. Nothing says romance like holding on to a love letter for a whole year, does it?”
I don’t know what to say. I am staring at Louis’s back pocket, desperate to read this card, playing the words Izzy said over and over as my heart races. I’ve been clear with Louis that there is nothing romantic between us and there never will be.
Louis must be mistaken. He must be.
“What did . . . what did her card say?”