Chapter 2
CHLOE
Jeez, that was awkward.
Of all the times to bump into Kit!
If you’d asked me to guess when I’d have been most likely to see him again, my honeymoon-for-one in Japan would not have featured on the list.
I actually feel a bit shaky from the shock of seeing him again.
How bizarre that he’s here after his own failed wedding too.
As I’d stared into his handsome, spine-tinglingly familiar face, after he’d asked me what I was doing here, I’d felt a strong urge to make something up about being on a scouting mission for my job or something, but at the very last second I decided what’s the point?
I’d only have to keep up the ruse all week during the numerous times I’m bound to bump into him, since we’re both staying here.
I’m way too stressed already to put up with that kind of bullshit.
And I’ve never been the type to mince my words, as my friends and my ex will tell you.
As Kit will tell you too.
My skin heats as I remember the hot sex we used to have all those years ago.
Unfortunately, it had become obvious pretty quickly that there was no future for us as a couple – he had no interest in getting into anything serious, which I’d wanted from a relationship at the time – so it had been better for us to finish things and move on.
He’d not seemed too cut up about it, but I’d had a few moments of regret right after we’d split when I wondered whether I’d done the right thing.
But then I got together with Adrian and barely saw Kit around after that, and he’d mostly faded into the background of my life.
I’m sure he wasn’t on his own for long either. He was always really popular.
And even if getting married didn’t work out for him this time, I’m sure there will be plenty of gorgeous, willing women to take his ex’s place the moment he’s ready for them to sashay up to him.
Because he’s a sexy guy.
And he can be funny.
And he’s incredible in bed.
Hmm. Time to change the subject, I think, brain.
Kit Charleston is the very last person I should be thinking about right now. He wasn’t right for me then and he’s no doubt not right for me now. People don’t change. Not really.
And I’m probably only projecting these inappropriate feelings onto him because of how out of control Adrian’s left me feeling.
Sexual jealousy is a potent aphrodisiac.
I take my passport back from the receptionist when she hands it over and return her bow as she gives me the key card to my room.
‘The porter will be back any moment to take your suitcase to your room and show you around, madam,’ the receptionist says.
I hold up my hand. ‘No need. Thank you. Can you just point me in the right direction? I’d rather find my room myself. And I’m fine with my suitcase,’ I add. I really don’t want to get into the whole do I tip? head-mash thing again.
‘Of course,’ the receptionist says with a confused smile. Clearly people who come here don’t normally tend to lug their own bags around. ‘You’re down this corridor, to the very end, and it’s the last room on the right.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, giving her a bright smile, before setting off in the direction she’s sent me.
I find my room easily and let myself in with the key card.
After taking off my shoes in the entrance hall and pointing them towards the door, I walk into the room and gasp in glee. It’s even more beautiful than the website made it look. I’d been worried it would actually be a bit pokey and more soulless than it seemed in the pictures, but no. It’s perfect.
There’s a huge black-lacquered four-poster bed, with crisp white cotton sheets and squidgy-looking pillows, and on each side hang semi-opaque silk drapes which can be pulled round for privacy.
By both sides of the bed stand elegant urushi-e black-lacquered cabinets with paper panels and gold detail handles.
The walls of the room are painted in a soft duck-egg blue and there’s wood-coloured rush matting on the floor, giving the sense of the outdoors inside.
Through the large windows I can see the lush green banks of the river and the water flowing past, the sun glinting off the surface and making it sparkle.
It’s the height of opulence and good taste.
Leaving my suitcase by the wardrobe, I stumble over to the bed, pull off my clothes, which I leave in an untidy pile on the floor, and crawl under the covers.
I’m so ridiculously tired now after being up for a whole day there’s no way I’m keeping my eyes open till 9 p.m., like they advise you do if your flight lands in the morning.
Sod that. I need to sleep. Just for a couple of hours. Then I’ll be refreshed and ready to enjoy my first evening here.
My eyelids are so heavy now I have to squint through them to set the alarm on my phone, and once that’s done I dump it onto the nightstand and pull the covers up over my head, immediately sinking into a beautiful deep sleep.
* * *
Kit
I can’t sleep.
Even though my body’s telling me it’s actually the early hours of the morning in the UK and I should have a kip, my brain is determined to keep me awake.
Bloody Chloe Dasher.
Seeing her has made my mind spin and dredged up intense memories of how hot we’d been together.
She’s still got it. More than it in fact.
I can’t help but laugh, though not with any kind of joy.
Bloody hell.
Talk about bad timing.
Why did I have to bump into her now, when she’s in a bad place?
And how did my life go tits-up like this?
It was looking so good there for a while. I had everything I’d ever wanted. Money, status, a beautiful fiancée, excitement about my future. The world was my fucking oyster.
So how did I end up here? Alone in Kyoto? Like some shit homage to a noughties pop song.
Although, to be fair I’m not entirely alone. Not if I don’t want to be.
I had thought, before I came here, that that’s what I needed, but actually now I’m on the ground and I’ve had a moment to come round, I’m beginning to wonder whether I’ll go a bit stir-crazy on my own.
Maybe I should go for a swim in the communal hotel pool and see who’s around. Check the place out a bit. There might be other people like me that I can strike up a conversation with to distract myself. In fact there are bound to be. There might even be someone I recognise here.
Someone else.
I’m not expecting, or hoping, to see Chloe there though. I suspect she’ll be dead to the world right now, judging by how tired she’d said she was.
Yeah. A swim and a drink by the pool might be just the thing to calm my rattled nerves.
I take a fast shower and change into my swimwear, then put on the robe and sliders the hotel has helpfully left by the door.
The path to the outdoor pool is quiet, but when I reach the poolside it’s buzzing with people. There are a couple of loungers free on the opposite side of the pool, so I head over to them and lay my towel along one.
I’ll take a swim first, before lying on it. It’s pretty warm here, even though we’re still in the spring season. It’s certainly much warmer than it was when I left the UK anyway.
I prepare to dive in at the deep end, aware of a small group of women lounging in the water at the shallow end of the pool, sipping cocktails. I feel their gazes on me, and the attention gives me a thrill.
Yeah, I’ve still got it. Even if Katya doesn’t want me any more, there’ll be plenty of women who do.
I know my strengths and make the most of them.
I’ve had to. She’s been working as a model for the last year and was always surrounded by the hippest, most attractive people, so I’ve been taking good care of myself.
It’s taken me hours a day in the gym and an eye-watering fee employing the skills of one of the top personal stylists in London to create the appearance I’m rocking now. Tough work, but totally worth it.
It turns out even a perfectly honed body and thousand-pound personally tailored suits weren’t enough to keep Katya’s attention though.
She’s now back with her ex, I hear, even though it’s only been a month since she killed our engagement.
He’s a billionaire too and Raffa tells me he’s recently bought the coolest, most exclusive fashion house of the moment, which, surprise-surprise, she’s going to be the new face of.
A hot ticket to ultra-fame, for a model.
So that explains a lot.
One of Katya’s skills is getting friendly with people who are going to get her to where she wants to go.
Fame and success are her key driving forces, which didn’t used to bother me when we first got together – I’m ambitious too – but this swerve back to her ex smacks of desperation for the limelight.
Which is not attractive.
Anyway, I’m not going to think on that shit while I’m here.
I take a step to the edge of the pool and launch myself in.
I’m pleased with how smooth the dive is, and I power through the water, enjoying the cooling effect against my skin. When I get to the shallow end, I pause for a second to nod to the women, who all smile back at me, flashing startlingly white teeth, before setting off on my next lap.
Yeah, this is going to be good for me.
Restore my faith in myself.
I do twenty laps of the pool before I feel tiredness dragging at me. Time to get out and lie in the sun for a while. Top up my tan.
As I’m walking back to my lounger, I signal for the waiter to come over and take my drink order, a bottle of Japanese lager, then stretch out, feeling the sun start to warm my cool, wet skin.
This is the life.
My drink arrives quickly and I chug most of it in one go, surprised by how thirsty I am. I guess that’s the dehydrating effect of flying for you.
There’s a gentle sound of happy conversation and tinkling laughter coming from the other side of the pool, but I don’t look over at the women again. I’m too tired to engage in any more eye-fucking right now.
Instead, I close my eyes and let the alcohol and the waves of heat on my skin soothe me into a blissful sleep.