Before also turning completely red, I got one of my suitcases and disappeared into the bathroom.
I closed the door, leaned against it, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then a thought began simmering in my head. What should I even wear? The negligees I’d bought for my nights with Valentin all had something of—how should I put it?—an erotic flair. They revealed more than they concealed. Much more, to be completely honest.
I couldn’t possibly come out wearing such lingerie.
Hastily, I rummaged through my things until I came upon the track suit I’d packed for my Pilates exercises. It was also quite sexy and emphasized my figure, but it was a thousand times better than Belgian silk and lace.
The blood was shooting to my head again.
I tippy-toed into the shower—God only knows who’d been in there before—made lavish use of the shower gel, shampoo, and special hair conditioner. I carefully used lotion from head to toe and brushed my teeth before slipping into the track suit.
My hair looked rather boring, so I blow-dried it until it showed some life.
A touch of perfume wouldn’t hurt either . . .
Michelle, what are you getting ready for? Your wedding night? said a little voice in my head. I immediately zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin and opened the door.
David was still sitting in the same spot, trying to look as relaxed as possible. His eyes flickered at the sight of me, and then he cleared his throat.
Total wedding night feeling, I silently agreed with that little voice. Aloud, I asked, “Did I make you wait too long?” Was that casual enough?
“No,” David said as he stretched out his legs and leaned back in the chair.
“Well, it’s all yours.”
David considered what I’d said with a friendly smile. “What?”
“The bathroom,” I added quickly. “You can go to the bathroom now.”
“Oh, right, of course,” he said, sitting up straight. “Sorry. I was just lost in thought.”
“That happens to me, too, sometimes,” I said, which didn’t make the situation any better.
He got up awkwardly and tried to get past me. I rested a hand on his arm. He stared at me, dumbfounded.
“You need your bag,” I said.
“My what?”
“Your toiletries.”
He put his hand on his head. “How could I have forgotten? I thought . . .” Pointing to the bathroom door and then Emma and then me, he said, “Oh, it doesn’t matter.” He turned around, grabbed his duffel bag, and disappeared into the wet, windowless cell.
I’d only just sat down on the same chair he’d used when I heard the water running. I made sure Emma was sleeping, and waited, just like David had, a few minutes ago.
Hearing him step into the shower, I thought about how he’d look without any clothes on. The hard jet of the spray leaving pearls of water on his skin. How he’d lather up thoroughly without missing the tiniest spot . . .
All of a sudden it hit me that David had listened to the same shower sounds while I was in the bathroom. He’d probably played out a similar scene in his head, but with me in the leading role. That would account for his odd, self-conscious behavior when I suddenly emerged from the bathroom.
This was promising to be a great night.
11
His damp hair was combed back. His skin had a fresh glow to it. He wore jogging pants, and his T-shirt revealed that he was more muscular than I’d thought. As I said, he was quite good-looking, in his own way.
“How was the shower?” I tried to loosen things up between us.
“Wet,” he said. “Nice bathroom. Good water temperature. Everything works.”
“I’m not at all tired,” I lied.
“Me neither. But I have an idea.” He went back into the bathroom and came out with two toothbrush cups. “I saw a bottle before.” He pointed to the night table. And right there, as if on cue, stood a bottle of complimentary wine.
I got up to inspect the label. Just as I thought: cheap stuff, probably purchased from the bargain store. But anything was better than going to bed with this stranger. No, not “going to bed with,” it’s “getting between the sheets with.” No, I mean, “sleeping with” the stranger—ugh, that’s even worse! What had I gotten myself into?
We sat on the chairs across from each other. David unscrewed the top. He poured the wine into the glasses, and we toasted.
I’d prepared myself for a vinegary taste. But to my surprise—although it was a simple wine—it was mild and pleasant on the tongue.
“Emma’s already sleeping,” I said.
“She was tired.”
“Very tired. It must have been a very long day for her.”
“Normally she goes to bed much earlier.”
“That’s probably better.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
I took another sip. Once I’d emptied my glass, David refilled it without my asking.
Slowly, a pleasant warmth spread over me, and it suppressed my anxiety.
“When do you need to be in Berlin?” David asked.
Love Is Pink!
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