Chapter 30

30

Eva

You'd think historic buildings would be heavily guarded. They are in movies. With lasers and cameras and security guards willing to die for their minimum-wage jobs. But in my experience, they're really just not. That's how people storm the Capitol, steal The Scream , grease van Gogh.

The truth is, most people aren't watching. The fact is, most people don't care. Especially not when you're paying a couple thousand euros a night for a hotel room.

I don't tell Jonathan there's a hotel until we arrive. We pull into the porte cochere and he gives me a look like I have earned all the points.

"You're very clever," he says.

"Just you wait," I say.

He doesn't let go of my hand as we leave the car, as we check into our room, as we walk down the hall and through the door. You would think it would feel awkward, but it doesn't. It feels natural. Like our hands have always been attached.

We cross into our hotel room.

"There's a lot happening in here," Jonathan notes of the decor. It's eighteenth century. There's a shit ton happening.

I lead him to the bed. I sit him down. He gazes up at me, a little impatiently.

"Now," I say, "I'm going to give you options, because there's a chance we might get arrested and I think you're altogether too sensitive for prison."

"You are correct."

"We can fuck here, or we can try for the Hall of Mirrors. I had a look at the doors earlier, and the locks are period accurate. Translation: Modern tools can crack them." A fancy multitool is currently en route to the hotel, courtesy of Sherri. It's perfect for window-shopping.

"There are cameras everywhere in there," he says.

"Are you shy?"

"What makes you think the guards won't stop us?" He's smirking slightly, so I know he admires my gumption. And my absurdity.

"Isn't ‘voyeur' a French word?" I ask. He gives me a look. "Kidding. I'll work it out with the guards. Let's rendezvous in the southwest elevator shaft in twenty minutes." I start toward the door.

His fingers close around my wrist, pull me gently to a stop. "Who are you, really?"

I take a step toward him. I look him dead in the eyes, like I'm lining up a shot. "I'm whoever you want me to be."

He drops my hand.