"Darling," she said, blocking his way, "could you please
get me a glass of water?"
He stopped, eyed her with subdued curiosity. Then he let out an
impatient sign and turned and started back down the steps. Just
another minute, she thought, and Jean-Pierre would be safely
gone.
But then Matthew stopped, turned around, and climbed toward her
again. "There are cups in the bathroom," he recalled aloud as he
passed her. She clutched the hem of her robe and lifted it and
chased after him in hopes of getting to the bedroom before he
did.
She didn't.
He flipped on the light switch, which lit up several lamps in the
room all at once, and tripled its brightness. Now everything was
fully illuminated, exposed.
She tried to see what Matthew was seeing: The bed was a shambles.
Sheets, pillows, and the comforter strewn across the mattress and
onto the floor. The two empty champagne bottles. One on its side.
The bath towel beside the bed. The unlocked terrace door.
He strode past the bed to his walk-in closet and hung up his
garment bag, acting as though he did not notice the mess. Pulling
his tie from his collar, he caught her earnest reflection in the
full-length closet mirror. He turned around to take a closer look
at her disheveled appearance, and for a moment his eyes fixed on
the empty champagne bottle resting atop the night table.
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