28. Charlotte

28

CHARLOTTE

I t takes me a minute to fully absorb just how beautiful the room that we're in is. My feet squish into the thick carpet, and I take a few steps forward, looking around. The suite is the size of my apartment back in Chicago, complete with a separate ‘living room' sort of area, with leather couches and a glass-topped table, lined with gold edging. There's a mahogany wet bar, a huge television sunken into one wall, and three of the walls in the living area are glass, overlooking the city. It's breathtaking now, and I can only imagine how beautiful it must look at night.

I try not to look at the king-sized bed that takes up most of the adjoining space, set in the center of that room against one wall. It looks huge and comfortable and soft, and all I can think about is the fact that Ivan will likely be sleeping in it next to me. It's big enough that we could probably pass an entire night without ever accidentally touching each other, but that doesn't matter. It'll be torment for both of us, all the same.

"Why don't you take a shower?" Ivan suggests. "I'll go down to one of the stores and get us something to change into. We can shop for more later. But for now, it'll feel good to clean up."

I'm tempted to argue, if only because I want to explore. But the thought of a hot, luxurious shower is tempting, and I nod, glancing at the bathroom.

"Okay."

Ivan smiles. "I'll be back before too long. If anyone knocks on the door," he adds, his expression turning serious once again, "don't open it. I have a keycard. I'll let myself in. Don't open up for anyone, no matter what they say."

"I won't," I promise.

After days and days of shitty motels, the bathroom is so luxurious that it makes me want to cry. I kick my shoes off before I walk in, curling my toes against the cold marble floor as I look around. There's a huge soaking tub, a separate shower that takes up all of one wall, and a long dual-sink counter that has a gilded tray with a number of different toiletries on it. I unscrew the top of the shower gel, and let out a sigh as I smell apple blossoms and honey.

I don't know whether to take a shower or a bath first. I figure I should start with the shower, so I turn the taps on as hot as I can stand, stepping under the multiple showerheads and letting out a moan as soon as the hot spray hits me. Sex with Ivan is the best thing I've ever felt—my emotions about what he's done aside, but this shower is coming in a very close second.

I stand under the shower until I lose track of time, just soaking in the heat. The water washes away days of grime and tension, and I can feel my muscles slowly unknotting, the stress melting away. I reach for the shampoo bottle, some kind of luxury brand that I bet Jaz would recognize, and lather it up in my hands, breathing in the sweet scent as I massage it into my scalp. I let out another moan, the sensation so pleasurable that I lean into the wall for a moment, soaking up the exhilaration of being clean and scrubbed.

It's almost intoxicating, how good it feels. I'm starting to feel like a person again, and the luxury of all of this is in stark contrast to the danger we've been running from for days on end. A not insignificant part of me wishes we could just stay here, that this luxurious space could be our sanctuary, and we could hide away forever.

And how would that go? I think as I rinse off. None of this changes what Ivan did. None of it changes the fact that he hurt me, that he lied, that my life has been upended because of him. All of the things he's done to try to make it up to me—they can't , because there's no making up for something like that.

Right?

I shut off the water with some regret, stepping out and wrapping a plush towel around myself, sighing at yet another simple pleasure that I'd forgotten. The mirror has fogged over, and I step up to the counter, wiping my hand in a small circle over the glass. My reflection stares back at me—thinner than the last time I looked, tired, with dark circles under my eyes. I look like I need to sleep for a week.

I hear the door open and jump a little, pressing my hand against my mouth to stifle the yelp that slips out. "It's just me," I hear Ivan call from the room just outside, and I bite my lip, embarrassed that I'm so jumpy.

I wrap the towel more tightly around myself, suddenly very aware of how exposed I feel, even with the towel covering me. My heart races as I hear Ivan's footsteps in the other room, along with the rustling sound of bags. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.

It's just Ivan. It's not as if we've never seen each other naked before. But somehow, in the luxury of this room, with the privacy and the sudden time that we have available to us, it feels different.

"I got us some clothes," Ivan calls through the door. "I'll leave them on the bed. Take your time, there's no rush."

No rush. I exhale as I hear those words, a relief that I didn't expect washing over me. I hear him walk away, and I let out a breath, swallowing hard as I think of going out into that room, where he is. My reflection in the mirror looks flushed, and I have a feeling that it's from more than just the hot shower. I finish drying off quickly, wrapping my wet hair in a second, smaller towel before slipping out into the main room.

There's a bag on the bed waiting for me, a sleek pink bag with ribbon strings. It feels like Ivan got me a gift, and my heart turns over oddly in my chest. I walk over and open it, seeing a pair of soft-looking jeans and a black t-shirt inside. When I take them out, I see a new pair of black cotton underwear and a matching bra inside, and my cheeks flush hot, thinking of Ivan picking out underwear for me. I'm suddenly glad that he's not in the room with me to see my reaction.

The clothes all fit perfectly. The way the jeans mold to my body makes me think of Ivan gripping my hips, and I flush deeper, trying to ignore the racing of my heart as I tug the t-shirt on over my head. I can smell a hint of Ivan's scent on the fabric, and my stomach flutters, my traitorous emotions a tangle of confusion once again.

Ivan is in the adjoining living room, standing by the window with his back to me. He glances over at me, and I see the flash of heat in his eyes before he looks towards the bathroom. "My turn," he says, and his words sound oddly tight as he strides past me, straight into the bathroom, carrying his fresh clothes with him.

He shuts the door behind him, and a few minutes later, I hear the sound of the water turning on. I sink down onto the edge of the bed, trying not to think about him stripping down, his naked body under the hot water, the way it would look running over all of that taut, muscled flesh.

The temptation to go in and join him is strong. But he's made it clear that he only wants that if I'm willing to tell him that I believe him. That I believe what he feels for me is real. That I believe there's more to this than just his lies and deceit.

And if I admit that, everything changes.

When Ivan comes back out a little while later, he's wearing a pair of slim-cut black jeans and a fitted grey henley that accentuates his broad chest and muscled shoulders. I feel my mouth go a little dry as I see him, and I swallow hard, trying to ignore all the dirty thoughts swirling around in my head.

"Let's go shopping," he says, motioning to the door with one hand as he runs the other through his damp, dark blond hair. "Get some things you can actually pick out for yourself."

I can feel that Ivan is on edge as we head down to the shops. His head is on a swivel, constantly scanning our surroundings without being obvious as we walk through the lavish resort. His hand hovers near me, never quite touching the small of my back or taking my hand, but I can feel the heat radiating off of his palm, somehow even more than if he'd been actually touching me. He's tense, and it makes me tense too.

I catch sight of us, walking side by side, in one of the shop windows. We look like we could be any couple, on a shopping trip together in Vegas—on a vacation for our anniversary, even, like Ivan had told the cab driver. But I know better.

"Did you talk to your contact yet?" I ask quietly as we walk into the first store.

"Not yet." Ivan's voice is equally low. "When we get back to the room." He speaks louder, looking around the store. "Pick whatever you want. Make sure to get a bathing suit, too, there's a gorgeous pool here. And something nice to wear, in case we go out. Don't worry about the price."

I've done pretty well for myself in my life, but don't worry about the price isn't something I've ever gotten to do before. I feel a small thrill of excitement, momentarily forgetting about the situation that we're in. The store is full of designer clothes, shoes, and accessories that would make Zoe and Jaz both salivate just looking at them, and I know Ivan meant it when he said that I could pick out whatever I want.

A part of me feels guilty for taking him up on it. I'm planning on leaving him, and I know his generosity is about more than just keeping me safe here. He doesn't have to buy me fancy clothes to do that. It's about trying to make up for everything he's done. I don't have any intention of forgiving him, so I shouldn't take advantage of what he's offering.

But the temptation is there, and just now, it's one that I'm too weak to ignore.

I grab a few items as Ivan hangs out near one of the racks, half-watching me and half keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious. I slip into one of the dressing rooms, viscerally aware of the fact that Ivan is just outside. That he's undoubtedly thinking about me undressing in here, trying on the items I brought with me, just as I was thinking about him in the shower earlier. A hot jolt of tension prickles down my spine, and I yank an emerald green cocktail dress off of its hanger, trying not to wonder exactly what he's picturing right now.

I can't help but think of what his reaction would be if he saw me walk out in this right now, though. I can picture his eyes darkening with desire, the way his fingers would curl into his palms with the effort not to touch me. The moments we've shared together are an intimacy that means I've learned little things about him that I can't forget, and I realize that I've noticed more than I ever meant to.

And if I wore it out on a real date with him? Like the ones we went on before? The fantasy is too tempting. With so much unknown in front of me, Ivan is a familiarity that I want to reach out and cling to. I have to remind myself, constantly, of what he's done.

I step out of the dressing room a few minutes later, clutching the green dress and a few other items. Ivan's gaze immediately flicks to me, like a magnet, his eyes sliding over me intensely, as if he's imagining everything I just tried on. He sees the slip of green fabric, and I see his throat contract.

"Find anything you like?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Ivan takes the clothes from my arms, his fingers brushing mine. A jolt of electricity shoots through me at the brief contact.

"I'll take these to the register," he says. "Why don't you pick out some shoes to go with that dress?" A small smile curves the corners of his lips, and my heart flutters despite myself.

As I browse the shoe section, trying to focus on stilettos instead of Ivan, I can't shake the feeling of being watched. I glance around nervously, but don't see anyone suspicious. Still, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I pick up a pair of nude heels, as well as a pair of black boots to go with the jeans I picked out, and look around again. I don't see any sign of anyone who resembles Bradley or Lev, but I still feel uneasy. Earlier I wanted to go out, but now I'm starting to feel as if I want to retreat back to the room.

I hurry over to Ivan, who's just finishing up at the register. His eyes narrow as he sees my expression.

"What's wrong?" he asks in a low voice, glancing around.

"I'm not sure," I whisper back, feeling that cold sensation prickle along the back of my neck again. "I just... I feel like someone's watching us."

Ivan's jaw tightens. He nods once, then casually drapes his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. His lips brush against the side of my head, sending a different kind of shiver down my spine. To anyone else, we probably look like a couple sharing an intimate moment. But I can feel the tension in his muscles.

"Stay close," he murmurs in my ear. "We're going to walk out of here very casually. Don't look around. Just act natural. We're just out doing some shopping, going back up to our room before dinner."

My heart pounds as we make our way out of the store. Ivan's arm remains firmly around me, and as much as I don't want to let him touch me, as much as it rouses a storm of emotion in me that I'm not prepared to deal with, I don't pull away. Right now, he's the only safe thing I have.

I don't relax until we get back up to the room. Ivan closes the door firmly behind us, glancing over at me. "I'm going to make the call," he says, stepping into the bathroom and closing that door, too, cutting me off from hearing what he says.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling exhausted all over again. I can hear the low murmur of Ivan's voice from the bathroom, but I can't make out any of the words, and I tap my feet nervously against the carpet, trying not to think about what's being said. That contact is who we've been trying to get to, the difference between starting over and getting caught, and my chest tightens. I don't want to leave my old life behind, but I also don't want to end up in Bradley's hands or Lev's. That contact is the only person who can ensure that doesn't happen.

I try to distract myself by unpacking the clothes I just bought, but my thoughts are racing wildly. What if the contact can't help us? What if Bradley or Lev have already found us? What if they're just biding their time, waiting to strike? The room, which felt so huge just a little while ago, suddenly feels small and claustrophobic, and I can feel myself wanting to pace, wanting to look out of the window to see if anyone is watching us from outside.

It feels like an eternity before Ivan finally emerges from the bathroom. His expression is unreadable, and my stomach twists with anxiety.

"What did they say?" I bite my lip, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

Ivan must see how anxious I am, because his face softens. He crosses the room quickly, coming to stand in front of me, one hand resting on the dresser where I just put my clothes, as if I'm moving in. "We have a meeting set," he says reassuringly. "But they can't meet us for a few days."

I let out a sharp breath. "A few days? What are we supposed to do until then?"

A small smile tugs at the corners of Ivan's mouth. "Well, I think we should stay in tonight. But I think, at the very least, we can explore this resort. I don't know if we should go out on the town, but there's plenty to do just in this one hotel. And if I do see someone suspicious, we can get up to our room quickly."

"Are you sure this isn't the diner all over again?" I raise an eyebrow. "We try to do something ‘normal' again, and it ends up almost getting us caught?"

Ivan huffs out a breath. "I don't think so. I hope not." He runs a hand through his hair. "Do you really want to stay cooped up in here until the meeting?"

I shake my head. "No. I'm just—" Scared , I almost say, but I don't want to admit it.

I feel like I'm close to losing it, honestly. And truthfully, I think a few days staying in this room and not going out might just drive me over the edge. Luxurious as it is, it's going to give me way too much time to think.

"We'll order room service tonight," Ivan says. "Tomorrow, we'll get out and explore a little. And pretty soon, we'll get what we need, and get out of here."

Except we won't be getting out of here. He knows that as well as I do. We'll be going our separate ways.

Ivan picks up the room service menu and hands it to me, and I see his mouth tighten, his eyes suddenly shadowed as if he realized what he said, too. And the heaviness in my chest makes me wonder, once again, if I've made this decision because it's what I really want.

Or if it's just because it's what I think I'm supposed to do.