Page 74 of The Square

Which is so ironic, I half chuckle out a laugh.

Christine lifts her head slightly. Just enough so her eyes can find mine. What’s funny? she’s asking with that look.

I shake my head in reply. Nothing’s funny. It’s just... ironic.

She forces a smile of understanding and goes back to hiding her face in my chest.

I pet her hair again. Because I love her and her hurt is hurting me in this moment. I know it’s years late. I know there’s no way to take back my mistakes. Time doesn’t ever go backwards.

But the cool thing about time is that it allows for change.

That hurt she feels over losing their baby can’t be erased. The hurt Alec feels over being betrayed can’t either. But with time… with time we can replace those feelings with new ones.

The rest of the ride back into London is quiet.

We’re thinking, I guess.

I know I am.

I’m thinking about the past, mostly. Those days and weeks on the beach in the Cook Islands. Not the ones that just happened, but the ones that came before that.

The good ones.

It’s gonna be a rough climb back up the mountain. It’s gonna take a while. But we can find that place again.

We can find that… peace.

And when we pull up to the London Ritz-Carlton I make a decision.

We start looking for it again today.

I untangle Christine from my body and open the door just as the driver is getting out. “Meet me inside,” I say, looking from her face to his.

They stare back at me blankly, but I don’t add anything else. Just grab my backpack and get out of the car.

My ambassador meets me at the door.

How she knows who I am, I don’t know. But they always know who their guest is. I assume, since the three of us have stayed at the Ritz more times than I can count, they have my picture in their database. At any rate, she greets me.

“Good afternoon Mr. Night. I’m Jessica, your ambassador. Your room is ready for you.” Mr. Night is my old alias from back in the peaceful days. Funny, or maybe just continuing irony, that I’m now referring to those times as the peaceful days.

“Good afternoon,” I say. “My friends are coming,” I say, nodding to the revolving door where Christine and Alec appear, coming through separately. “We’re going to need clothes for Mr. Berger Can you do some shopping for me?”

“Certainly. What can I get for him?”

“I’ll give you a list.”

“Absolutely,” she says, beaming her luxury-hotel customer-service smile. “Would you like to see your room now?” she asks, just as Christine walks up and slips her arm into mine. Alec stand next to her, looking uncomfortable in his ill-fitting clothes, and pretending to smile.

There is a private elevator for all ambassador-level guests, and that’s the route we take up to the Prince of Wales penthouse in the adjoining mansion. It is opulence on a grotesque level, but that’s what we need right now.

We need to be reminded of just who and what we are.

That is my job in the triangle today.

Ironic, yet again. Because historically it has always been Alec who wore this hat. I don’t look the part, I don’t act the part, and I don’t want the part.

But sometimes we all gotta take one for the team.