6. Fia #2
“I’m sure he would have done that already,” I snort, taking more sips of my coffee while it’s still hot.
“This is no laughing matter. If the shoe was on the other foot, you’d be telling me the same. You were the shell of the woman you once were, constantly looking over your shoulder like you were being watched. Even in your own apartment, you spent more time looking at the door than me.”
“Where did I go after they knocked the apartment block down?”
Chloe shrugs. “I never found out. Perhaps you moved in with Emil.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I mutter, concentrating on shifting the fog away from my mind.
The sex must have been otherworldly.
“And now you’re pregnant with this freak’s child,” sighs Chloe, raking a piece of brown hair from her eyes. “It’s too late for an abortion.”
“I’m not interested in an abortion,” I sigh, smoothing a hand over my belly bump. “All I want is my memory back, and for these babies to be born healthy.”
“Plural?” Chloe’s eyes widen. “You’re pregnant with twins?”
“There’s enough of Emil for him to succeed in planting a whole farm in my uterus apparently.”
“You want to keep rolling with the punches and tell me some more shocking news?”
“I think we have everything covered,” I say, swirling the coffee around in the cup. I down the rest, the cup clanging in the saucer as I set it back down. One glance through the window tells me it’s time to go. “I should leave.”
Chloe follows my gaze through the window. Raindrops slide down the panes, blurring the red taillights of passing cars. “The storm is on its way,” she says, grimacing.
I stare into the darkness, unease passing through me.
“Stay with me tonight.”
“I’m staying at the Four Seasons Hotel.”
“Did the amnesia remove your ability to think rationally and make sensible financial choices?”
Part of that sentence is true.
I lower my voice, leaning forward in the booth. “I woke up from the coma with millions of dollars in my account.”
“Emil is a millionaire?”
“Try billionaire,” I screech, thinking back to the house I was apparently living in for a year. Even millionaires would be hesitant to build an estate as enormous as Emil’s.
“You’re kidding?”
“Unfortunately, not. The worst part is, I totally forgot what he does for work.”
“Perhaps that’s for the best,” cringes Chloe, rising from the booth. “You of all people know that people with money commit the most crimes.” She flashes me a pointed look as she throws on her coat, fastening all the buttons, preparing for the cold.
I slip my phone, clicking confirm and booking for Four Seasons Hotel, only a block away from here. I can manage walking a block alone. The sidewalk is still teeming with people, the road heavy with barely moving traffic.
I exhale a sigh of relief, hugging Chloe goodbye.
“Having coffee with a ghost wasn’t how I saw today going.”
“I’m real… I think.”
“Until Emil steals you away again.” Concern lines Chloe’s face again. “Stay where it’s busy. You’ll be safe in the Four Seasons where there’s security.”
I nod, parting ways with Chloe. I fold my arms across my chest, the cold finding its way into the very membrane of my bones.
The rainfall becomes heavy. I raise the hood on my jacket, holding it close as I fight through pedestrians and umbrellas, weaving through the crowd. A harsh wind blows down the street, batting my hood.
A typical winter’s day in Seattle.
Cars splash through puddles, sending the dirty water my way. By the time I make it into the hotel lobby, I’m drenched through my clothes, dripping rainwater onto a very nice marble floor.
The doormen, wearing an ironed three-piece suit, greets me with a cordial smile. “Do you have a room booked?” He asks, paying close attention to my outfit, which is questionable at the best of times.
I drop my hood, entering through reception. “Yes.”
Soft jazz music plays softly through the hotel lobby, a stark contrast to the chaos happening outside.
Guests lounging in the lobby look my way, probably wondering what business a drowned rat has being here.
I unzip my coat, sling it over my shoulder and head to the front, checking into my room.
“Would you like a towel, miss?” asks the concierge, walking toward reception to investigate the fuss. “You’re very wet.”
State the fucking obvious.
“Are their towels in my room?”
“Yes,” answers the receptionist. “You will find a set of hand and bath towels in the bathroom cabinet.”
“Then I’m good, thanks,” I say to the concierge, looking away, hoping he gets the message to leave me alone. I came here to fucking sleep, not to be a jester for the rich.
“Okay,” says the receptionist. “The booking is all paid for. You’re staying for one night in room?—”
“Can I increase the duration of my stay? I may need a few more nights to figure some things out.”
The receptionist gives me a long look, staring at my creased shirt. She turns her nose up at it, like she can sense the polyester fabric from a mile away.
“Come back tomorrow and we can figure something out. We’re very full. The room number is on your card. Enjoy your stay with us.”
I take my key card, thank the receptionist for her service, and spend two minutes figuring out how to work the elevator before realizing they’re manned by concierges.
He inspects my card and presses the correct floor, silence stretching between us as we ride up to my floor. The drip, drip of my wet jacket leaking on the floor fills the elevator.
“Will you be okay finding your room?” he says as I step out.
“Yes, thanks,” I say, snaking around the corridor before realizing I did indeed need his help.
Why do five-star hotels make everything so complicated?
I finally find my room, collapsing through the other side. I wring my wet jacket out in the bathroom and throw myself into bed, rolling around on pristine sheets in my dirty clothes.
The floor-to-ceiling windows remind me of the ones in Emil’s house. I walk toward the glass, opening the drapes, watching rain clouds roll in. A dark mist travels through the city, making it impossible to see further than a few yards ahead. The road is hidden underneath the mist.
The taste of coffee on my tongue turns sour. I feel like I’m lost in the sky, floating through the clouds. My hotel room is high up enough to give that illusion.
Fear rolls through my stomach, making me nauseous. I slide a hand over my lower belly bump, forcing myself to relax for the sake of my children. They’ve already endured enough stress. We all have.
Despite spending the night in the safest, most deluxe hotel this city has to offer, I feel alone. The coldness I felt from walking down the streets feels more prominent now, freezing my bones, turning them as cold as ice.
I don’t fit in. Nothing feels real, especially up here, away from everything, surrounded by people who turn a blind eye to poverty, but stick their nose up at polyester clothes. Working with rich clients at the firm made me hate people with money.
It buys them excuses. They threaten innocent healthcare workers, making it everyone’s business to get what they want.
And what Emil wants is me. Can I bend my hatred a little for finally being seen as something other than a waste of space?
I turn my back on the window, drawing the drapes. I remove my wet clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, and walk naked into the bathroom, turning the dial on the shower to extra hot.
Before jumping in, I examine myself in the mirror, cupping each of my breasts, squeezing them in my palms. They’re bigger than I remember, more pronounced, the areolas wider. Before, I could leave the bra without a house, attend work out classes in just a tank top, wearing nothing underneath.
Looks like I won’t have the luxury of doing that anymore.
I pinch my nipples, squirming at the heightened sensitivity. Heat rushes to my clit, causing me to part my thighs and inspect my pussy next.
I angle my head to the side in assessment, tilting my pelvis forward, opening myself up. My clit is buried underneath, swollen from the amount of times I’ve been turned on since waking up. Emil is to blame.
The memory of him pinning me against the bedframe, fucking me from behind, returns.
I take one final glance at my naked form in the mirror and shake off the feeling. Time to shower the chaos away and focus on the future.
I smooth my hair away from my face, letting the hot shower temperature kill the cold ache in my bones. Steam curls around the cubicle, quickly filling the entire bathroom. I take my time shampooing my hair, allowing the heavy scents of jasmine and patchouli to cleanse me.
From this day forward, I stay the fuck away from Emil.