Chapter 10
Kjell
Is the woman crazy?
I stare at the question I just typed into my laptop. The black letters flicker imperceptibly against the white background.
Who is the real Skady Blohm? I write hesitantly and mentally go through possible answers.
A quick-witted woman—stunningly beautiful, smart, and witty.
An arrogant lunatic—full of self-importance, delusions, and paradoxical actions.
A mysterious soul—dark, wounded, and seeking redemption.
Nonsense.
I shake my head before I become crazy myself. Then I look up.
I watch businessmen rushing over the thick red carpets in the bustling hotel lobby from my seat on the antique-looking armchair in the corner. The scent of coffee wafts over from the counter on the opposite side of the lobby, along with the clinking of porcelain. Behind the reception desk hangs a golden clock whose hands are as long as my legs.
The twenty minutes I was supposed to wait here are over. I pack up my laptop and make my way back to the reception with my suitcase and camera bag.
In a way, it was good that Sky immediately retreated to her penthouse suite. That way, she couldn't find out that I had no reservation. And she wasn't there when the receptionist with the modern short haircut explained that the hotel was fully booked.
"It's Fashion Week," she said, looking at me as if I were insane for asking for an available room now.
With a desperate look and a lot of persuasion, I at least managed to get her to check partner hotels for available rooms on my behalf.
"Va bene," she said, pointing at the waiting area. "Venti minuti."
Even as I approach the receptionist again, I smile at her. She strains to lift the corners of her mouth. I don't need to see more to know that she was unsuccessful.
Damn. Where am I supposed to stay tonight?
Feeling discouraged, I lean on the counter. "Now what?" I ask her in English.
She shrugs. "I'm sorry."
Sleeping outside isn't an option; it's clearly too cold for that at the end of October. "Maybe a private accommodation?"
"It's Fashion Week," she repeats her words from earlier. Her facial expression seems to ask, What part of that don't you understand?
My fingers tap on the marble surface of the reception desk. "But it has to…"
"Signor, please..." She signals me to make way for the next guest and looks at someone behind me. "Benvenuto, how can I assist you?"
Muttering to myself, I step aside. Where can I stay tonight? Maybe I'll tough it out? Tomorrow, at the fashion show, I'll meet many people. Perhaps someone will have a spare couch for the upcoming nights. Sky probably has one. She might even have a spare room in her penthouse suite.
Although I should focus on solving my problem, my thoughts linger on Sky again.
She transformed into a different person at the airport out of nowhere. Whatever she learned on the phone shook her to her core. It must be related to her father.
What if he's dead?
That must be hell for her. To receive such news… And she's up there in her suite, all alone.
I should check on her. Just to make sure that she...
...doesn't run away.
Yes, that's it. If I don't ensure that she regains her composure, I might lose sight of her. That would be bad for the article I'm writing.
I leave both my suitcase and camera bag in the small room behind the reception and take the elevator to the fifth floor. A few minutes later, I stand in front of the door marked 505.
A deep breath. Leaning casually against the doorframe. Smiling.
Only when I feel ready do I knock on the door.
Nothing stirs.
I knock again, louder this time, and then listen to the silence. Light footsteps move toward the door, which opens just a crack a fraction of a second later.
"Thank you, I don't need…" Sky stops mid-sentence. Her hair is wild, with strands sticking damply to her forehead. She's wearing only a low-cut shirt with spaghetti straps and the tight jeans she had on earlier.
Her puffy, hollow eyes appear vacant.
I raise my hand in a nonchalant greeting. "Hej."
"Is there a problem?" She pushes her entire left side behind the door, drawing it as close to herself as if she wanted to hold it.
Something in me wants to ease her tension. "No," I quickly reply, without cheekily pointing out that she just asked me a question. "I just thought you might be hungry, and we could have a meal together..."
"Not necessary." Her breath suddenly becomes so shallow, as if I suggested we jump out of an airplane tied together.
"Pizza, pasta, dolce—you can't pass that up in Bella Italia." She should eat something; after all, I haven't seen her eat all day.
She shakes her head, but her growling stomach is impossible to ignore.
She would like to eat. Just not with me.
That oddly stings in a bitter way. Disappointment surges in me, weighing heavily on my chest.
"Understood." It was supposed to sound casual, but even I can hear the melancholy in my voice.
What's wrong with me?
It doesn't matter. I can find other ways to stay close to her, and I'll gather enough material for my article in the coming days.
Shaking my head, I turn away. "Until tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow," she mutters tensely.
I start walking. I should have heard the door close behind me by now, but there's no sound.
Is she watching me leave? I wonder what's going on in her head right now. Did she realize this time, unlike back in Polarnatt , that she hurt me?
No, hurt is the wrong word. She pushed me away.
"Wait."
Was that Sky's voice? Whose hand is it that briefly touches my shoulder?
I turn around.
"So..." Her bare arms hidden behind her back, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Pizza, pasta, and dolce, you said?" she asks with an expression I can't quite place.
Confused, I run my hands through my hair. "You said you weren't hungry."
There it is again, her mischievous grin. Barely visible behind the sad expression, but it's there. A comeback is imminent. "I never claimed that."
Didn't she?
"I said we didn't need to have a meal together." She raises the index finger of her right hand in a teacher-like manner. "Give me fifteen minutes."
Either she doesn't notice my pondering or she's skillfully ignoring it. "Okay," I reply, lost in thought.
She turns on her heel and walks back to her suite, her hair billowing behind her. I watch her go, and suddenly, even more questions flood my mind than before.