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When we get back to the car, Gray looks relieved and slightly surprised, like he was afraid we had made a run for it. I wish I had thought of that.
As we pull back onto the street, I let myself believe things are going to be ok. For a minute there, in that bathroom, you could have convinced me Victor and I were on the same side. Two fucked-up boys against the world.
Then we pull up to the Regale Naples hotel, a nine-story structure of stone and wrought iron bathed in late morning sun. Across the street I can see a marina bristling with little masts and the tops of yachts. I turn to ask Victor about the building that looks like a castle fromGame of Thrones, but I follow his stare to the crowd of reporters clustered around the front door of the hotel. Gray looks pissed. Talking into a radio, the driver pulls right past the entrance and around the block.
The air gets cold as we turn down a stone ramp into a claustrophobic underground parking garage that looks like dwarves carved it out with picks. When we idle to a stop, Gray jumps out and opens Victor’s door. Victor is clutching his largest suitcase in his lap, almost too big for him to carry, but Gray refuses to let it leave the car. “They have bellboys for a reason.”
“Fuckingfine.”
As they head for the elevator, I tap the driver’s shoulder. “Uh, thanks.”
He smiles. “Maledetti giornalisti.”
“And these bags.” I pull the zipper on one of the suitcases open a little and see a swimsuit, big surprise. “They're definitely all going to his room, right?” I don't want to be around him if any of this shit goes missing.
“Si, do not worry.”
Gray is holding the elevator door open for me, but he doesn’t get inside. “Werner is waiting at the top. I need to run some logistics.” He leans in and looks at Victor, sounding unexpectedly kind. “Be good. The more you cooperate, the faster this will be over.”
Something crosses Victor’s face in a flash, an expression I almost miss. He looks like he just got punched in the gut. Then he grits his teeth and stares at his reflection in the mirrored walls.
“We’re so not prepared for this,” I realize as we start to rise toward the lobby.
I notice that the eyes of his reflection are looking at me. “You’re such a fussy little bitch.” He sounds hoarse. Gray’s words seem to have destroyed his fragile mood. “You’re giving me an ulcer.”
“Look,” I cross the car and lean against the wall next to him, studying his profile. “We want the same thing. You’re going to work with me, right?” Like an idiot, I hold out my hand.
He looks down at my palm between us, then back at my face. “I don’t know.” Taking my hand in his, he traps it against his chest and leans in, lowering his voice. “Did you fuck him or did he fuck you?”
For a second, I blink, struggling to remember what he’s even talking about. The question he mocked me with at the club. I yank my hand away and wipe it on my pants. “Asshole.”
