I screwed the lid back on and left the apartment before the urge to self-medicate became too strong. And I needed to get to Caro’s hotel fast.
My bike was a Honda ST1100; a serious machine that had the comfort of a tourer and the fun of a sportsbike. I’d bought it in Paris while I was stationed there, and ridden it to Geneva. Riding a motorcycle gave the illusion of freedom—a loose term when you’ve signed your life away to the military.
The roads were still fairly empty of traffic at this time in the morning. Unlike Paris, where you could find a party or a card game day or night, Geneva was sober and studious, but with drink and drugs and high-class hookers in hotel rooms if you knew where to look. And I did. But the Swiss liked to hide any sign that showed they were as corrupt as everyone else, like the Nazi gold that still lay hidden inside Zurich’s bank vaults.
I broke a few speed limits getting to Caro’s hotel, just because it felt good—reminded me I was alive. As if I needed reminding this morning. My nerve endings were firing like the business end of a M16.
I by-passed reception and took the stairs to Caro’s room two at a time. I knocked quickly and took a deep breath waiting for her voice, waiting for the door to open.
But there was nothing.
I knocked again, leaning my head against the door as if trying to get closer to her.
“Caro, it’s me. Look, about last night—I’m … can you open the door for a minute?”
But she refused to answer.
Goddamn it! The silent treatment was driving me crazy. Couldn’t we talk like adults? I know I hadn’t done a great job of that so far, but…
I pounded on the door again.
“For fuck’s sake, Caro! Can we please just talk?” Still no answer. I ran my fingers over my hair, frustration snapping at my nerves. “This is fucking crazy,” I muttered to myself.
“That’s one of the words,” said a quiet voice behind me.
Caro.
I flinched, wondering how much she’d heard. But then my eyes started wandering up her bare legs to the hotel robe wrapped tightly around her, covering her breasts. Her hair was wet and I could smell chlorine.
“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” I admitted.
“That certainly would have been one of my better ideas,” she replied coldly, and I couldn’t help wincing at her tone even though she was talking to me.
I sighed, rubbing a hand over the scruff on my face.
“Don’t be like that, Caro. Look, I’m sorry. I mean it. Around you, I just seem to open my mouth to change feet.”
“You can say that again.”
“I will if you let me buy you breakfast,” I offered, giving her my best smile, the one that usually worked on women. But not today.
“Are you stalking me, Sebastian?” she said bitterly. “I thought we said everything we had to say to each other last night.”
Ah shit.
“I just want … can’t we be friends?”
I didn’t really want to be friends, but I’d take what I could get.
“Friends? I was under the impression you wanted to fuck me out of some sense of revenge.”
What the…? No. Maybe … choose the right answer, Hunter!
“No!”
“Are you sure about that?” she bit out. “Because last night you told me that’s exactly what you did to your CO’s wife. Why should I be any different?”
I stared at her in disbelief. That was what she really thought of me? I was still gaping at her when she spoke again.
“Just go,” she said wearily, fingering the keycard in her hand.
Fuck, no!
I took a deep breath, trying to push the desperation away.
“I know I’m saying everything wrong but … we used to have fun, didn’t we?” I pleaded. “Let’s just spend some time together—get to know each other again. You’re right: we can’t pretend the last ten years never happened. Just … give me a chance. I’m not the heartless bastard you seem to think I am. I’m still me, Caro.”
She hesitated and I could see the indecision on her face, sensing that she was weakening.
“We could start with breakfast,” I suggested hopefully. “Who knows, I might be able to get through a whole meal without making you mad at me.”
A reluctant smile crept across her face.
“It seems unlikely,” she said, her words failing to match her expression.
I smiled with relief.
“You gonna wear that robe? Not that I give a shit—you could go naked for all I care. In fact…”
She groaned. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”
“Want me to scrub your back?” I suggested, only half joking.
I knew I was pushing her, but I couldn’t help it.
“Sebastian, I thought you were going to try and make it through breakfast before making me mad at you—right now your adolescent flirting is just annoying.”
I held up my hands in a gesture of defeat, but the smile on my face wasn’t going anywhere soon.
“Okay, I get the message. I’ll see you downstairs.”
I turned away quickly before she changed her mind, still grinning, then started whistling to myself.
Fucking whistling! What a pussy.
I didn’t like to admit that it was the song that always reminded me of her when I was 17: Van Morrison’s Crazy Love.
At the hotel’s restaurant, I let the waitress lead me to a table by the window. I wasn’t hungry, so I ordered a black coffee and sat waiting, memories spooling out relentlessly.
I wasn’t even sure what I wanted anymore—definitely more than just a quick fuck. But if friendship was all that was on offer, I’d take it—even if it killed me.
When I saw Caro walking across the restaurant toward me, that unfaithful friend named hope made a swift reappearance. My heart stuttered, then restarted at a quick march.
She was simply dressed in old jeans and a pale yellow t-shirt. She’d always looked good in yellow. Her dark hair curled over her shoulders and down her back, thick and glossy. I remembered tangling my hands in that hair, lost in the curves of her amazing body.
But all I could manage to say was, “You look great.”
She snorted in disbelief, and I didn’t know how I’d managed to piss her off. I only knew that I had. Maybe she thought I was giving her a line. I wasn’t.
“Did you order yet?” she asked
“No, just the coffee: I was waiting for you.”
“I usually have the continental breakfast.”
I waved to the waitress, and she walked over briskly to take Caro’s order. From the way she swung her hips as she walked, I got the impression that she’d have given me more than the full continental. Yeah, not interested.
I tried to think of something to say that would ease things between us—because right now the tension was making me crazy.
“Was there anything in particular you wanted to see in Geneva?” I asked, trying for casual, the kind of trite shit that other people seemed to manage with a fucking problem.
“You have to make it through breakfast without being irritating first,” she reminded me, but the smile on her face told the truth.
“Yeah, well, I like a challenge,” I grinned. “Seriously: anything you want to see?”
“Not especially: I saw quite a lot wandering around yesterday. The Russian Church, maybe? I hear that’s pretty amazing.”
I folded and unfolded my napkin several times before I made my suggestion.
“I had an idea of something we could do—if you like.”
“Which is?”
“How about a trip to Chamonix? It’s only an hour away—or just a bit longer if we take the scenic route through Lausanne. It’ll be a really great trip through the Alps.” Please say yes. “I’ll have you back before bedtime.”
She eyed me warily, but I could tell she was wavering. I bit back the smile that was threatening to break out.