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33
Luke’s hotel is the only one in the village of St. Camford, an original Tudor-style inn with mahogany beams on its immaculate white exterior. Its gleaming gold sign proudly readsThe Anchorage, allegedly named after the small dock to the east, though Luke informs me that it’s received in more recent times the nickname “The Wankerage” after its complicitness in hosting any and all corrupt foreign dignitaries, most of whom reside here as a stop-off point to receive honorary degrees during St. Camford’s graduation ceremonies. Luke himself has now added his name to the hotel’s esteemed, infamous guest list.
It has the air of a hotel that a brochure may describe as “charming.” Everything is mahogany and gold, and in that respect it feels unexpectedly like Lochkelvin. When Luke guides us to his bedroom, however, he gestures with a grimace at the pink carnation bedding and the framed paintings of cherub-faced kittens wearing lace gowns, gamboling among a meadow of purple wildflowers.
“They usually have an older clientele,” Luke mutters, embarrassed.
“If they’re making you sleep here, I don’t think these people are royalists,” Danny says, toying with the lace frill of a pillow.
I peer into the en suite and salmon-pink furnishings assail my vision. “Wow.”
“Well, I didnae know about you,” Finlay murmurs, gazing uneasily at a painting of a smiling kitten, “but as talented as the sassenach is, I dinnae think it’s fair on her tae try and sustain yer erection under these tryin’ circumstances.”
I flush, but Finlay’s right. The decor here is very, very mucha choice.
Luke cocks his head to the side, his gaze thoughtful as he watches me. “Blindfold me.”
I stare at Luke, my jaw dropping. “What?”
He shrugs as though his suggestion were nothing out of the ordinary. “Blindfold me.”
My mouth is still hanging open. “Blindfold…you?”
“Yes?” His brow dips in confusion. “Is there something wrong with this request?”
“No, it’s just…” I pause, biting my lip. “You are who you are, and you trust me enough with something like that.”
“Of course I trust you — I trust all of you.” Luke’s voice is smooth as he regards each of us in turn. “You’re the only ones in this wretched world Idotrust. Should I not?”
I shake my head. Nevertheless, I’m oddly touched. Luke seems genuinely perplexed as he tries to figure out my reaction. But this boy, this man, is the most important figurehead of a hot-button movement — and an overwhelming backlash — and he’s gifting himself up to me, serving me his vulnerability and his trust in exchange for my ability to make his supposedly wretched world better.
I drop to my knees in front of him, onto a swirl-patterned cerise carpet. It feels as though I’m waiting to be honored. Luke swallows loudly in the now-silent room.
Behind Luke, Rory and Finlay watch me avidly, leaning against the far candy-pink striped wall. Danny’s pulled out a chair and is sitting on it the wrong way round, settling his head on its upright back.
Luke’s eyes have already drifted shut. They open slightly when I begin to peel off my white tee, revealing a basic red vest underneath.
It’s an idea. And yet…
“Use it,” Rory says with a nod, reading my mind. His arms are folded over his chest and he observes me as though I’m participating in some kind of test — one of his own.
“Tell me what to do.”
“You know what to do.”
“I know. But I like it when you tell me… here.”
Byhere, I don’t mean a hideously pink bedroom adorned with lace curtains and horticulture-based kitten pictures, but from the way Rory inclines his head in acknowledgment, I think he understands.
I stroke the material of my tee over my knee, tracing the printed words in wonder.
“Tie it around his head,” Rory commands quietly, his voice a low, comforting rumble in the silent room, and Luke goes totally still.
Swallowing, I lean up from my position in front of Luke’s legs, raising my arms with the tee stretched between my hands. It’s folded deliberately, so that the wordsThought Criminalemit proudly from the middle. I place it over Luke’s already-closed eyes and Luke gently holds the sides for me.
“Fin, help her.”
Without hesitation, Finlay pushes himself from the back wall and settles behind Luke on the bed. He takes the two ends of my shirt between his hands, Luke’s face captured between the stretchy white material, and capably ties it into a strong knot at the back of Luke’s head.
