Page 75 of The Square

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - CHRISTINE

It’s not that I haven’tbeen drowning in luxury for half my life and it’s not like I haven’t been to the Ritz in half a dozen cities around the world, or even that I haven’t stayed in this particular part of the Ritz London before.

It’s just… I haven’t been in a place like this with them in a very long time.

Four years. A little over four now. It doesn’t seem like a long time and in the grand scheme of things, it’s a blip and nothing more.

But it feels like lifetimes since we did this. Many, many lifetimes.

And even though it’s somewhat childish that this kind of pampering can make me smile after all the things that have happened over the past few months, I do smile.

I hold tightly to Danny’s arm all the way up to the room, and keep hold of it even after we enter and he’s digging through his jeans for some cash to hand out a tip to the talkative ambassador in charge of us.

She thanks him and leaves.

We have no luggage to speak of. Danny has his backpack and I have a bag leftover from shopping that I left in the car… this morning. Jesus. Was that just this morning that we arrived?

“OK,” Danny says, prying my arm off his. “This is home for now. Alec, I need you to jot down your measurements. Jessica is going shopping for you. Christine, if you need anything, put it on the list. I’m gonna have her get me some sweatpants.”

I smile. I can’t help it.

“What?” Danny says. “I want to cut them off into shorts so I can feel comfortable.”

Alec walks over to the desk and takes a seat. He looks tired. No. Weary. Tired implies you’re working too hard and maybe just need a nap to recharge. The look he’s wearing implies he’s been through hell.

I feel bad for unloading on him in the limo but then again, when I catch sight of myself in a hallway mirror, I realize I look weary as well, so the guilt fades.

Danny looks… resigned. He’s fucking with the switches that control the drapes in the living room. He flicks all the wrong ones, opening the inside curtains first. Then they close and the outer ones open. Which he decides is not what he’s after, so he flicks all the switches again.

There’s a symphony of whirring motors as the two sets of curtains do the exact opposite of what he intends.

It’s so him, I smile again. He never could figure out how to work the curtains in hotel rooms.

Alec gets up, drops the pad and pen on the desk, and walks over to him. “Jesus, man. I’ve explained this a million times. The outer curtains are on the inside and the inside curtains are on the outside.”

“Because that makes sense,” Danny quips, heading for the minibar. Which is actually not mini at all, but a whole slew of top-shelf liquor behind an actual bar.

He chooses a bourbon, something with a green label that I don’t recognize, gets three glasses, and pours us all drinks.

I’m watching him do this. As is Alec. And he’s just about to start handing them out when he looks at us, holds up a finger, then fishes two ice cubes out of a bucket and plops them both into one glass.

Mine.

Smile number three. Because he remembers.

“I don’t want one,” Alec says, putting up a hand as Danny approaches.

“It’s not optional.” He says it with a snide, sideways smile. “You need it. So drink it.”

I don’t bother protesting, even though I don’t want one either. I guess he thinks we need this to soften up, and I’m not up to making my own decisions at the moment, so I accept the glass and begin to sip.

It goes down smooth, the burn coming whole seconds later once the drink is in my gut.

Alec downs his whole glass in one gulp. Which has Danny raising his eyebrows behind the bar. But he just shrugs and drains his as well.

“Let’s have another,” Danny says, once again pouring. He takes the bottle and his new drink over to the coffee table in the middle of the room, and then refills Alec’s glass.

Alec considers objecting again, but he’s too weary. So he just downs it as well.