Page 57 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

Liam presses the penthouse. My heartbeat ratchets up with each floor the lift ascends until I’m having to remind myself to breathe.

As the lift door pings open, all the moisture from my mouth disappears. Liam motions for me to exit the lift, but my body wants to stay back. I force my legs to move forward.

I step to the side of the lift waiting for Liam to open the door.

The suite is enormous. It must be at least 250 square metres. There is even a pool on the terrace.

Liam scoops me up and carries me across the threshold.

My stomach twists as if it’s a wet cloth being wrung out.

I cling to Liam’s sweaty neck as my mind races through ways to get out of this without blowing my cover.

Silently, Liam carries me to the glass double doors. He puts me down and pulls them back to reveal palm trees surrounding the seven intertwining pools below. The palm tree leaves gentle sway in the wind casting their long shadows onto the pool below.

Holidaymakers are packing up their towels to go to dinner, pulling the robes tightly around themselves under an ombre purple, orange and pink sunset.

I press my hands into the chrome bar sitting on top of the glass fronted balcony with steps down to the pool.

Liam pushes his arms around me and leaning down until his chin finds a resting place in the crook of my neck.

He begins to kiss the back of my ear, sending electricity through my whole body. I tell myself to breathe deeply. Not to make a mistake I certainly couldn’t live with.

The doorbell buzzes.

“Excuse me,” he whispers, bouncing to the door excitedly.

I watch him take a large glass vase with handles either side from a silver tray. He tips the concierge and closes the door.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“A surprise. Give me five minutes,” he disappears behind a wide slatted white door.

I tiptoe back into the room staring at the phone next to the bed. It’s not like I could call Fergus. What would I say. “Hmm, could you airlift me out of fucking O’Shaughnessy? Oh yes, we are in a hotel in Morocco.”

I stare at the spiral cable. I could strangle him.

A beautiful medley of nutmeg, sandalwood, orange and honey starts to float from under the door. Liam is behind.

I can hear water running.

Liam opens the door.

“Your surprise is waiting.”

I strut towards him. Eyeing the bathroom behind him, that’s marble top to floor. It smells too inviting and I have to remind myself what and who I am.

“What do you think?” Liam asks, fanning his hands over the freestanding oval bathtub bubbling with soapy foam.

“It’s beautiful,” I say trying to see the bottom of the tub.

“You probably think this is pathetic, but I’ve always wanted to wash your hair.”

I turn away from the tub and fix him with a glare. “Why?” I ask.

“It’s weird. I remember seeing this news piece once about an ol’ fella whose wife had dementia. She couldn’t do her own hair or makeup anymore. So he took a course so he could do it for her. And they showed him washing her hair at a sink in a salon. And I don’t know, something from that clip always made me want to wash a woman’s hair.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

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