Page 53 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
“We’ve got a slight problem,” I called out.
Rory looked up. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s only one room available.” I held up the key, dangling it between us like evidence at a crime scene. “With, um, one bed.”
His eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Rory shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ll sleep in the car.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, the words tumbling out sharply. The image of him curled uncomfortably in the back seat made my chest prickle. When had I started caring about Rory Thorne’s comfort? “You’re not sleeping in the bloody car.”
“I’ve slept in worse places.” Something dark flashed across his features.
“We’ll manage with the one room. It’ll be fine.”
Rory studied my face for a moment, then whistled for Freddy, who scurried up his leg and into his pocket with surprising agility for something half decomposed.
“Fine,” he conceded. “But you’re not sleeping on the floor or whatever. I’m not letting you play the martyr and then sulk about it.”
For fuck’s sake, what have I done?
If I hadn’t been tired from driving all day, I would have managed that situation like a normal human being.
Or perhaps Iwaslosing my mind. Because for a split second, when she’d winked at me, there’d been a flash of… something. Not revulsion. Not horror. Just a brief, treacherous thought of what it might be like to—
No. Absolutely not. I was overtired. That was all.
Yet the receptionist’s knowing smile continued to haunt me as we trudged upstairs to room seven, grabbing two vile-looking coffees from a vending machine en route.
The room was small but cosy—floral wallpaper, wooden beams crossing the ceiling, and a queen-sized bed dominating the space. A tiny bathroom was visible through a door to the right.
One bed. One very clearly not-quite-large-enough bed for two grown men to share without some level of proximity. I swallowed hard, the room shrinking around me. Or maybe it was just that Rory, already peering at the view out of the window, seemed to fill whatever space he occupied with his energy, his movement, his very presence.
The door clicked shut, and Freddy jumped out of Rory’s pocket and started weaving around in mad circles. Rory headed to the bed and began stripping it of its excess pillows. I watched, confused, as he arranged them in a neat line down the middle of the mattress, creating a barrier.
“There,” he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Now we can both sleep in the bed without a repeat of the octopus situation.”
“Yes,” I said dryly.I’m sure this was exactly what the receptionist had in mind.
I should have felt relieved. This was practical. Sensible. Problem solved with minimal fuss. So why did I feel a strange disappointment at the sight of that pillow barrier? It was ridiculous. I should be grateful for Rory’s unexpectedly mature handling of the situation.
I set my bag down with more force than necessary. Tomorrow we’d reach his family’s estate, and this strange, confusing day would be behind us. One night. I could survive one night sharing a bed with Rory Thorne.
Couldn’t I?
“We’ll have to share a bed when we get there anyway,” saidRory.
I stared at him, my brain struggling to process his words. “What?”
“You know, because of the whole couple thing? I’m not sure we’re going to be particularly convincing if we insist on sleeping in two rooms.” His tone was casual, almost flippant, but I caught the flash of fear in his eyes.
“Oh, right. Yes.”
My stomach dropped as the reality of our situation crashed over me, my pulse quickening. We’d be sharing a bed not just tonight, but potentially for days. Nights upon nights of lying beside him, separated by nothing but a flimsy barrier of pillows—if that. The thought sent a confusing jolt of what felt like nerves through me.
But who wouldn’t be nervous spending that much time with someone who hated you?
