Chapter 22 Remy
REMY
It takes me a while and too much effort to locate the tiny flicker of the carbon monoxide alarm in the bathroom. When I eventually find it, my neck is aching from staring at the ceiling, my arm is trembling from holding a candle aloft, and I’ve almost set fire to the bathmat three times.
The tealights burn through too quickly. My fingertips are scorched and sore. But I can hear George muttering in the other room, and the thought of him unlocking the door and dragging me out of this room is all the incentive I need to keep going.
I didn’t think this through. Bathrooms don’t have smoke detectors because of the amount of steam produced by hot running water, so the carbon monoxide alarm will have to do.
Science wasn’t my best subject at school, but I do know that flames in areas with poor ventilation will produce the level required to trigger the alarm.
Moving methodically around the room, I locate the ventilation grill on the outside wall near the window and block it with a towel. I place more towels around the window frame even though there isn’t a draft. Then I search for a hiding place.
My dad is a plumber. He sometimes took my sister and I to work with him when we were younger and they couldn’t get a sitter.
Danielle would hand tools to him from his box and measure things with his retractable tape measure, but I was always more interested in exploring the homes he worked in.
I was fascinated by the stuff other people collected.
I was even more curious about hotel rooms.
Hotel rooms offered endless places in which to hide, and I always knew that Danielle would come looking for me when she got bored with listening to dad talk about copper pipes and risers and insulation.
I didn’t get scared even in the dark. My dad was close by, and the constant hot water made the hidey holes warm and cozy.
I knew how to get into them too. It was easy once my dad showed me how to apply pressure to the panels in the right places.
I remember him winking at me. “Your sister will never find you in there.”
The free-standing tub in the Titan’s bathroom has gold claw feet and gold-clad pipes that run from the faucets into the floor.
I crawl behind the tub and feel my way around the concealed wall panels beside the tub.
It doesn’t budge. I keep shuffling on my knees, telling myself that it must be here somewhere, because even grand hotels like the Titan need access for the maintenance team.
When it finally shifts, I lean back against the tub, breathing heavily, my entire body trembling with relief and pain and crashing sugar levels.
I’ve no idea how long I’ve been here. The last thing I ate was a hot dog from a street vendor, and the thought of mustard and ketchup on crunchy sausage makes me feel queasy.
But there’s no time to sit here and think about food.
I pile all the candles into the tub and light them.
The wax starts to melt almost immediately, and panic sets in when I try to guess the distance between the tiny flames and the alarm set into the ceiling.
They’ll burn out before anything happens.
I need to make it bigger. I don’t want to set the entire building on fire; I only want someone to come to the room and take George away.
The Titan will have fire safety equipment. Cash probably has a direct link to the fire department. And the cops. He can afford to redecorate one smoke-damaged bathroom.
Maybe I’m not thinking clearly with the throbbing pain in my jaw and the dull thudding headache. My mind is completely blank when I place a hand towel gently over the pile of candles and wait for the flames to catch hold.
When scorch marks crawl like ink through the fluffy white, and smoke tendrils curl towards the ceiling, I climb into the hole behind the wall panel, pull it back into place, and hug my knees to my chest.
Then I wait for the alarm to sound.
Any moment now, I tell myself when I get the first whiff of smoke.
The fire will be contained inside the tub, so it won’t reach me; that’s the thought process I’m sticking with now that it’s too late to go back and alter it.
I don’t fully comprehend my predicament until the first cough erupts at the back of my throat.
Then, I cover my face with the bottom of my dress and pray that I’m right about Titan’s safety processes.
My pulse is racing. My head feels as if it will explode. But I close my eyes, breathe slowly through sapphire-blue fabric and start counting.
I count to twelve before the bathroom door opens. I feel a faint whisper of cooler air. Hear footsteps. Then a muffled, “Fuck!”
It must be George. He switches on the light, the glow barely seeping around the edges of the wall panel. I hear water gushing from the taps, and then the alarm slices through the pain and makes it hard to concentrate on anything else.
I don’t even take a moment to celebrate my small success.
I bury my face in my dress and cover my ears with my hands.
Ear-splitting. It’s a word that people use without giving any thought to its meaning.
Now, I think I understand. The sound could cut glass.
It could defeat entire armies. So, if it doesn’t bring the entire building to a grinding halt sometime soon…
Silence so dense, so debilitating, that I keep my ears covered.
Clean air. Someone must’ve opened a window. I raise my face far enough to fill my lungs. Lower my hands slowly.
I can’t hear anything with the alarm still echoing in my psyche.
I don’t move. Cramp burns through my calf muscles. But still I wait until I’m certain that George isn’t coming back for me.
I didn’t think beyond this. I need to get out of the Titan without drawing attention to myself and I have no idea what time it is, how long I’ve been here, or if Cash has even realized that I’m missing.
Maybe his fiancée told him that I went home.
They’re probably laughing about it right now, the poor girl who thought she stood a chance with one of New York’s most eligible bachelors.
Now that the alarm has stopped and the danger has passed, all the heart-crushing thoughts are flooding back.
I sniff loudly. Cough. Swallow saliva.
“No.” I shake my head. “I got rid of George. I’m not letting Cassius Murray stop me now.”
I kick the panel down. I’m all out of patience, and I don’t trust myself to stick to my resolve if I hang around.
I crawl out of my hiding place and drag myself slowly to my feet, leaning against the tub for support.
The bottom of the tub is lined with grainy black water.
The tealights are buckled and soot blackened.
A few remnants of scorched towel remain, but the room is otherwise empty and relatively unscathed.
I’m glad.
Even though he lied to me, I don’t want to hurt Cash.
I feel the pressure of unshed tears at the bridge of my nose and pinch the skin between my thumb and forefinger.
It doesn’t go away, but it does at least jolt me back to the present.
I can’t stay here. If a member of staff discovers me here, I’ll be arrested for attempted arson for sure, with no guarantee that Cash will drop the charges.
I can’t have my babies in jail.
My thoughts are spiraling out of control, so I go to the basin, ignore my bruised, hollow-eyed reflection, and splash my face with cold water. I reach blindly for the remaining towel on the rail, and startle when someone places it in my hand.
“I thought I might find you here.”
I recognize her face from George’s social media accounts.
Isabella Leone.
I dab my face dry and hold the towel to my chest as if it might offer me protection. “What do you want?”
I glance at the doorway. Is George with her?
I’d assumed that Terry might find him when I set the alarm off, that they’d escort him from the premises and ban him from returning.
Now it occurs to me that I might’ve got it all wrong.
What if he convinced them that it was an accident?
A pile of tealight candles and a smoking towel in the tub—would they believe him?
My stomach sinks when I remember that money and connections can buy a way out of any situation.
“I just want to talk.” Isabella doesn’t come any closer.
“I’m done talking to you and George.” I place the towel in the basin and face her squarely.
She checks out the bruising on my jaw, blinking rapidly. “Did he do this to you?” she asks softly.
“Like you don’t already know.” I suck in a deep breath and hold it in my lungs for several beats. “Whatever you want from Cash… I’m not the leverage you thought I was.”
Her eyebrows lower in confusion. “What did George tell you?”
“That he was using me to extort money from the Murrays and take over the Titan.”
“Did he tell you that I was part of the plan?”
“He didn’t need to.” I look away and cuss myself for not being stronger. For not holding her gaze. For being a people pleaser when coming face-to-face with your ex’s fiancée is the worst possible scenario for it.
“You’re right. And I don’t blame you for hating me, Remy.”
I drag my eyes back to her face. When I heard about their engagement, I convinced myself that she was a heartless maneater who took pleasure in stealing other women’s boyfriends.
In my head, I pinned her with all kinds of labels, none of which gave me any deep sense of satisfaction.
But looking at her now, I wonder if she deserved any of them.
“I don’t hate you.” Hate is a strong word, and Isabella’s punishment is being stuck with the kind of coward who could punch a woman in the face.
She smiles. She has kind eyes. I can almost hear Ariel reminding me that she stole my boyfriend, and for once, I don’t listen.
“Thank you. It’s probably more than I deserve, but I want to explain. Will you let me? Please?”
I glance at the doorway. I don’t hear voices from the other rooms, but it doesn’t mean I can trust her. “Why? Are you waiting for him to come back?”