Chapter 18
Rhiannon
Robert has spent the day looking like I kicked his puppy. He’s been quiet and withdrawn. He even put his prosthesis on and went down to the pool for a while. To get away from me? Probably.
Not that I blame him. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. It’s one thing to think someone’s a deceitful arsehole; it’s quite another to say it to their face, especially with the level of venom I had in my words this morning.
I decided to text him and ask if he wanted to grab dinner together. If not, I’m ordering room service. I know I’m wasting a resort experience, but I have everything I need right here in the suite. And I don’t have to bother talking to people.
Ugh. People are the worst.
I’ll let housekeeping in to turn the room over in a day or two, and I’ll probably hit up the pool downstairs a couple of times because it’s likely more refreshing than the stuffiness of our private hot tub, but for the most part, this is my idea of pure bliss.
Hiding from the world and having people bring me delicious food while I do so.
George wasn’t good for much, but his choice of honeymoon definitely leaves little to be desired.
My bougie absolute bastard of an ex’s sole redeeming quality: he could pick a location for a relaxing honeymoon.
But couldn’t anyone? As long as they had time, patience, an internet browser or a travel agent…
Yeah, I’m giving him entirely too much credit. He probably couldn’t point to Croatia on a map.
The sharp pang of betrayal feels a little duller today, and my desire to cry myself into oblivion has lessened substantially.
The more I think about Isla, the more I realize she had become superfluous to my life without me realizing.
Did I love her and enjoy her company? Sure, like I love the girls on my team who I don’t have much in common with.
But Blá, Matthew, my sisters, they are my inner circle.
And while Isla might have started on the inside, she had inched further and further out.
Her actions show me that was the right call, and maybe she never deserved to be in there in the first place. But I don’t want to kill her as much as I want to kill that bastard George.
This is healing, right?
It fucking needs to be.
I still haven’t sent Robert a text. My thumb’s hovering over the blue circle with the white arrow. Sucking in a strong breath doesn’t make anything feel better.
Rhiannon: Hey, fancy dinner together?
Three dots appear, then stop, then start again.
My stomach dips. Bollocks. I really should have given more thought to being a raging cunt before it slipped out of my mouth.
Robert: Sure, what are you thinking? La Mar?
I smile, my insides relaxing a little at the fact he didn’t tell me to eat shit. We at least need to be able to put on a united public appearance while we’re wading through this political maelstrom.
La Mar is the hotel’s restaurant, and I’m bursting to try it.
They’re known for their Mediterranean dishes, and they are reported to have an extensive local wine list. Seafood, wine, and a handsome man who isn’t completely awful company when I pretend he’s not the journalist that upset the apple cart in the world of rugby… and my personal life?
Hell yes.
Relieved I didn’t fuck up my chance for a lovely evening, I tell him that sounds great, and that I’m hopping in the shower.
Robert: Don’t use all the hot water, I need one before tea too, or you’ll be thrown out of La Mar because your date smells rotten.
Even though I was unkind to him earlier, he makes me smile, and while I’m lathering up under the streaming hot jets, I can’t help but think about our conversation from earlier. What’s he going to tell me in a couple of weeks that I don’t already know?
Is he trying to get me to give him the benefit of the doubt so he’s not being held accountable? Like, what else could there have been to make him do what he did? Fame and money—aren’t they the two greatest motivators in the world?
He’s probably trying to buy a few months peace from the whole thing, and heaving out a sigh as I wash under my boobs, I can’t say that I blame him.
The weight that lifted the minute we got off the plane here in Croatia is astounding.
I hadn’t realized just how much pressure I was under until I stepped out of my everyday shoes for a minute and slipped my holiday flip-flops on instead.
When I step out of the shower, I slide on the wet tiles and almost go on my hole.
My fingers claw at the edge of the bathroom counter as my legs glide in opposite directions.
Somehow, I manage to right myself, but I might have to stretch out my thighs a little more before bed.
That’s all I need, to get injured right before the new season starts.
Talk about adding scandalous insult to sunny holiday injury.
As I’m wrapping my hair in a towel, something prickles in my brain. The floor being so slippery is hazard enough for me, never mind Robert. I’m torn between letting him figure things out for himself because he’s a grown man who knows his limits and making his life just a little easier where I can.
He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who wants a fanfare made about the fact he’s disabled.
But I almost went on my face with two legs.
I should give him something of a fighting chance, right?
I didn’t know about his leg when I first met him.
And it would be easy for me to make some small changes or help him out a little…
but I also don’t want to be a dick and accidentally upset him somehow.
I should talk to him. He probably has a process for how to talk about it, maybe it helps him.
Or will he think I’m overstepping? I did snap his face off earlier.
I’m going in circles while I dry myself.
The emotional whiplash is real. I may want to stab him sometimes, but I don’t want him to slip and fall on a wet bathroom floor.
I wrap myself in a towel because I was so focused on getting the suncream off me that I forgot to bring clean knickers into the bathroom.
“Robert? Are you back?”
I walk out of the bathroom and into a solid wall of man.
“Yeah?”
I squeal, one hand darting for the towel on my head, and the other going for the towel already sliding down my body. One of his hands drops his crutch as he grabs to help save my dignity, but instead of pressing the towel to my body, his palm cups my now supremely naked breast.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m trying to get…
Fuck. Fuck.” The more he swears, the harder I fight the silent laugh shaking my shoulders.
The more I try to cover my body, the more epically I fail because by the time we pull ourselves apart, my towel is gripped between my knees, and poor Robert’s face is so red he could identify as a lobster.
Of course, we both bend down at the same time to pick up our things and end up bumping heads. Pain radiates through my skull. “Ow! Sorry. You go first, I’m already naked.”
“I’d cover my eyes so as not to look, but then I’d not know where I’m reaching for. Or I’d grab the wrong thing again.” There’s so much tension, genuine, apologetic pain in his voice I can’t help laughing again.
“What are you doing here?” I try not to sound accusatory, but he was awfully close to the bathroom door for it to be coincidence.
“Having an out-of-body experience, apparently.”
My face heats at the compliment. He’s avoiding looking at me, but from the way his jaw ticks, it’s taking some serious self-control. “You mean an out-of-bounds one.”
“You’re assuming I’d call that foul.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. I’d throw a towel at him, but that wouldn’t help the naked situation. “That was not funny.”
“You laughed.”
“You’re hallucinating.” I groan. “Can I not go one day without you seeing me in a compromising position?”
“I mean, I’m not complaining.” He flashes me a casual grin. “I thought I heard you call me, so I came to see if you needed something.”
“And I was just checking if you were back.” I swipe my pair of knickers from the top of the bed. “Forgot my undies.” I crush them into a ball. “I’ll be out in just a sec, if that’s okay? Or I could grab my things and change out here while you shower? Whatever’s easiest.”
I don’t know why I’m still holding both towels. My hair towel has shifted to the side of my head during our collision, and my stringy, wet hair is escaping like Medusa’s snakes, and the one between my knees is being gripped for dear life though it’s not covering much.
He’s struggling to get his crutch up from the floor, so I say fuck it, let go of both towels, and bend over to help him.
When I stand, his line of sight is firmly set on the ceiling.
“Sorry. It’s not that I don’t think you can do it.
I just…” I slap my thighs. “I don’t know how to…
” I shrug, my face burning, and not only because I’m broaching a sensitive subject. When in doubt, go to comedy.
He rolls his lips between his teeth. “I could’ve picked it up myself.”
“Didn’t want to watch you wobble around like Bambi on ice.”
“Bambi was cute.”
“You’re not.” I’m acutely aware I’m as naked as the day I was fucking born, and he’s standing in shorts and a t-shirt doing his level best to not look my perky nipples dead in the eye. “You gonna keep staring or say thank you like a civilized human?”
“Trying to remember how to speak.”
It’s my turn to roll my lips. “Try not to make a habit of flinging your stick around.”
“Don’t make a thing of it, Fly-Half.”
I jerk my chin as the bulge in his pants. “Bit late for that.” I sigh. No time like the present… “I don’t want to ignore the fact you’re a person with a disability, but I also don’t want to be accidentally condescending or offensive.”
His face softens, and his gaze meets mine for a fraction of a second before he looks back at the very interesting white ceiling. “I appreciate that.”