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If she could manage that, she had to think that this night, and possibly more, would be worth it.
She wore the nude, silk, sleeveless nightgown with a modest neckline that had been draped over her bed by some discreet maid. It was rather nice. A bit retro for her taste, but she would rather show less than more. She had expected something black and red with tons of see-through lace and maybe some black leather inserts.
But no. It was all rather tame, harking from a different era. Including an NDA with some rather obtuse word-engineering that made it practically impossible to mention a sliver of what occurred on the other side of the door. She wasn’t sure if it was one-hundred-percent legal, but it was certainly intimidating.
Just as she was about to knock, her treacherous mind pulled Lucas to the forefront. Like a vicious reminder of those things she gained to lose by seeing this night through.
Then again, did she ever really have him?
He certainly let her go. Didn’t say a word, or give her the benefit of the doubt, as she walked out of that hospital room.
Then again, history had taught her never to expect anything from anyone, therefore, she’d never be disappointed.
A rather existential view of people and expectations, but one that worked for her.
Although, she couldn’t escape the fact tonight would be one true sin, as opposed to all of the fabricated ones, created and advertised by Maisie, that she would never be able to reason away. Explain away. One she would never deny and for once, be admitting the absolute truth. Once she slept with Errol, she would have compromised any chance of a future with Lucas.
But even though Lucas was the only man she’d ever loved, her kryptonite per se, he was no match for the fear of what Errol might do next. These days, fear would always win the day. Despite having to endure miserable, soul-suffocating nights.
Rather than knock, she stiffened her spine, turned the doorknob, and walked inside.
To an empty room.
Empty in terms of people.
She looked to her right, toward the bathroom door and could see the rim of light shining through the bottom.
The rest of the room was dark, with the exception of an illuminated lamp beside the bed.
A twin bed.
Who in the middle-aged hell slept on a twin-size bed?
The closer she got, she noticed the bedspread.
Spiderman?
Was that the image of Spiderman on the bed? With his wrist upright, as if he were threatening to shoot his spidery web at the first sight of a bad guy?
Her eyes moved upward toward the pillows, their view hampered by a row of stuffed animals.
Was she in the right room?
Could Errol or Flynn be hiding some cast-off child from some torrid affair?
Did the child need rescuing?
The door to the bathroom opened, the light making it difficult for her eyes to adjust.
Once they did, she blinked, several times. And then several times more.
Errol stood before her in a polo, but not one styled for men, but more in the style of a Garanimal shirt for toddlers. Buttoned to the top and with his thin smattering of hair slicked back.
He wore a pair of shorts, the shirt tucked in with tennis shoes. That. Had. Lights.
“Errol? Is this a joke?”
His entire demeanor morphed from the despicable human being from dinner to a vulnerable boy.
