Him and I

by Melody Eve

  “Here?” he says frowning when he looks at the single lounger. I smile a shit-I’m- caught smile, and he sets the drinks down on a small table next to my chair. “Trying to get drunk fast?” he asks.

  “I uh, I had a bad phone call, and I guess I got a little carried away.”

  “Wow, that’s some phone call.”

  “Remember when I told you this was my honeymoon?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was the ex. I told the front desk I wasn’t taking any phone calls, but somehow he got one over on them.”

  He waves for me to sit, and I do because I’m feeling faint again. The sun here is ruthless. I sit and pat the chair next to me for him. He sits, and I pass him one of the Mai Tais. “Thanks. So, if you don’t mind me asking, what did he say?”

  “He claims he isn’t the person pictured in the photographs that were sent to me of him and my best friend on my couch… well, you know.”

  “Yeah? Do you believe him? Technology’s pretty amazing. They can make just about anything look real nowadays.”

  “No, I don’t believe him. Seeing those pictures was a terrible shock, but they reaffirmed the uneasy feeling I’ve had about David for a long time now. Even if he wasn’t cheating with Lynn, I’m pretty sure he’s cheated with other women. Things with him were never like they should have been.” Like they were with Roman, I think, and push the thought out of my mind.

  “Go with your gut. If you think it was him, it probably was.” He takes a long drink of his Mai Tai, and I do the same.

  “Are you hitting the beach or on your way somewhere?” I ask. He’s dressed in shorts that could be swim trunks, it’s hard to tell, and a nice t-shirt that could be worn anywhere, beach or not.

  “No, I wish. I have to make sure things are all set up for the dinner tonight and the signing tomorrow. Pricilla’s meeting me in the conference room.”

  “Do you get to have any fun on your trip?” I ask.

  “Yeah, sure, I’m free to do as I like, but I want to make sure everything goes off without a hitch for her.”

  “Well, you’d better keep an eye on the employees here. Nobody seems to know how to follow simple instructions about phone calls. And, they gave my room away without asking me either.”

  “What? Where are you supposed to stay?” he asks shocked. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to have to explain the whole story.

  “I have a place for now, but that’s not the point.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s ridiculous. You should write to the owner.”

  I laugh a little too hard, and he looks uncomfortable and checks his watch.

  “I’d better get going. Thank you for the drink. Will I see you tonight at the dinner?”

  “Oh yes, absolutely. I can’t wait.”

  “Great, see you later then. Don’t drink too much and…”

  “What?”

  “You might want to go inside. You’re getting burned.”

  I look down at my boobs and realize he’s right. I’m burning skin that’s already burned, a recipe for skin cancer.

  “I fell asleep. What time is it anyway?”

  “Four-thirty.”

  “Holy shit, I’ve been out here all day. Yes, I’m going in right now. I’ll see you later.” When he’s around the corner, I throw back the second shot of tequila and suck down my Mai Tai before going back inside.

  A little liquid courage before I have to face Roman. God, I hope he’s not in his room. Please, let him be off doing business so I can shower and get ready for dinner and maybe catch a quick nap in peace.

  I arrive in front of the presidential suite and realize I have no key card. I left this morning in a huff, and I wasn’t planning on coming back. I take a deep breath and blow it out before knocking. If he’s not here, I’m going to have to go back to the front desk, and I’m not in the mood to be judged any further today.

  The door opens, and there stands Roman looking absolutely perfect in a pair of white linen pants, a black button-up shirt, and black leather sandals. His hair is still damp from a shower, his skin is a deep, golden brown, and his cheeks are sun-kissed giving him a healthy glow.

  “Hello, Aria, I’m glad you decided to come back.”

  “I didn’t have much choice. Where’d you expect me to sleep? On the beach?” I slur, and his eyebrows shoot up.

  “You were quite enamored with the beach this morning. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  I roll my eyes and push my way into the suite. “Shut up and leave me alone.”

  “Certainly,” he says walking across the room to pick up his phone off the coffee table where he shuts the TV off. “I’m going out. There’s a key card on the dresser in the bedroom if you decide to leave the room. I can stay out all night if you’d like, or I’d be happy to sleep on the couch if you don’t mind.”

  Stay out all night? Where? With who? Why do I care? I don’t.

  I flip my hand in a noncommittal wave and walk into the bedroom closing the door behind me. I wait until I hear the door to the suite close and flop down on the bed. I need to sleep, but now I have a thought niggling at the back of my brain. He might spend the night with someone else.

  This shouldn’t bother me in the least. He humiliated me this morning and treated me like I was his property. I’m not that kind of woman. Or am I?

  I like it when he takes control, and not only with sex, with other things too. Being with Roman makes me feel safe and cared for. And, truth be told, I shouldn’t have been parading around with nothing on out on the beach this morning. Not that I’ll ever admit that to him.

  I roll over onto my side and watch the ocean roll in and be sucked back out on the patch of beach outside Roman’s bedroom. This is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. The smell and sound of the ocean brings me peace, a peace that the Windy City will never instill.

  I drag myself from the bed and rummage around in the refrigerator for more alcohol that I don’t need but want just the same. In the door, there is a bottle of white wine that sounds expensive and will probably taste dry and bitter. I open it anyway and take it with me to the bathroom to shower. No need for a glass, straight from the bottle it’s going to be for me. Reckless, that’s how I’m feeling lately—reckless and wild. The total opposite of the Aria Savage I’ve always been.

  I guess finding out the life you’ve been living is seventy-five percent lies, and deceit changes you somehow.

  I chug from the bottle winching at the flavor but liking the way it feels cool running down my throat as it’s only purpose is to cool my sunburned body from the inside out. It does a lot more than that. I have to prop myself against the stone wall in the shower to keep from falling. That must be some strong wine. It could also be the two shots of tequila and the Mai Tai I chugged fifteen minutes ago.

  I flinch and take a wobbly step back when the water hits my burned skin. “Shit!” I curse out loud to no one. Too hot. I turn the faucet marked H to the right a bit to cool the temperature, but it doesn’t help. I am simply too burned. I reach to turn it again and miss the handle all together which causes me to tip, and tip, and fall.

  On the way down, I think to myself, don’t knock yourself out, Aria. He’s not going to save you this time, not again, not after the way you’ve been acting.

  And then I feel the unyielding stone against the side of my head, and the terrible pain it brings blinds me. I try to blink my sight back, but it’s no use, my hearing fades, and I know what’s next. It’s lights out for Aria.

  Chapter 8

  “Aria? Fuck, what have you done to yourself? Aria, wake up, please.”

  I feel a hand on my shoulder. It hurts. I want it gone, but I can’t open my eyes to tell whoever is touching it to stop. I’m cold, wet maybe? And my head is throbbing as if my heart is beating behind my eyes instead of inside my chest.

  The pressure on my shoulder lifts, and I hear a man speaking on the phone in the distance. He’s calling for help. For me? It must be, I must ha
ve hurt my head. A fall maybe?

  I hear footsteps coming quickly and then a blanket being thrown over me. I try to open my eyes, but it’s so difficult as if they’ve been weighted or glued shut. The throbbing in my head is loud, and I moan.

  “Aria? Oh, thank God, you scared me to death. Come on, baby, open your eyes. I know you can do it.”

  No, I can’t. If I could, I would. I moan again and try to move, but he stops me, and it hurts when he touches my skin. I’m sunburned, that’s right, and I was showering when I fell because… I was drinking, yes.

  I moan again and try again to open my eyes, but when I do, he is standing up, and then he leaves me. I watch a blurry version of him walking away from me to open the door. Blink, focus, blink, focus. It’s no use, everything looks like I’m seeing it through a fishbowl—warped and blurry.

  “What happened, sir?” Another man’s voice says, and I watch three sets of feet return. “I think she got overheated and fell in the shower. She was out in the sun too long today. She hit her head, it’s bleeding,” Roman says kneeling down next to me cupping the side of my face. I look at him, two of him, and he gasps. “She’s awake. Oh, thank God, woman, you had me worried.”

  “Can you hear me, Ms. Savage?” a man says from above me. I groan a response since that seems to be the only sound I’m able to make.

  “I’ll need to have a look at her eyes and the wound,” the man says, and Roman moves over infinitesimally. “My name is Dr. Rosenthal, Ms. Savage. Do you remember what happened?” he asks shining a tiny, bright light into my eyes and flicking it one way and then another.

  I swallow, and it feels like I’ve swallowed dry cinnamon in one of those stupid cinnamon challenges kids have been doing online lately. It’s so dry, I can’t croak out a quick ‘yes’ even though I’m not sure what happened, and I won’t be able to tell him anything without a drink of water.

  “Can you squeeze my fingers?” he asks slipping his fingers into my hands. I try to squeeze but not hard. “Good, can you wiggle your toes?” he asks now.

  I do, and he looks down at the blanket covering my feet. It must have wiggled enough to satisfy him because he continues on with another question. “Do you know your first name?”

  “Oh, come on, doc, can’t we move her into bed now? She’s got to be freezing on that wet floor,” Roman complains.

  “In just a moment. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Aria,” I croak.

  “Excellent. Do you hurt anywhere?” he asks.

  I lift my arm to point at my head, and it feels like it weighs a ton. “You’re head? Anywhere else?”

  “My skin,” I say, sounding more like myself.

  “Your sunburn?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, I think we should get her into bed. Do you want Marcia or me to help?” the doctor asks Roman.

  “Neither,” he says sliding his arms under my knees to carry me to the bed. When he lays me down, he is gentle with my body. I wish he’d been gentler with my feelings this morning so that I could appreciate him right now. Why did he have to go and ruin what was happening between us?

  He stands between the doctor and woman and me shielding my naked body from them when he removes the wet blanket and replaces it with the warm duvet on the bed. I am grateful for the warmth. I was clenching my teeth so hard they ache.

  Dr. Rosenthal inspects my head and declares that I will need stitches that he can do, but his nurse, Marcia, will need to go back to his office to get the sutures. I’m tired and freezing, and I do not want to get stitches. Too bad I have no say in the matter.

  Roman all but throws Marcia out of the suite nudging her along all the way to the door and returns with another blanket. “You’re shivering,” he says.

  “It’s the sunburn, I think. And being wet.”

  “Did you get into the shower as soon as I left?” he asks.

  “Yes, after I opened a bottle of wine.” He looks annoyed.

  “Yes, I saw that. And no glass, no less. What were you thinking? That was a very expensive bottle of wine, also a very potent one, especially since you’d already been drinking,” he hisses quietly so the good doctor doesn’t hear. “I put the bottle away before they arrived. I didn’t want them to think you’re a damn alcoholic or something. What else did you have to drink on the beach?”

  I think for a moment, the beach… oh yes, Brandon and the book signing dinner with Pricilla. I wonder if I can still make it after I get my stitches.

  “Aria.”

  “What,” I murmur.

  “What did you drink?”

  “Two shots of tequila and a Mai Tai.”

  His mouth falls open, and he scoots closer to me on the edge of the bed. I want him to go away, but the heat from his body is helping me warm up, so I keep my mouth shut.

  “Why?”

  That’s a good question. I don’t usually drink like that unless I’m trying to forget something or having a really good time. Forget. David. That’s it.

  “David called me. They brought the phone to the beach. He said the pictures were fake, and he swears he hasn’t cheated on me.” Roman’s mouth twists, and his eyes narrow into a terrifying glare. I’ve never seen him angry like this. It’s different from this morning when he was chasing me around on the beach. He was mad then too, but in a frustrated way that he easily fixed in his own sick way. This expression is murderous, and it scares me.

  “You don’t believe him, do you?”

  “No, of course not. He tried to say it was Lynn but not him and someone had used Photoshop to put his face on that body. I told him his tiny penis gave him away.”

  The harshness of Roman’s expressions softens a little bit. “You told him that?”

  “Yes, and I hung up on him. Can you please tell your employees to stop accepting my phone calls?”

  “Yes, I’ll take care of it.”

  “You said that before.”

  “That was before I was the owner, I have official pull now. You will not get another phone call while you’re here unless you want to.”

  I give him a skeptical look, and nurse Marcia returns to the room with the sutures. The doctor takes Roman’s place on the bed next to me, and Roman kicks off his sandals and slides under the duvet next to me. I don’t want him there, but I need to hold someone’s hand while they inject my gash with lidocaine, so I don’t feel the sutures. When he pushes the medication into the open wound, pain spreads like an electrical shock to the end of every hair on my head. I grip Roman’s hand hard and consider that it may have been better to feel the sutures and forgo the lidocaine.

  “The worst is over,” Dr. Rosenthal tells me.

  “That’s good because I sure as hell wasn’t going to let you do that again.”

  “I’m sorry, that part is rough. You won’t feel anything else other than some pulling.”

  “Good. I’m supposed to go to a dinner tonight. Do you think I’ll be able to go when you’re done?” I ask.

  “Aria…” Roman says, but the doctor holds up his hand.

  “Aria, you’ve had a very serious blow to your head. It’s likely you have a concussion not to mention one of the worst sunburns I’ve seen in a long while. I’m going to give you some pain pills for your head, they’ll help with the burn, too, but you need to stay down for at least twenty-four hours, preferably seventy-two.” He looks at Roman. “Do you have some ice?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’ll need it on her head. Also, a glass of water to take the pain pills with.” His eyes go back to the sewing project happening on my head, and Roman leaves the bed taking his heat with him.

  “I’ll come and check on you in the morning.”

  “Is that really necessary? I’m sure it just looks worse than it is, right?” I look up, and he pauses his stitching.

  “No, it’s a large gash. You must have hit it on the stone bench on your way down.” I avert my eyes. I’m embarrassed and glad Roman hid the bottle of wine. Roman returns and hands
me the glass of water. “The pain pills are in my bag,” the doctor says, and nurse Marcia gets them and shakes two from the bottle for me to take. I’ll bring you more in the morning. This should be enough until then.”

  I accept the pills and swallow them down tired of all the fuss and grateful to know they will probably make me sleepy. I don’t want to talk to Roman even though he’s being very attentive.

  “All right, there you go. It’s going to hurt when the lidocaine wears off, but you should be asleep by then, and the ice will help, too.”

  “Thank you very much.” He stands and removes his gloves while Marcia cleans up the small mess of supplies on the nightstand next to me.

  “I’ll be back around 8:00 a.m. If you have any trouble before that, just call the number on the card, Mr. Forrest.”

  “I will, thank you again. I’ll walk you out.”

  The three of them exit the bedroom, and I reach up to touch my head. The cut is off to one side, and I flinch when I feel all the sutures. I thought there would be two or three but there are many more than that—ten maybe more.

  Good job, Savage, now you’ve blown your chance to see Brandon and Pricilla. You’ve also won yourself three days in bed with a bossy control freak taking care of you. I want to go home more than ever now. Hopefully, Dr. Rosenthal will let me if I behave and stay in bed for three days as prescribed. I reach for the resort phone on the nightstand and call the operator while Roman is saying goodbye to the doctor and Marcia. I ask the desk clerk to relay a message to Brandon, so he will know I’m not coming to the dinner or the signing. I also give them my phone number to pass along to him in hopes he will still want to set up a signing at my bookstore with Pricilla.

  Roman returns shedding his clothes as he walks to the other side of the bed, the side that faces another patio with an ocean view. “What are you doing?” I ask a chill in my voice. I hadn’t meant to sound so ridged, but now that I have, it’s probably for the best.

  “I’m going to bed, it’s late.”