Page 21 of The Heartbreak Hotel

But needs must.

She took a bigger gulp, eyes watering as a splutter caught in her throat. “Jesus.” She could hear the sharp twang of her father’s tone in her ears, almost see his thick head of grey hair as he sat at the bar in the living room with some of his poker buddies. She tried to mask her own accent the best she could—any reminders of her childhood just brought on uncomfortable conversations—but some other habits were harder to erase.

A montage of memories bombarded her, images of picking up a drunken Elodie from the bathroom tiles, sick in her hair. Then an angry father, trashing her house, slurring his words like missiles. She drained the glass then poured out another, cradling it to her chest as she strolled across the wooden floor. Drinking only made her feel worse, but tonight, she couldn’t stop.

A meow made her pause and turn. Ziggy lay twisted into a shape that couldn’t possibly be comfy, but his green eyes were trained on her.

“You’re not judging me, are you, Zigs?”

He blinked, then decided to clean himself. I’ll take that as a no.

She approached her canvas. The black hole at the centre swirled outwards in aggressive swipes, curling in swift movements towards the edges.

She took another swig from her glass, relishing the warmth in her belly, and picked up her brush. Her thoughts filtered into the strokes, hard straight lines, blues and reds and purple. She drank again and painted more, until her heart hammered against her ribcage, and she took a step back to admire her work. The whirlpool had taken shape, the layers of colours adding depth and highlights, but her eye was drawn to the small faceless person, tiptoeing around the edge, about to fall into the hole.

How poetic.

She finished her drink with a gasp, leaning forward as the sensation rushed to her head.

You’re just as bad as Elodie.

Her thoughts tried to overwhelm her, but the booze provided a velvety barrier. Yes, her breathing was ragged, and her behaviour was questionable, but as Riley straightened to take in the painting before her, pride swelled in her chest. Seeing the inner turmoil on the canvas gave her a boost.

“Marco Marcos can’t say I’m not being proactive,” she murmured, adding touches of white to the waves.

“Shame you’ll do nothing with ye life,” her dad’s voice echoed, hand on the bottle, swaying in the doorway. “Just runnin’ away like ye mam.”

“Oh, shut it, Da.” Riley laughed at the slur in her voice. If only she could say those words to him now. She could imagine the way his lip would quiver and his eyes would darken, but she wouldn’t be scared. She’d just say it again, louder.

Okay, that’s enough whisky tonight.

Guilt swam into her stomach. Senhor Arenoso would be disappointed if he knew. Riley had a feeling the guru already suspected she wasn’t doing as well as she said she was. He had a talent for such things and had already checked on her twice this week. Jane had, too.

Riley sighed. She’d blown Jane off a few times, not up to having company, but she needed to be better. She would be happy-go-lucky Riley in the morning. She just needed to sleep off this alcohol and let the sun warm her bare skin. She just needed the anniversary to pass. Then she’d be fine again, just like she always was.

And being fine was better than the alternative. Riley had seen the other side, and she wouldn’t follow in Elodie’s footsteps. Or her dad’s.

Tonight hadn’t been great, but she’d get back up and try again. She just needed to refocus and recentre. Clear her head of Elodie- and Ella-related things.

She sighed again, allowing her mind to wander. Ella’s teasing smile popped into her mind, followed by the cackle of her laughter, and the funny dance she did after being pulled from the water. It was true, the redhead was cute, but she was also unpredictable. Ella would invite chaos into Riley’s life—look at everything that had happened so far. That was the opposite of what Riley wanted. She needed balance. Peace. Quiet.

Her job and life here gave her that. She couldn’t jeopardise them, especially when she was already teetering around the edge of a whirlpool, trying not to fall in. Who was she kidding? She was in no place to pursue anything—even if she was, any sort of relationship with a client was seriously off-limits. If she lost her job, she didn’t know what she’d do.

It wasn’t as if she could go back to Ireland.

Riley needed to keep her distance. No matter how attractive the curvy redhead might be, or how intriguing her fiery personality seemed, appearances could be deceiving. She had to remember that.

She couldn’t let a silly crush get in the way of her progress.

Chapter Seven

Ella

Ella sipped from her glass of water even though she wasn’t thirsty. The throbbing in her temples wouldn’t ease. The cool liquid slid down her throat, and she took another drink before glancing back at Marco Marcos. He spun a pen between his fingertips, his inquisitive brown eyes not leaving hers.

They’d quickly shifted from the polite niceties of “how are you finding your time here?” to the more serious, making-you-reconsider-every-decision-leading-to-this-moment questions.

When Ella set her glass down but still didn’t say anything, he raised his wild brows, glasses bouncing on the bridge of his nose.