Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Christine
Daniel is testing me.
First, he gambled the night away, and now he’s nowhere to be found?
I lean against the bar like I’m not irritated, like I haven’t checked the time enough for it to start feeling personal.
The wood is cool beneath my arms, it’s helping in a way nothing else is.
Around me, the casino still thrives, alive in that loud, careless way that makes everything feel temporary.
I should be used to this.
To him acting this way.
Still, something about tonight feels… pointed.
I take a sip of my second drink, barely tasting it. My eyes drift without permission, scanning the room like they’re searching for something specific. Or someone.
I catch myself and shake it off. But my gaze pulls back anyway, pinning on the door he walked through earlier as a part of me pines for him to walk out again.
And for a quick second, I let the yearning take root, weaving itself around Robert.
It grips and holds, like it’s been waiting for an opening. A face I barely know but can’t seem to scrub clean. A voice I shouldn’t remember this clearly, yet it lingers, the baritone still buzzing low in my stomach.
I have never been up close with someone who looks as delicious as Robert did, smells even better, and talks like some poet dragged out of the 18th century.
Gosh.
The man is so beautiful, not just handsome, but… arresting, and every time I think about him, my sex folds ache.
I press my lips together, annoyed at myself now.
It meant nothing.
It was just a conversation. A moment. That’s all.
So why does it feel like it left something behind?
I exhale deeply and take another sip, trying to drown the thought before it goes any deeper.
I hate that I’m sitting here, waiting for my boyfriend, thinking about another man, as if my loyalty is something that can be distracted by eye contact and a low voice.
I take another sip.
The door he walked through earlier is still in my line of sight. I don’t mean to keep looking at it, but I do. Like it might open again and… the door opens.
My attention snaps up. And for half a second, my chest folds with anticipation.
But it’s not him.
It’s Daniel.
He steps out from the same place, adjusting his sleeve like he’s been somewhere important. His eyes find me immediately, like I’ve been the only thing he’s been looking for.
He smiles. And just like that, the irritation shifts, softening at the edges.
“Christine.” He closes the distance quickly, like there’s no space between us worth keeping.
His hand comes up, warm against my jaw, tilting my face toward his before I can decide what to do with the annoyance still sitting in my chest.
And then he kisses me, his mouth on mine, soft in a way that feels rehearsed like he knows exactly how to kiss me into forgetting why I was upset in the first place.
For a second, I let myself fall into it. Muscle memory. Habit. The shape of him fitting against me like it always has.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and this time the words come before the charm. “I’ve handled this trip badly.”
Badly.
I almost laugh, but it catches somewhere in my throat.
“But, I disappeared to fix something quickly,” he continues, softer now, like he’s letting me into something private. “For us.”
For us.
He says it like it means something solid. Like it hasn’t been slipping through my fingers all day.
“I didn’t want to mess tonight up more than I already did.” His hand slides down, his fingers threading through mine.
He looks at me like I’m the only thing in this room that’s of importance.
And God help me, part of me wants to believe him.
“Come with me.” He pulls. “Let me make it up to you.”
I hesitate briefly, but I nod.
He leads, his hand steady in mine, like he’s not the one who let go first.
The suite is not ours.
That’s the first thing I notice.
The door opens to something ethereal. The lighting is low, casting everything in a kind of golden hush. There’s champagne already waiting, sweating lightly in a silver bucket. Strawberries arranged like they’ve been placed with care, not just set down.
It’s… thoughtful.
I step inside slowly, my heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet, taking it in piece by piece.
“You did this?”
I turn to him, searching his face.
Daniel leans against the door after closing it, watching me take it all in, as if this is the reaction he wanted.
“I told you I’d fix it.” He shrugs, like it’s simple. Like whatever he broke tonight can be reset with a gesture and a room upgrade.
But there’s something in his tone that doesn’t match the ease of his shoulders. Something tucked underneath. It flickers in his eyes too, not just an apology for disappearing, but for something he’s choosing not to say out loud.
I see it.
And I don’t want it.
Because with Daniel, apologies come layered, dressed up, hiding the real offense somewhere beneath what he’s willing to admit.
“This is you fixing it?” My gaze lingers on him a second longer, searching, then I look away.
I already know him. Or at least, I know this version of him.
The one who slips away without explanation and comes back sweeter, like that’s supposed to balance the scale.
The one who makes you question if you’re overreacting for even asking where he’s been.
I’m sure he disappeared to be with another woman and have a quickie. Something rushed, careless, and forgettable.
My jaw clenches slightly, but I keep my face neutral. Because if I say it out loud, it stops being a suspicion.
It becomes something I’ll have to deal with.
“Come on babe, I wanted tonight to feel like something again,” he adds, softer. “I’m sloppy, but I'm trying.”
God, what am I doing with myself at twenty-four?
Why does my need to be needed, to not be alone, override my senses like this?
I mean, I know better.
That’s the irritating part.
I see the signs. I feel the shifts. I catch the gaps in his words, the way things don’t add up, the way I’m always the one adjusting, bending, making space for him to fit comfortably.
And still… I stay.
Because the idea of being alone feels louder than the truth I’m trying not to face. Because being wanted, even inconsistently, still feels like something.
Even when it’s not enough.
I move further in, trailing my fingers over the back of a chair, the edge of the table, anything to help the sudden shift in my chest.
“When did you plan this?” I ask.
“Huh… earlier,” he stutters.
“And…” I glance back at him. “…You disappearing was part of the plan?”
He winces, but there’s a small smile tucked in there.
“No, that part… I messed up.” He walks toward me then, slower this time, like he’s approaching something fragile. “But this…” His hand gestures lightly around us “…this is me trying to get it right.”
He presses a kiss to my temple, lingering just long enough to feel willful.
“I have one more thing,” he murmurs. “Give me a few minutes, okay?”
I nod before I can overthink it.
He doesn’t pull away immediately.
His hand comes up instead, cupping my face, like he needs me to stay right there with him.
My breath stills as his thumb brushes just beneath my eye, as if he’s memorizing something he’s not ready to lose.
“Christine…” His voice carries my name differently this time. “My love.”
His gaze searches mine, deeper than it has all day, like he’s finally saying something real.
“I love you…” He presses a tender kiss on my forehead. “I know I messed things up,” he continues, hushed now. “I know I’ve given you every reason not to believe anything I say, but I’m not giving up on us.”
My chest folds, my breath catching at the conviction in his eyes.
“I’m going to fix this,” he adds, like it’s a promise he’s already decided on. “Whatever it takes.”
His hand lingers a second longer, holding my face in place.
“Stay right here.” He lets go. “You will love this surprise.”
He steps back, smiling at me. I smile back, rolling my eyes at him.
He walks out.
I exhale slowly, then sit at the edge of the bed, letting my body finally drop some of the tension it’s been carrying all day.
My eyes catch on the gold trim around the mirror on my side, pinned neatly to the wall, and from there, it pulls me in, guiding my gaze like a trail I can’t ignore.
It extends outward, catching on the edges of the lampstands, the thin lines running along the nightstand, the frame of the artwork across the room.
It glints from the base of the champagne bucket, curls around the handles of the drawers, and into the legs of the chairs like something threaded through the bones of the room.
My gaze drifts, slower now, and lands on the red.
It spills.
Across the cushions first, then sinks into the rug beneath my feet. It climbs the curtains in thick folds, deepening the room with every inch, then scatters itself carelessly across the floor in the form of throw pillows, tossed like petals after something already happened.
And then the white.
The base of the walls, holding the rest of it together without trying too hard. It carries into the bed, crisp white sheets smooth, untouched, almost too perfect, like they’ve been waiting. Like they know something is supposed to happen here.
I sit there for a second longer, taking it all in.
It's beautiful.
I reach for my gold clutch, unclasp it, and pull out my phone. I toss it onto the nightstand, the screen lighting up instantly to reveal Aisha and me, mid-bite, sharing the same slice of pizza like we always do when neither of us wants to admit we’re hungry enough to order our own.
Her mouth was already stealing more than her share, my hand trying to pull it back, both of us caught in that messy, stupid laughter.
I stare at the wallpaper longer than I mean to.
I miss her.
My best friend. My confidant. My sister, not by blood but by everything that matters.
My fingers hover over the screen.
I want to call her. Text her. Say something simple, something that doesn’t sound like I need her as much as I do right now.
But I didn’t tell her about this trip until I had already left. And she’s been mad at me since.