Tart!
When I hear a door shut, I stiffen. Is that him leaving, or is he coming back? Either way, I need to get dressed. I search for my bra within the bunching material of my dress that’s gathered in my hands – no bra. Shaking my dress out frantically, I pray for its appearance but still…nothing. I sigh and step into my dress, pulling it up my body and reaching around to fasten the zip. I’ll have to do without because I’m certainly not attempting to retrieve it from the bedroom.
I walk over to the mirror to inspect myself. It’s as I suspected; I look dreadful. My eyes are swimming with unshed tears, my lips swollen and red, and my cheeks are flushed. I look harassed; I am harassed. I try in vain to straighten myself out, so I can at least exit with a bit of dignity in tack, but there’s no escaping the distraught look I’m displaying. This will be the ultimate walk of shame.
I flinch when there’s a knock on the door.
‘Ava?’
I keep quiet. Oh God, he sounds almost angry. I pull my fingers through my hair and dab my eyes with tissue to soak up the tears. I look no better, but I know I’ll feel better when I’m out of here. Geeing myself up to face the music that’s a disappointed man blocking my escape, I gingerly unlock the door. It flies open, nearly knocking me off of my feet, and Jesse is filling the doorway. He is angry. And he’s blocking my path.
I look past him into the bedroom, finding we’re alone. He must be a bloody convincing liar because he’s still shirtless, and there’s no Sarah trying to rip my hair out. As if he has the right to look at me all disapproving and make me feel like a letdown. I push past him.
‘Where the hell are you going?’ he shouts after me.
I don’t respond. I keep my pace up, grabbing my bag and stalking out onto the gallery landing, hearing Jesse curse as I make my escape.
‘Ava!’ he yells.
I take the stairs fast, glancing up as I go, spotting Jesse flying out of the suite, fighting to get his t-shirt on. Detouring into the bar to collect my phone, I find Mario serving some gentlemen. My good manners prevent me from demanding it immediately, so I stand patiently and wait, fidgeting and flustering the whole time.
‘Did you get what you came for?’ Sarah’s cold voice stabs at my flesh. Oh God, does she know? Is there a double meaning there?
I turn, plastering on a false smile. ‘You mean measurements? Yes.’
She looks me over, her elbow resting on her hip, with her sloe gin and tonic suspended in front of her face. She knows. Oh, this is awful.
Jesse races into the bar, skidding to a stop in front of us. I look at him in horror. Could he be any more obvious? I glance at Sarah to gage her reaction to this little scene, finding her looking thoughtfully at us both. She definitely knows. I need to leave, right now.
I turn back towards the bar. Thank God, Mario spots me. ‘Miss O’Shea, here, you must try.’ He hands me a short of some sort.
‘Do you have my phone, Mario?’
‘You try.’ he demands.
In my desperation to get out of here, I knock the whole thing back in one foul gulp. It burns the back of my throat, continuing the burn as it makes its way down my throat and into my stomach.
My mouth forms an O as I squeeze my eyes shut. ‘Wow!’
‘It is good?’
I blow out a long, hot breath, handing the glass back to him. ‘Yes. It’s very good.’ I begin to get the aftertaste of…cherries? He takes the glass, winks and hands me my phone.
I smooth my dress, taking a deep breath, before turning back to face the two people I never want to see again. I’m sure there’s a gigantic, neon sign saying Tart flashing on my forehead.