It felt so strange to have him lying next to me again after all these years. I lay awake for a long time, listening to the sound of his breathing, a flood of memories stirring my brain and warming my flesh.
When my alarm woke me the next morning, for the briefest moment, I couldn’t remember what had happened. I froze when I realized I wasn’t alone in bed, and then it all came back to me: Sebastian banging on my door; his fumbling kisses, his strange admission – drunken Sebastian passing out in my bed.
I felt his body shift on the mattress and he flexed his hips, lightly pushing his very noticeable morning wood into my back. Some things never changed.
Cautiously, I moved away from him and sat up.
A sleepy blue-green eye blinked up at me. He looked puzzled.
“Caro?”
“You’re awake then,” I said, sharply.
He looked embarrassed and confused when he realized where he was.
“Did we…?”
“No, we most definitely did not. You woke me up in the middle of the night by banging on my door, and then passed out on my bed.”
“Oh, right.”
He leaned up on one arm and looked down at the clothes he was still wearing, assessing the truth of my statement. Then he grinned at me.
“Sorry about that. We can make up for it now if you like?”
I couldn’t believe him. Who the hell did he think he was?!
“Astonishing as this may seem, Sebastian,” I said in a cool voice, “your charming offer doesn’t thrill me.”
His smile slipped and for a moment he looked hurt: I remembered that look. Then his arrogant expression was back.
“Whatever.”
He swung his long legs out of the bed and sat up. He didn’t seem to be experiencing any hangover effects whatsoever. God, he was annoying!
“Where are my boots?” he muttered.
“Under the chair,” I said, pointing. “Along with your jacket.”
He stood up and I was a little amused to see he had to rearrange his pants. He picked up his jacket and I realized he was leaving. I was surprised to feel a pang of disappointment.
“Why did you come here last night, Sebastian?”
He frowned, then shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
He strolled towards the door and glanced over his shoulder once.
“See you around, Caro.”
And then he was gone.
I sat there for several minutes, trying to process what had just happened. He’d always been so easy to read, but now I didn’t have a clue what was going on with him.
I shook my head and made a mental note not to open my door to strange men in the middle of the night, no matter how hot they were or how well they filled a pair of jeans.
After my unusually stimulating wake-up call, the day dragged. My editor had emailed during the night to say that my travel documents had definitely been delayed, but that he was hoping to get hold of someone who could help as soon as possible. The small print was: expect to be stuck in Geneva for at least a few days.
Liz commiserated with me over breakfast.
“Sorry to hear that, Lee. I got my papers couriered over from the Embassy first thing. My flight leaves in a couple of hours. Maybe see you out there.”
“Maybe,” I said wearily. “Look after yourself. Keep your head down and watch your back.”
“You know me, Lee, I wear brass knickers – utterly indestructible.”
We hugged briefly, and she was off again.
I texted Marc to see if he was free: I couldn’t face a day wandering around pointlessly by myself. I much preferred pointless wandering with company. I was relieved when Marc said he’d be happy to meet up. We spent a peaceful day examining a photography exhibition in the Sonia Zannettacci gallery, and strolling along the Quai de Seujet towards the lake.