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I’m sorry.
Her finger lifted off the keyboard, and she stared at the screen. Two words. No subject. No other explanation. Just I’m sorry.
It made her even angrier. She deleted it and went onto the next email. Unfortunately, she couldn’t ‘delete’ the email from her brain so easily. Why would Gael possibly think that was worth sending? She felt like writing something pithy back, but she feared her pain would come across even on email.
So she wrote nothing. As with lunch, she presumed her silence would send a clearer message than words ever could.
Besides, she had work to do. While she suspected Gael would sign up to invest in NewNetwork by the end of the week, it wasn’t a done deal. It would be prudent to cover her bases. And so she tapped out a quick email to Noris Newman, enquiring after old Mr Newman’s health, and then did some market research on other apps that might serve a similar function to NewNetwork.
Her stomach growled as the sun dipped down over the city, and Carrie contemplated dinner. She was hungry, but her emotions were in such a tangle that she wasn’t sure she could eat a thing. Instead, she grabbed her bathers out of her suitcase and pulled a cotton kaftan over the top.
Fifty laps in the hotel pool still didn’t soothe her frayed temperament, and for the first time in years, she craved chocolate. Or ice cream. She shook her head and pressed the button for the lift. It took an age to arrive, and that angered her too. Gael seemed to have lifts, cars, planes – everything – waiting to please him. Why was that?
She stared at the burgundy carpet of the hotel, wondering why hotels always had such a homogenous décor. Why not timber floors or mosaic tiles? You’re grumpy, she chastised inwardly, rationalising that she must be in a foul temper if even the carpet was offending her. She pulled her keycard from the pocket of her kaftan and looked up to scan the corridor for her room number.
“Oh.” She stopped walking, when her eyes landed on Gael. He was reclining against the wall, just beside the door to her room. His eyes were burning through her; he’d obviously been watching her since she got off the lift.
“Oh, God.” She lifted a hand to her face, bare of makeup, and her hair, wet and straggly on her face. How dare he see her like this? She stopped walking and crossed her arms over her chest.
“You didn’t eat lunch. I thought you’d be hungry,” he said by way of explanation, lifting a plastic bag he held in one hand. Carrie didn’t look at it.
“I’m not,” she lied, thinking of the room service menu inside.
Her fingers were shaking as she lifted the key into the slot. She fumbled and dropped it. Gael bent to pick it up, crouching to his haunches and then standing; closer to her now. So close she could smell him. So close her gut clenched.
He put a hand on her hip, his fingers strumming her through the fabric. “I have never touched your mother, princesa,” he said firmly. His eyes were unrelentingly glued to hers.
But Carrie knew he was lying. She had seen the kiss.
She blinked away from him. When the door made its buzzing sound, she pushed it inwards and then held it behind her. She stood just inside her room, making sure he didn’t follow. “I don’t care,” she responded finally, her voice surprisingly cold.
A muscle flecked in Gael’s jaw. “I’ve chased you away again,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “Just when you were coming out.”
“Huh?” She frowned, not sure what his riddle meant. She turned her head to look for the time, but her eyes landed on her appearance in the mirror instead. She swore inwardly. She looked disgusting. Hair a strange orange colour, face pale.
He lifted the bag. “It doesn’t matter. Here, let’s have dinner. And a proper apology. May I come in?”
Carrie squared her shoulders. She wanted him to. She really did. But the hurt she’d felt earlier was a cautionary tale she couldn’t ignore. Carrie didn’t line up to be hurt twice. She’d done it for Gael, though. He’d hurt her as a teenager and now? She was letting him do it again.
“I’m sorry, I have plans,” she said, thinking again of the room service menu.
Gael took great care not to overreact. He knew he’d pushed her too far that afternoon. That he’d let his anger dictate his behaviour, and his behaviour had been correspondingly rude and offensive. But was it possible she’d organised a date with someone else? The very idea of her seeking out another man spiked something sharp and agonizing in him.
“I have to shower. Excuse me.”
Gael was surprised. She was going to shut him out. And she was so firm; so intractable. She hadn’t smiled at him once. Out of nowhere, he felt a searing sense of panic, because he knew he had come very, very close to ruining everything.
Everything what? The thought gave him pause. Was Carrie right to be pulling away from him? This strange intensity that thrummed between them was making thought difficult. What precisely could she ruin, given that they shared nothing? Nothing other than sexual attraction, chemistry, and parents who had decided to marry.
He let her shut the door in his face, but he stared at it for a long time. He could hear the distant sounds of a shower running, and he forced himself not to picture her naked, her body slick with warm water.
The hotel was your average five star high rise. A pool mid way up, a gym two floors from the ground, and in the lobby, a bar, a restaurant and a gift shop selling cheap and nasty tourist junk. He headed for the bar, rationalising that he would wait for a while, to see if she changed her mind. Just half an hour or so, to see if she called. He propped at a table that afforded a good view of the hotel entrance, and told himself he was definitely not waiting to see her leave.
But time ticked, and there was no sign of Carrie, and eventually, the disappointment threatened to crush him. As he was getting up to leave, a good-looking young man sauntered into the hotel. He was smiling with anticipation, his head bent down, as he flicked through his mobile.
I like sex. Not you. What we have is something I could have with any other guy I found attractive.
Gael had never experienced jealousy, but he was pretty sure he was getting a crash course in it now. And that the emotion burning through him was a particularly virulent strain of the emotion.
