17. Aspen
ASPEN
The next day, I decide to explore more of the hotel.
I might not be allowed in the east wing, but there’s still plenty of the building I can roam around.
I wonder where Levi’s room is. I haven’t seen it yet, though I’ve been right inside Blake’s bedroom, something that makes my face burn every time my brain replays the memory, which is often.
I tuck my sketch pad under one arm and a couple of pencils and an eraser into the front pocket of my jeans. Remembering the cold spots the hotel has, I also pull on a soft, pink sweater and leave my room.
The hotel is like a rabbit warren. There are so many different hallways and staircases, it would be easy to get lost. Some of the communal rooms are vast, and I wonder what they’d have been used for back in the day—ballrooms for parties with live orchestras, and dining halls that would have served multi-course meals.
I step out through a set of cracked glass doors at the rear of the hotel and catch my breath in surprise.
The temperature increases, and it’s humid, too.
I find myself in a huge glass conservatory, except this is bigger than a conservatory; it’s more like an orangery.
Many of the glass panes are frosted with chips and cracks.
In the middle of the orangery is a large swimming pool, except it no longer holds any water.
The blue tiles that line its bottom and walls are sun-faded and almost as damaged as the glass panes above it.
Foliage that must once have been contained by large pots has now run wild. Vines that would have stood little chance of growing in the climate outside of these glass walls have thrived here.
There’s something magical about the space. Everywhere I look, I see something else I want to put down on a page. It’s like I’ve stepped back in time, or perhaps into the future, even. I’ve entered a time when humanity has finally wiped itself out and nature is reclaiming what was always hers.
I walk slowly around the edge of the pool, careful not to trip on any loose tiles.
The pool is deep, and while a fall probably wouldn’t kill me, I’d most likely break something.
The remaining water is brown and thick with sludge, and I don’t particularly want to end up in that either. There might be snakes.
I imagine what this place must have been like in its heyday. The wealthy elite sipping cocktails beside the pool, the women in bikinis and wide brimmed hats, and the men showing off in the water, trying to get the women to notice them.
It would be amazing if Blake managed to fully restore the place one day. Perhaps he’ll even let me attend the grand re-opening, and I can be one of those women in a bikini nursing a cocktail.
Movement catches my attention.
A huge, beautiful butterfly flits from leaf to leaf. In a few weeks, the cold will surely kill it. It settles on a particularly thick piece of green foliage and spreads its wings. They’re yellow, with tiger-like stripes and the shape of a swallow’s tail at the back.
I suddenly know what I’m going to draw.
I set down my sketch pad and take my pencils and eraser from my pocket.
It’s overly warm in here, so I whip off my sweater, revealing a white tank top beneath, and then place the sweater on an old marble bench so I can sit on it and cushion my behind.
I’m aware the butterfly won’t be still for long, and a little burst of adrenaline goes through me at my urge to catch it in pencil before it takes off again.
I find myself smiling. It feels like ages since I’ve experienced this kind of inspiration and enthusiasm. I’ve been dead inside for so long.
I open my sketch pad and pick up my favorite pencil—a soft 6B. I like to use my fingers to blur the graphite for shading. More often than not, the sides of my fingers of my right hand are gray from the pencil, embedded into my skin.
Within minutes, the shape and pattern of the butterfly wings come to life on the page.
My subject behaves himself—I assume it’s a male from the vividness of the pattern and colors—and keeps still, as though he knows he’s being drawn.
My chosen medium of black and white means I can’t capture the golden hue of his wings, but it shows off the insect’s tiger stripes beautifully.
“What are you doing?”
I jump at the male voice and twist to look over my shoulder. My heart sinks. I should have known something—or someone—would end up ruining this perfect moment.
Levi stands in the doorway I’ve just come through. He’s staring directly at me, ice in his deep blue eyes.
“Nothing,” I blurt, closing my sketch pad and tucking it back under my arm. I don’t want him seeing. “Just exploring.”
My instinct is to get away from him, and I jump to my feet. The butterfly takes off in a flutter of wings and soars up toward the glass roof of the orangery as though it has sensed danger and now wants to escape.
He angles his head, studying me. “You shouldn’t be out here. You might get hurt.”
Since when does he care about me getting hurt? It occurs to me that my having an accident might be just what he wants. It could be the answer to all his problems if I end up in the hospital.
I’m hyperaware of my body when he’s near. The feel of the air on my skin, the pressure of the waistband of my jeans, the things I’m doing with my hands.
“I’m not a child,” I retort. “It’s not like I’m going to do something stupid.”
He takes a step closer, his gaze fixed on me the entire time. “Are you sure about that?”
Suddenly, I don’t feel as though we’re talking about me falling into the disused pool anymore. I force myself to lift my chin and hold my ground. “Quite sure.”
“I know you’re trying to weasel your way into my dad’s good graces. Is it so you can get into his pants? Your own dad died, so now you’re trying to replace him with mine by luring him in with some young, tight pussy.”
“You’re disgusting, you know that?”
One side of his lips curls, revealing a dimple in his cheek. “Am I? Or am I closer to the truth than you want to admit to even yourself?”
The image of Blake in only his towel, and the impure thoughts that went through my head upon seeing him like that, flash through my memory. Heat flushes across my chest, and I feel myself getting flustered.
Levi hasn’t finished. “I’ve seen how you stare at him when you think no one is looking. Like he’s your savior who’s going to come along and fix everything for you.”
Goddamn, he seems to be able to see right into my head. Is he like this with everyone? Is the reason Levi is so bad with other people simply because he’s able to read them perfectly? And he doesn’t like what he sees…
“He’s helping me out, that’s all. I was in a really shitty position after my dad died. I’m allowed to be grateful to him for his help.”
He pinches a smile between his perfect lips. “And how grateful are you going to be, Aspen? How are you going to thank him? By climbing into his bed one night and sucking his cock?”
I’m appalled that he thinks it’s okay to talk about his own father this way, but even more, I’m horrified that he seems to know exactly what’s going on in my head.
“He doesn’t keep women—or girls—around for long.
I hope you realize that. You might think you’re something special to him because of who your father was, but it’s not the truth.
You’ll have a few months, at the most, and then he’ll get bored of you and move on to the next one.
That’s what he did with my mother, though obviously he hung around long enough to knock her up. ”
I scowl at him. “How Blake conducts his love life is nothing to do with me. I’m just here until I get back on my feet, and then I’ll leave you both in peace.”
He shakes his head slowly. “What are you going to do when it starts to snow? When that happens, the mountain pass will close. You could be stuck here for weeks, if not months.”
I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ll figure things out before then.”
Will I, though? How can I make that promise? It’s not as though I can go for job interviews while I’m living out here, and without a job, I’ll never have any money, and without any money, I’ll never find my own place.
I don’t want to think about the future. I struggle to see how I’ll even have one.
“You’d better,” Levi replies. “You don’t want to be stuck here when we get snowed in. Things get kind of crazy.”
My breath catches in my throat. “What do you mean?”
“This whole place is crazy.” He gazes around at the hotel. “Places have memories, don’t you think? And when things get quiet and isolated, both places and people start to get lost in the past.”
His words have an echo of what Blake said to me about ghosts when I first arrived, and I try to ignore the sensation of cold fingers running down my spine.
I pull back my shoulders and lift my chin, determined to show he’s not getting to me. “I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s okay. If you’re still here when the snow starts falling, you soon will.”
I don’t know why his comment feels like a veiled threat.
He’s made no secret of the fact he doesn’t want me here.
If anything, he’s gone out of his way to make me feel unwelcome.
I know Blake has spoken to him about it, but that probably didn’t help matters.
It most likely only made Levi feel as though Blake was taking my side over his.
“I’ll be gone before that happens,” I insist.
He smiles again, slow and sly, like he knows something I don’t.
“We’ll see about that.”