A lot more damaged, to be honest. Myles might have been lying about wanting to be with me, but I wasn’t. This hurts so much, far more than losing Dean ever did. I don’t know how I’m going to get over this. But I do know I need to never see him again. I open my hotel room door, glancing nervously down the corridor. He’s probably shagging Katya right now but, on the off-chance he’s come after me, I don’t want to be found.
The hallway is deserted. I take the stairs, carrying my case with both hands as I descend to the lobby. I head to the desk, dropping my key card. The young man behind it, the same one who’d showed Myles and I around the suite, looks up, surprised.
I must look a fright, my hair slipping from the knot, tears on my face. I don’t care. I just have to get out of here.
I lug my case to the door, ignoring the calls of “Madame!” behind me. The hotel is paid for, nothing else needs to be done.
“Can you get me a taxi?” I ask the man at the doors. One pulls up just as I ask, a family tumbling out. I stick my head in the door. “Airport?”
The driver nods and, as soon as the family and their luggage are out, I’m in, pulling the door closed. Not until we’re out of the street, joining the maelstrom of traffic, can I breathe properly again.
But each breath hurts as though my ribs are broken, sobs threatening. I pull myself together with an effort. I need to get on a flight and get home, and then I can break.
I run through the airport to the ticket desk, dragging my bag behind me. I’m terrified that Myles will suddenly appear and I’ll have to face him. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do that. I need to put space and distance between us.
Thankfully, there’s no one waiting at the desk. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and pull my wallet from my bag. I’ll have to dip into my savings to get home, but I don’t have any other choice.
“Good morning.” The woman behind the counter is pleasant and smiling, her dark hair pulled back.
“I need to get on the next available flight to London.” My throat feels constricted, and I clear it. “Economy class, please.”
The woman’s dark brows draw together slightly. She nods, typing something into her computer. She frowns at the screen, then her brow clears. “I have a seat left on a flight leaving in forty-five minutes,” she says. “But you’ll have to run.”
“I’ll take it.” I hand her my card. “Thank you so much.”
The price isn’t too bad but, as I say, I don’t care. I need to leave this place behind. Ticket in hand, I race over to the bag drop and leave my bag, then head for security. I still have FastTrack clearance, so I use it, holding myself together as I step through the archway, collecting my carry-on and heading into the perfume and lights of duty-free. I pass a large poster of Big Red and resist the urge to put my fist through it.
Anger is surging in me now, breaking through the shock. I channel it into walking quickly, heading for my gate. When I arrive, boarding has already started, and I join the queue.
It’s not until I’m on the plane, strapped into my seat, that I actually start to breathe properly. As we soar into the clouds, I turn my face to the window and weep.
ChapterThirty-Four
Myles
Irace downstairs, running along a hallway lined with closed doors. Zara could be behind any of them. Terror burns in my chest, fear that I’ve lost her, that I’ll somehow never see her again. It’s obvious what happened now, and I curse my stupidity at not speaking up, but my mind was still so fogged with sleep. Katya, in her usual fashion, has obviously shown up and blagged her way into my room. She’s been here before, so it’s not like she wouldn’t have known where I was, or that the staff wouldn’t recognise her. She always complained bitterly about staying here, wanting to be in the new modern enclave rather than the heart of the old city.
Christ. What must it have looked like to Zara, after all we’ve been through? She knows what Katya’s like but, more importantly, she knows what I’m like. What I used to be like, anyway, taking Katya back every time she pulled a stunt, like a fool. Of course she was going to think that was what happened again. Things between us were so new, so fragile. And now Katya’s appearance might have damaged them irreparably. I slow to a stop, my chest aching, my eyes sore. I cannot lose Zara, not now.
Where the hell is she?
I head down to reception. I should have come here first, but my brain, my heart, are too scrambled. All I know is that I have to find her. I go to the front desk.
“Can you tell me which room Zara Woodman is in? It should be on my booking.”
“Of course, Mr Brandon. Are you enjoying the suite?” The young woman behind the desk smiles. “And did Miss Evanovna find you?”
“She did.” The words are curt, and the young woman’s smile fades slightly. It’s not her fault, but I feel irrationally angry with her. Katya is famous and it’s well-known she’s with me. It makes sense, especially if she acted as though she was meeting me, that they would have let her into my room. “The suite is fine. But Miss Woodman?”
The young woman types something, looking at her screen. Then she turns to me, a slight frown on her face. “She’s in Room 157,” she says. “But she’s checked out already.”
“How long ago?” I snarl the words. My heart is agony. Where the fuck has she gone?
“Around ten minutes,” another voice says. I recognise the young man who showed us around the suite. Was it only two days ago? It feels like a lifetime.
I don’t answer, running for the door. She might still be there. But when I get outside there’s no sign of her. I glance up and down the street, but can’t spot her in the crowds. I turn to the doorman.
“Miss Woodman. Tall, with brown hair? She left just a few minutes ago. Did you see which way she went?”
