Page 22 of The Bonventi Secret
A knock at the door startles me, and I hastily stand. "Miss Falcone?" a voice calls out. "Your luggage has been brought up."
I take a deep breath. "Thank you," I say. "Just leave it by the door, please."
The man sets my suitcase down and shuts the door.
As I walk down the hall to grab it, I realize that I need to sleep in order to think clearly. I feel too worked up, too on edge emotionally, and I know it's my lack of rest.
I pull the suitcase down the hall and almost knock over a bust of Ares - that would have been much worse than the vase. I continue walking and set my bag in the corner.
Turning to stare at the massive bed, a battle rages within me. Part of me, the exhausted, aching part, longs to collapse onto its plush, impossibly soft-looking sheets. The other part, the fiery,defiant part, recoils at the thought. Sleeping there feels like surrender.
"Fuck you, Enzo," I mutter, and march over to the bed and toss some of the smaller decorative pillows to the floor and grab the first large one I see. I snatch the blanket and drag it across the floor as I walk over to the chaise lounge.
I toss the pillow on the chaise, and I take a seat. It's much more comfortable than I thought. I lay down and instantly feel my muscles relax. I drape the blanket over my legs and wrap it tight around me like armor, shielding me from the unknown.
I lay there for a moment and relish in my small defiant victory.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of sleeping in his bed,I think to myself.
I breathe deeply and take in the fresh linen scent from the bedding mixed with some type of polish from the furniture.
The remnants of anger and anxiety flutter in my mind, but I shove them aside, forcing myself to fully relax.
You can't think clearly if you're tired.
The need for sleep comes on too strong. I close my eyes, and before I know it, I slip away to gain my much-needed rest.
I wake to the soft chime of a clock. Blinking, I realize it's already evening. The room is bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the floor. I stretch, and I'm momentarily disoriented by my surroundings.
This isn't my apartment.
Then the events of the previous day come rushing back, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it all to be a dream. But the softfabric of the blanket wrapped around me and the plush cushions beneath me are very real.
I sit up and look around. My stomach grumbles, a reminder that I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon. I see my bag and push food out of my mind; having my things is more important right now.
I open my suitcase, and a wave of relief washes over me as I spot my laptop case, clothes, books, and research notes. I smile. These familiar items are like a lifeline to my real world, my real life.
I rummage through the contents, pulling out a change of clothes - a black v-neck shirt and matching color leggings. For a moment, I consider changing right here, stubbornly refusing to use anything Enzo has provided. But after everything—I know I need to shower.
With my clothes in hand, I reluctantly make my way to the bathroom. As I flip on the light, the brightness momentarily blinds me. When my eyes adjust, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. I barely recognize myself. Dark circles shadow my eyes, which look hollow and haunted. My skin is pale, almost sickly, a stark contrast to its usual olive tone. My clothes are wrinkled from the journey—and my hair—it's a tangled mess. I look like a wild creature, trapped and desperate.
Is this what Enzo sees when he looks at me? A disheveled, frightened girl? The thought makes my blood boil.
I straighten up. No. I won't let him see me like this any longer—or ever again for that matter. I won't let him think he's won.
I open a drawer, revealing an array of expensive products. The labels are simple with a promise of luxury and indulgence. I gritmy teeth, hating the fact that I need to use them. I grab some soap, a face cleanser, and shampoo.
As I set the products down, I take a moment to really look around the bathroom. The marble surfaces shine in the light and feel so impersonal. My eyes are drawn to the sunken tub, its size almost obscene. For a moment, I imagine sinking into its depths, letting the water wash away everything.
But no. I can't.
Instead, I turn to the large rainfall shower. Its glass enclosure gives off a different kind of escape, one that feels less intimate and protected. I open the door and place the products I've selected on a shelf in this ridiculously large shower.
I step out and look around to make sure I don't see any of those secret camera moldings Enzo pointed out. When I'm satisfied, I strip off my clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a pile. I instinctively cover my breasts and southern region for fear he might come in, or—I don't know—I just feel too much on display. The cool air raises goosebumps along my arms. I step into the shower, the glass door closing behind me.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the array of knobs and buttons. It's more complicated than any shower I've ever seen. I fiddle with the controls, and suddenly, water rains down from above, surprisingly warm and somehow perfectly pressured.
As the water cascades over me, I close my eyes and imagine it washing away more than just the dirt, sweat, and grime of travel. I picture it removing my fear, my anger, my confusion.
