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“They’re playing tomorrow night.” She frowns. “They’ve lost their last three games. Fingers crossed they beat the Wild tomorrow.”
“Are you sorry you aren’t home to watch?”
“I’ll survive.” She grins wryly before suspicion mars her beautiful features. “Is this another attempt to send me home?”
I hold up my hands in protest. “Not a chance. I’ve learned that lesson at least.”
We work through the schedule while Cress downs several small servings of limoncello, all the while bemoaning the fact I’m breakfasting at the Wolseley, and she’s having spa day.
Then she pulls out a package. “It’s after midnight, so happy birthday, darling.”
I heft the neatly wrapped rectangle.
“Tear off the paper.” Cress bounces up and down as if she’s on springs.
I stare at the book cover, gobsmacked.Mon Ami Mate: The Bright Brief Lives of Mike Hawthorn and Peter Collinsby Chris Nixon. A book I’ve wanted for years. I carefully place it on the floor and pull Cress into my chest, dropping kisses on her upturned face.
“How did you know?” I murmur.
“Serge told me you’d like it.”
I send a brief, silent thank you to my cousin, who is as enamored of cars as he is of first editions. Then I kiss her again, heat rising between us. I have no more words as I take her to bed.
When the buzz of an alarm finally penetrates, I groan. Cress doesn’t react to the annoying sound. Waking up next her is always a joy, but we don’t have any time this morning to luxuriate. I touch her shoulder, but she doesn’t respond. I lean over and drop a kiss on her neck. Still no reaction. I turn off the alarm and slip out of bed. I wish I could give her a little time, but I’m already running late.
After I scramble into my clothes, I go back and sit on the bed, shaking her shoulder gently. “Cress.”
She startles. “What the…”
“Rise and shine. I let you sleep a little longer, but now you only have half an hour to get ready. And I need to leave.”
She groans reaches for me. “Can’t you stay?”
“Sorry. No choice.” I pull her into a quick embrace.
After wishing me a happy birthday, she complains, “I’d tell you to bring me one of the Wolseley’s green juice drinks, but I’ll be out all day—at a spa.” Her eyes glow, not with excitement, but with loathing.
“Isn’t this your second spa visit in the last few weeks?”
She curls her lip., “Micki insisted on a spa day just before we left. It was okay.” Her expression is grudging.
Then, as if realizing she’s giving the wrong impression, her voice softens. “A day out with your mother, sisters, and sister-in-law.” She pauses, her face scrunched into a frown. “Not that I don’t enjoy being with them, but it’s been nonstop socializing and …”
“You’re not comfortable with my family.” Damn, I’d hoped we were past this now.
“They still make me kind of nervous. Everyone is really nice, but…”
I press her hand to my lips. “I know we’re an overwhelming bunch. But they already love you.” Her eyes tell me that she thinks my claim dubious, so I soldier on. “You just have to trust that everything will work out. And the spa should be amazing.”
“Not really a fan,” she tells me, a catch in her throat.
Puzzled, I press, “You told me you loved the hammam in Istanbul. What’s the difference?”
“At the hammam, you lie on a hot slab of marble until your muscles relax. Then a woman comes over and starts pouring hot water over you, scrubs you with a loofah, then douses you with more water while she works you over. Not exactly a massage. Since she only speaks Turkish and I don’t, her gestures are my orders. Eventually I go to the pools—hot, tepid, then cool. After an oil massage, I sit in a lounge and drink tea. All without conversation. When I leave, I’m relaxed and wonderfully clean. My skin glows for days.”
I really don’t understand the difference. “So, it’s a spa without verbal interaction.”
“It’s a transaction. No one is chatting with me, trying to upsell products or other services. Some of them offer things like facials, but I never bothered. Many women go as groups, and it is more of a spa experience for them. But personally, I enjoy the aloneness and the anonymity of the whole thing.”
