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Mason climbed off the mattress, fixing his jeans button which I had managed to unclasp but not unzip. He grabbed his shirt from the bed and put his top back on.
Mason cleared his throat. “Ariella will be back soon, and we can’t be caught in a compromising position.”
Was that his concern, that we’d be caught by his colleagues? I sat up and hurried to the bathroom, slamming the door shut on my heel. I slid down along the door, my back against the cold wood as I sat on the floor, my knees pulled up to my chest.
Regret filled my heart. I’d been foolish to think we could pick up where we’d left off.
Time seemed to trickle by like sand in an hourglass, one grain at a time.
Without my phone handy or a clock nearby, I didn’t know how long I spent on the floor.
A firm knock vibrated through the wooden door. “You all right in there?” Mason asked.
“Fine.” I would be after all of this was over and Franco left me alone. I didn’t know how that would ever be possible unless I was put into witness protection or given a new identity—the types of arrangements that were made in movies for innocent victims. I wasn’t innocent. My hands were covered in blood, the same as Nikolai.
