Page 86 of The Devil Wears Orange
Rashid walks away. He does not turn back, and everything that we had been, or that we could have been, vanishes. Journalists circle him the moment he’s out the door.
Jack stares after him. “Hmmm, I was hoping we’d save on a shared ride to the hotel.” Turning back to me, he says, “You look exhausted. Ready to go?”
I nod then follow him through the same crowd of shouting journalists to a waiting taxi. We sit quietly on the way to the hotel. There’s so much to say, and yet we are too exhausted to say anything. Besides, I’m not sure where to start. My eyelids flutter. I lean to the side and nestle deep into the crook of Jack’s neck, and drift off to sleep.
“Charlotte, we’re here,” he whispers, nudging me awake. I mumble something incoherent and open my eyes, disoriented by the ordeal. Jack pays the driver and exits, holding the door open for me. He leads me to the front reception and arranges our check-in. With no luggage, except the small bag of toiletries we purchased from the gift shop, we head to the 5thfloor, Jack with determination in his step, me lethargic. He opens the door to a hotel room and steps inside with a strange smile on his face that I read as victorious. I snatch the key from him.
“I agreed to share a taxi with you. Not a hotel room.”
Jack looks embarrassed.
“I didn’t mean to imply anything,” he says and holds up another key. “My room is right next door.” He clears his throat. “Let me know if you need anything, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Jack disappears into his room and I’m glad to be alone. I don’t want to deal with any more boy drama, don’t want to agonize over who I should or shouldn’t have chosen. Given everything that has happened, I can’t imagine making a decision aboutanything except which beach to plop my ass down on, even if it means walking away from someone who may just bethe one.
I turn the television on, scan for an English-speaking channel, and sink into the bed. My body yearns for rest and relaxation and a hot shower. The threat is over. No more falling out of helicopters or being chased by men with guns. No more running and hiding. No, this is precisely what I need.
Still, I wonder what Jack is doing next door. Will he call me? Knock? I bet he’s ironing the towels. I shake the thought of Jack from my mind. I’ve made my decision to choose neither men, and it’s the right one. Ineedto be alone.
My stomach growls. I can’t remember when I last ate and decide to order some room service. The food is impeccably timed and arrives the moment I exit the bathroom, dressed in the hotel bathrobe, my hair towel dried after a shower. It takes two to deliver my food and I’m surprised because I didn’t think I had ordered that much.
The two waiters look from me to the rest of the room, eyes skirting about. One says, “We will uncover the food once your guests arrive.”
Guests?When I scan the number of domed covers, the cutlery, the bottle of pinot noir, I’m embarrassed. “He’s here,” I announce, and hurry to the door for the adjoining room, and knock loudly. “Jack, our food has arrived.”
Silence. I look back to the waiters with a weak smile. “He’ll be right out. In the meantime, if you can open the wine, I’d appreciate it.” Returning to the door, I knock again. “Jack!” I say in a louder tone.
He opens the door quickly.
“What’s wrong?” he says, looking into my room as though danger lurks in the corner until his eyes settle on the waiters.
“Room service has arrived,” I say in a lighter tone while noting his disheveled hair and that he, too, is wearing the hotel bathrobe. I have obviously woken him.
“I can see that.”
“Well, thank you gentleman,” I say, pull some tip money from my purse and usher them out. Pivoting back to the room, I find Jack sitting at the table and studying the bottle of wine. I suppose I’ll have to entertain him now.
“Good vintage,” he says and pours out into two glasses. “You’ve ordered a lot of food for the two of us. Thanks for thinking of me. I’m famished, but I was knackered, too, which won me over.”
“Well, I know what’s best for you,” I say as though sitting in my hotel room, eating and drinking with Jack was my plan all along.
We dig into the codfish, served in butter and walnuts, gnaw on the quail with truffles and mushrooms. I sniff the duck liver and pass, sticking my fork into a stuffed artichoke instead. At some point, a second bottle is ordered, though I barely remember finishing the first.
“I’m so glad we’re doing this,” says Jack. “It’s a great idea.”
I swallow the bit of food in my mouth and smile in agreement when it hits me how much I’ve missed him during the time we separated. I meanreallymissed my heist partner because somewhere in all this, while I played this persona created for Banning, I lost the old me. And, well, I can be the real me around Jack, something I couldn’t be with Rashid. “I’m full of great ideas.” I want to list all the great ideas in my head, but things are a little fuzzy at the moment with the alcohol consumption.Oh, yes, Italy!“For example, I just decided I’m going to eat and drink my way through Italy when we’re done here. And you know what I’m going to do after?”
“Eat and drink your way through Spain and Portugal?”
I look at him intently. “You know me so well.” He does know me well, doesn’t he? After all, I didn’t know I was planning to eat and drink my way through any country until ten minutes ago. The idea wormed into my mind and just like that, it became a plan.
The voice of the newscaster bursts into my thoughts: “…Carey plans to lengthen his time in space next week.”
Jack’s head shoots up toward the television screen.
I follow his gaze, which is fixated on the newscast. “Ugh,” I groan, “just what we need, another billionaire taking yet another trip into space.”
“My brother has always been the adventurous type. I barely trust airplanes.”
