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I pull a bottle of cabernet sauvignon from the wine fridge and set it next to the tub alongside vanilla candles.
Lowering myself slowly into the tub, I let the heat seep into my tired muscles. I crank up the jets and lean back, feeling their pulse against my neck. The one-way window beside the tub provides a panoramic view of the city.
I pour a glass of wine and reach for a novel. My, my, but today was awful. I dismiss the memory of Caesar in the bathroom stall and focus on the positives. The event was successful, the delegates had a good time, and the day is over.
Bang-bang-bang!
I’m tempted to ignore the knock on the door, but with all of the hubbub, it could be urgent palace business.
Boom, boom, boom.Wish denied. “Go away,” I yell at the door.
“Vivienne?” I think I hear a muffled female voice through the wood. Maybe it’s Aurora. Maybe there’s something I forgot to do before I left. Did I forget something?
“Yes?”
“Get out here!” The knocking becomes less intense but no less insistent. Cursing the interrupter of my evening, I drag myself from the tub and wrap up in chenille.
I wish I could be rude, but there’s no telling who could be at the door. If it’s someone from the palace, I might get herded back to work.Please don’t be from the palace.
I grimace and open the door like I’m the lead in a horror movie. It’s always the Black girl who gets killed first, too.
It’s a familiar face. One I’d hoped I’d never see again, much less banging on my hotel door after one of the worst days in recent memory.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, keeping the door half-closed so I can shut it as soon as humanly possible.
The blonde from Caesar’s escapade in the bathroom earlier looks exactly the same, except for her red nose and waterfall of eye makeup staining her cheeks.
“Caesar?” she calls, pummeling her way into the room and craning her neck throughout the suite.
“Hey!He’s not here. Why would he behere?” Blondie is rooting through my things, going through my suitcase, throwing my scarves on the bed. I’m approaching the end of my professionalism.
“Iknowhe’s here.Caesar?” She’s about to go into the bathroom when I step in front of her and open the door myself.
“Caesar, you can come out now,” I call into the bathroom. When nothing happens, I raise my eyebrows at the ridiculous person in my hotel room. “See? Nobody’s here. Now, Imelda, is it? It’s been a long day, so if you don’t mind –”
With a shriek reminiscent of a banshee, Imelda jumps at me, clawing at my face and pulling my hair. Nothing in my experience has prepared me for this part of the job.
“Security!” I yell into the hallway. I hope I don’t cause a royal incident. Although I suppose it can’t be worse than the one my visitor may have provoked with my esteemed boss.
I turn to the harpy having a meltdown before my eyes.
“I think the evening’s been long enough. Please leave now. Before you get yourself into worse trouble. If you care about Caesar, don’t start a scandal on his behalf.”
I hold the edges of my bathrobe together. No matter what she does to me, I will not be found naked.
“You whore! You fucking whore! You seduced him!”
“What?” I can’t help laughing, which enrages her further. “Are you kidding? No. Never. I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“Oh, so he’s not good enough for you, is he? You stuck-up bitch.”
“Okay. You’re not making any sense now, Imelda. I think you need to go home before the guards decide to take you somewhere else for your own protection.”
She lunges at me, and I try but fail to hold her off. I hear heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.
Oh, thank God.Moments later, guards start filling the room, but she has my hair coiled in her fingers.
“Stop!” I scream at her, and the guards echo the same command. She doesn’t listen to their shouts to leave. A security guard wraps his arm around her waist while another pries her fingers out of my hair.
