He and Tommy have plans to be gallivanting around Milan. So, dragging him into this feels like a violation of his personal time.
But protocol is protocol. And I already ignored his orders after the first note arrived.
Anything out of the ordinary is to be brought to me immediately.
The words from Michel burned into my memory.
Just rip off the Band-Aid. Tell him what happened, and let him do his job.
I sigh, and pick up my phone.
Violet:I’m sorry, but this was under my door when I got back to my room today.
Violet:[Image attached]
His reply comes through faster than I imagined.
Michel:I see Tommy picked the wrong week to develop a deep appreciation forRenaissance frescoes.
Violet:I can just… toss it? Ignore it?
Michel:Tempting. Creates more paperwork later, though. My location is compromised. Give me fifteen. Do not open the door until you get the signal from me.
Violet:You don’t have to do this right now. It’s your vacation.
Michel:Vacation was Tommy dragging me to a fabric museum yesterday. This is a tactical reprieve. Fifteen minutes.
True to his word, fourteen and a half minutes later, two knocks rap on my door.
“Sally the camel has…”
“Three humps,” Michel’s whispered reply sneaks through the door.
I open it.
Michel stands in front of me, smelling like citrus and cigarette smoke, looking every bit the tourist in dark jeans and a soft charcoal sweater. A far cry from his usual attire as my security detail. He holds a paper bag from a pastry shop.
“Brought bribes,” he says dryly, holding up the bag. “Tommy insists on sharing.”
He steps in, his eyes doing a quick, professional sweep of the room before landing on the note. I put the first one right on top of it so he would know this is a second occurrence. He takes them, holding them up.
“Dramatic.” His tone is flat. He pulls his phone from his pocket and shines the flashlight over the notes. “No trackers, just standard stationary.” He scans the letters, the handwriting, any signs that will lead him to answers.
“Well?” I ask, my voice tight. “Should I be worried?"
He folds the pieces of paper and slips them into his pocket. “Worrying is my job. Yours is to wait for the closing ceremonies.” He tucks his device and phone back into his jeans pocket, checking his watch. “Tommy saw a scarf he thought would look ‘devastating’ on you. Consider it part of your cover.” His eyes do a final sweep of the room. “I’ll handle this note, nothing that invites escalation just yet.”
“Thank you, Michel. Really.” I toy with my fingers in front of me. “Tell Tommy I’m sorry.”
A flicker of something that isn’t quite a smile touches his mouth. “He’ll bill you for the interrupted aperitivo.” He gives me a short, efficient nod. “Don’t open the door for anyone.”
And with that, he’s gone, the door clicking softly behind him, leaving me with the scent of almond pastries and the faint reassurance that for now, the walls are still holding.
Violet:Are you back at your room?
I shoot Skye a text, not knowing if she’s done with practice. With the quarterfinals tomorrow, she’s probably swamped. It’s a shame. I’m buzzing with wild, reckless energy, and all I want is to harness it and get on my knees to taste her before my courage flickers out.
Skye:I am. Just got out of the shower.
