“Me neither.” His face has a distorted, almost drunk expression.
Applause breaks out from the adjoining dining room, and we meet eyes with silent smiles as we peel off our remaining clothes and head to the sofa. As I see the full glory of him, I send another message to the universe. (Thank you. You have gone above and beyond.)
He’s brought protection, and as he’s sorting himself out, I wonder if he had it all along or if he didn’t because of the casual-sex thing? But then, what is this? Casual? Not casual?
It’s sex! my brain screams. Shut up with the overthinking! It’s sex!
Meanwhile, I’ve draped a tablecloth over the sofa, for the full wedding-night look, and I arrange myself on it in what might possibly be an alluring position. Or not. But who cares? I’m just desperate for the real deal now.
“Come.” I reach out my hands as he turns. “Come.”
The sofa creaks under Finn’s weight, and I pull him to me, breathing in the heady scent of him, nuzzling his chest, listening to his breathing intensify as his hands run down my body.
“Sasha … this is OK?” He says the words as though with monumental effort, and I pull him in for a kiss, cupping his face, running my fingers through his hair, loving him.
No. Wait. Not loving him.
Oh God. Loving him. That’s the truth.
Tears suddenly edge my closed eyes. I love him. The universe sent him to me and thought, Let’s give her one she’ll fall desperately in love with.
Deal with that tomorrow. Finn’s still waiting for my answer, beloved Finn.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes. Yes.”
And then my mind is a blur and we’re everything. All of it. Together.
Twenty
When Nikolai sees us in bed together the next morning, he nearly collapses. His face drains of color, he staggers, and the tray he’s carrying wobbles precariously.
“Hi, Nikolai,” says Finn in an unconcerned voice. “Put the coffee on the bedside table, thanks. And I forgot to mention, could you bring another cup for my guest? You know Sasha, don’t you?”
“Morning, Nikolai,” I say, from the comfortable depths of Finn’s bed.
Nikolai seems unable to reply. He opens his mouth three times, then appears to give up. Eyeing me warily, he makes his way to the bedside table, places the tray on it, then retreats.
“I can’t believe you’ve been having room-service coffee all this time,” I say, as the door shuts. “It never even occurred to me.”
“Live a little,” says Finn, grinning. “This is the Rilston Hotel, don’t you know?”
He pours a cup of coffee and hands it to me.
“That’s yours,” I protest.
“Yours now.” He grins again. “Maybe we’ll have to share. I’m not sure Nikolai can face us a second time.”
Sure enough, when there’s a knock at the door a few minutes later and Finn calls, “Come in,” it’s Herbert who totters in, bearing a single cup and saucer on a tarnished salver with a price tag dangling from it.
“Herbert!” exclaims Finn. “Good to see you. Shall I take that?”
Herbert is silent for a few moments, his eyes shifting constantly between Finn and me, then he offers the salver to Finn, who removes the cup.
“Good morning.” Herbert finally speaks. “Sir. Madam.”
“Good morning,” I reply, trying to smile at him, but Herbert dodges my gaze and hastily turns round. He heads to the door, and as he exits the room, I hear him saying, “It’s true, all right.”
“It can’t be true!” Cassidy’s muffled voice penetrates the door. “What, just like that?”
“They are couple!” Nikolai’s voice sounds impassioned, even through the door. “I tell you, they have coupled!”
For a few minutes the conversation in the corridor dies down to the level of mumbles. Then there’s a brisk knocking, and the door begins to open.
“Good morning, Mr. Birchall,” Cassidy’s self-conscious voice greets us. “I just wanted to check …” She rounds the doorframe, sees me in bed, and stops dead, her eyes huge. “I just wanted to … um …” She stops again, her gaze moving avidly from Finn’s naked chest to my bare shoulders. “To … um …”
“Check …” prompts Finn politely.
“Yes! Check the … um …” I can see her casting around. “That the heating is satisfactory.”
“The heat situation is great,” Finn says, deadpan, squeezing my thigh under the duvet. “Would you agree, Sasha? How’s the heat for you?”
“Hot,” I say, swallowing down a laugh.
“It can always be hotter.” Finn’s fingers are moving upward, and I feel a blush come to my face.
“It’s good.” I try to address Cassidy naturally. “Thanks.”
“You two!” Cassidy’s professional demeanor completely collapses into unvarnished glee. “You two!” She points a finger at me, then Finn. “I knew it! We should have had bets on it. I wanted to have bets on it,” she adds confidentially, “but Simon was all like, ‘It’s unprofessional to bet on whether the guests will shag or not.’ ” She rolls her eyes. “He’s such a spoilsport.”
“Spoilsport.” Finn nods. “I would have placed a bet. I wouldn’t have given myself good odds.”
“Aww.” Cassidy’s eyes soften, and for a moment I think she’s going to sit on the edge of the bed and ask us how it was. But then she seems to remember where she is. “Can I offer you breakfast in bed?”
“I’d love that.” Finn nods and turns to me. “Would you love that, Sasha?”
“I’d love that.”
“We’d love that,” he says, looking back at Cassidy, and she gives another delighted beam.
“You see? You’re ‘we’ already. I knew, I knew it.…” She heads out of the room, and as the door closes, Finn says, “She didn’t ask us what we want for breakfast.”
“Whatever.” I laugh. “This place.”
“We’re going to miss it when we’re gone.”
“Don’t say that! I’ve been institutionalized. This is home now.”
“You’re never going to leave?” Finn looks amused. “You’ll have to get a job here, then.”
“I’ll be the well-being consultant,” I say, remembering my conversation last night. “No! I’ll carry luggage. In fifty years I’ll be the new Herbert. They’ll call me Herbetta.”
“Herbetta.” Finn grins, then kisses my neck and I reach to pull him closer. The scent of him is intoxicating, and I rub my face against his skin. Breathe in the scent of a hot man should be in the list of twenty steps to well-being. In fact, after last night, I can think of a few other ideas. I could write my own twenty steps, and they could go in Mr. Poppit’s adult show.
“You’re delicious,” I murmur, and Finn gives a rumble of a laugh.
“Never been called that before.”
“What have you been called?”
“Oh, workaholic, self-centered, nightmare.” He speaks lightly, but I draw back to stare at him, because that’s quite a list. Who called him that?
But before I can ask, there’s a knock on the door, and Nikolai enters, bearing a tray. It holds a kale smoothie, an orange juice, a small posy in a vase, and a sprinkling of red rose petals. It looks like something for Valentine’s Day.
“Smoothie, juice for the happy couple,” he says, grinning widely. “Enjoy. May I take your order?”
After we’ve ordered breakfast and Nikolai has retreated again, we exchange looks, then I burst into giggles. I lie back against Finn’s chest, nestling into the crook of his shoulder, and gaze at the peeling ceiling.
“This hotel room is really manky,” I say, noticing a patch of damp.
“Thanks!” says Finn. “Let’s remember we agreed that my room was marginally better than the woodland creatures from hell.”
“That’s not my point,” I say, smiling. “My point is, this hotel room is really manky. I don’t have a job. I don’t know what’s in the future. But I’m happy. Right now. In this moment.”
“Here’s to that.” Finn kisses my head.
“What about you, burnout buddy?” I ask, so directly that he can’t avoid the subject. “What about your job? What about the anger and the sleep and the wanting to destroy vending machines? Where are you at?”