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I eye the shower, but thinkbetter not. I must get out of here, and I must do so unnoticed. With escape in mind, I turn away and am about to walk back into the bedroom when I notice a handwritten note on a piece of the fine stationery we provide for note-taking.
The masculine handwriting reads:
Cristina,
There are pain meds in my toiletry bag. Take two. The robe is in the closet. Slippers too. You will find me on the terrace when you’re ready.
S
I read it several times, wondering what he’ll do if I don’t follow his very specific directions, but once I open the closet in the bedroom, I see that Severio’s left me two wardrobe choices.
The off-white resort robe or another of his T-shirts. I wear the robe and smile at the emblem on the pocket. My daddy picked it out many years ago while I played with dolls on thecarpet of his office. I recall Gio arguing with my dad over the color of the logo and my dad winning the debate with rock-paper-scissors. The burgundy logo with simple and elegant lines won over the blue one Gio wanted.
Thinking about Gio makes me nervous. I bite my lip, wondering what became of him last night. Did he make it off the island? I hope so. I wish him well, after all.
At the door, I inhale a deep breath before opening it and stepping outside. Empty space greets me. Living room, kitchenette with a bar, and the exit right beside it. On my right is the terrace. Since I hear voices coming from there, I exhale the pained breath I’ve been holding before I turn toward the sea.
Severio’s family surrounds the terrace table. They’re enjoying our brunch catering order. I can tell by the carts the staff set up around them. Thankfully, they must’ve rejected the service, so nobody I work with will see me here. Small mercies.
Paulina’s large beach hat is blocking the side of her face. Michela is feeding the baby under the kind of blanket that nursing moms often use for privacy. Severio stands at the railing the construction staff left when they installed the glass so that during nice weather, the glass can be pulled back and the space opened completely.
Gordon and the other guard who was at the door last night are speaking with him. Since they’re all busy, but would spot me if I made a dash for the exit, I contemplate returning to the bedroom and waiting for them all to leave. I’d also like some clothes. I didn’t think about that last night. I brought nothing. I make a terrible tramp. Didn’t even pack my trampy overnight bag.
As I slowly retreat into the bedroom, Corrado looks up from his plate. Gently, I close the door all the way. Maybe he’ll think me a false vision, a trick of light.
I sit on the bed and bite my lip, considering locking myself in the room until they all board the plane this afternoon. I check the clock on “his” side of the bed. Quarter past eleven, so not too long now. A few hours.
Or I can lie down and wait them all out, pretend I’m sleeping off a hangover for the remainder of the day.
I won’t have to hide long.
My phone rings.
It’s on the nightstand on “my” side of the bed. I hurry there and silence it. It’s my mom. I contemplate not answering, but think it’s probably best if I pick up, seeing as how I never came home last night and Severio prevented Gio from consummating the fake marriage.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Cristina,” my mother says, worry in her voice. I’m relieved to hear her, and I sit down on the bed.
“Thank God you’re okay,” she says.
“I’m fine. What’s up?”
“You didn’t come home last night.” She reminds me there’s another thing Severio messed up. Gio and I made another deal. Last week, Gio delivered on his end, but I haven’t. Now, I owe Gio a debt.
“I’m twenty-eight, Mom.”
“You could’ve called.”
“Sorry to worry you, but I was so tired that I crashed.” The mental strain of the non-wedding and the Order business, not to mention the anticipation of the claiming by the most dangerous man I’ve ever met, drained me. I simply fell over once my bottom hit the soft couch.
“Where did you spend the night?” she asks.
I swallow. “At the resort.”
“In his bed?”
“Couch. I fell asleep on the couch.” True.
