Page 27 of Take 2
I sigh dramatically. “The paparazzi can really find me anywhere.”
“What do you think?” Preston asks from the other side of a concrete wall.
“That I’m glad the balconies are properly divided.”
“Really? That’s it?”
“Also, that your true genius lies in writing a movie in a stunning location so you can visit it.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Preston?”
A knock sounds from inside the room. I go in and unlock the connecting door to Preston’s room.
“Hi.” He squeezes past me, which is more contact than we really need to have. He smells like soap and citrus, and his hair is darker since it’s a little damp. “This looks familiar.”
“Like the identical room you just came from?”
“Yes! That’s it.” He leans back against the dresser, but his smile is forced. “Ready to get dinner?”
“I guess so. My body doesn’t really know what meal it’s supposed to be time for or if it’s time for bed.”
“Yeah, I’m feeling that.”
“You look tired.”
“I am.” He straightens up and takes a deep breath as if to rally himself. “Shall we?”
“Are you sure?” It may not just be tiredness I’m seeing on him. He looks a little green.
“Absolutely.”
I insist on the hotel restaurant tonight, given he’s obviously not feeling one hundred percent. The Lobby Lounge Restaurant and Bar boasts sea views too, and we order a few appetizers, but Preston barely touches them.
“Are you okay?” I eyeball him as he takes the tiniest sip of water possible.
“Mhmm.”
Liar.
When we’re done, he takes a deep breath before slowly standing up.
“The bathroom is this way.” I reach up to his shoulder to direct him, and he hurries ahead of me.Stubborn pain in the ass.I go to the concierge to get the French version of Dramamine and wait outside the restrooms.
When Preston comes out, his skin is ashen. “I’m sorry.”
“For lying to me about being fine?” I rub his back as we walk to the elevators.
“For screwing up the beginning of the trip.”
“Let’s just get you into bed. This doesn’t ruin anything, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunity for that.”
He shoots me some side eye and leans back against the elevator wall. I keep a hand on his muscled arm as we go down the hall. We both go into his room, and I pull the blankets back and close the curtains while he’s in the bathroom. The door opens behind me.
“Here’s some water and—” I turn around to find him dragging his feet toward the bed with no shirt on. It’s May in Monaco, so I assumed I would see his bare chest at some point, but I wasn’t prepared. Someone didn’t get the memo that writers are supposed to be hermits who only get exercise when we walk from our computers to the kitchen and back.
“Thanks.” He takes the pills from me and drops onto the bed.
