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“If you are not comfortable remaining in the hotel,” Donovan read out loud, “you are invited to move to our partner location, the Express Hilton Roma. You will still be confined to your rooms there, but you will find a greater number of amenities, such as a fully-operational kitchen and maid staff.”
He lowered the letter and looked at me. I searched his face to gauge his reaction. We had an opportunity to go somewhere else. Did he want to leave?
“I don’t need maid service,” he finally said.
My heart swelled with happiness.He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay here with me.
“We already have a fully-operational kitchen,” I said. “Switching to whatever chefs they have will probably be a downgrade.”
“Not to mention there are more people there,” Donovan agreed. “And we would be stuck in our rooms.”
“Other peoplesuck. Present company excluded, of course.”
“So you’re cool staying here?” Donovan asked.
“Are you kidding? I have a private chef who I also get to have sex with whenever I want.”
Donovan sat on the bed and kissed my shoulder. “Is that what I am to you? A sex robot who can also make pancakes?”
“Oh, pancakes! I’ll have those, please. Chop chop, sex robot chef.” I clapped my hands together.
He stood up and made mechanical, robotic movements across the room. He stopped at the divider door and said, “Ah, fuck.”
“What?”
He pointed at the door. “It must have blown closed when we opened the balcony door. I don’t have my room key.”
“Then how are you going to get back in?”
He looked at the balcony.
I quickly slid out of bed and got dressed so I could watch him climb over to his balcony. It felt far more dangerous in the bright light of morning, but he jumped the gap easily and then disappeared into his room. A few minutes later I let him through the dividing door to my room.
“Let’s prop these open so that doesn’t happen again,” he said. “Grab the door stopper…”
Sliding the jammer under each door felt like taking a step forward in a relationship. Our two separate rooms were now onebigroom that we were sharing.
I showered, and Donovan brought me breakfast in bed. While we ate, we watched Italian news with English subtitles. The number of infected Italians had increased, as well as the death count. Both numbers seemed to be climbing with alarming speed.
France had finally closed their borders and implemented a nationwide shutdown. The first cases in South America were reported in Rio de Janeiro. North Korea claimed they had zero cases due to the quick response from The Glorious Leader.
“I can’t watch this anymore,” Donovan finally said. “I’m going to the gym.”
“Want me to walk around the hall and distract you with my ass?”
He grinned. “Don’t you dare. I might break my neck this time.”
I stayed glued to the TV while he exercised. The footage of grocery store lines and empty shelves was like something you typically saw in a developing country. New York City had implemented a stay-at-home order. It was jarring seeing Times Square completely empty. It felt like the apocalypse.
Donovan returned to my room shirtless and sweaty. “There’s a rumor they’ll start opening up travel again to the United States,” he said while drying off with a towel. “Well, it’s not a rumor. It’s one person on Twitter who says so. Have you gotten an update yet?”
“Let me check…” I logged into the portal where we had registered. “Nope. It says my flight request is still pending.”
“Me, too,” Donovan said gloomily.
“What’s your estimate? Mine says April fifteenth. That’s three weeks from now!”
He frowned at his phone before answering. “April twelfth.”
