Only You by K.T. Quinn

30

Molly

The Day After

For a few minutes after I woke up, I forgot everything that had happened. I blinked at the bright light streaming through the window. I had slept in.

Then I felt the body next to me.

We had slept in.

All the events from last night came back to me in a rush. The Colosseum, the police, the sizzling sex in my hotel room, and then dancing on the balcony. I didn’t remember coming to bed after that.

Yet here Donovan was, asleep in bed next to me.

I gently rolled over to face him. He was on his side facing me, but his eyes were closed. A few strands of his dark hair had fallen across his face. His leg was perfect and warm against mine.

I can’t believe we did that last night.

I watched Donovan sleep for awhile, his body rising and falling with every breath. I studied his face: the strong nose, Mediterranean skin, and black eyebrows. The thin beard that covered his cheeks and jaw. I had been looking at him for over a week now, but never from this close. It was like zooming in on a map and suddenly seeing beautiful new features.

I couldn’t get over how sexy he was. I could stare at him for hours.

What was someone supposed to do in a situation like this? Did we act like we were together, with cuddles and kisses and—dare I say it—morning sex? I wanted to cuddle and kiss him, but I was afraid our passionate behavior was limited to the evening.

I didn’t know how to act.

Suddenly his eyes blinked open, unfocused for a moment before locking onto me. He smiled.

“Watching me sleep?” he asked, voice thick with sleep. “Kinda creepy, Feisty.”

“I just woke up,” I whispered back.

“What time is it?”

“Ten.”

“Wow,” he said. “Been a long time since I’ve slept this late. But waking up next to you, I can see why.”

He leaned over and kissed me, which answered my question about how we should act. I kissed him back and then said, “I probably have morning breath.”

“You totally do,” he replied, “but I don’t care.”

He grinned and pulled me into a longer kiss. I laughed and forgot all about what my breath smelled like.

There was a sound outside in the hallway. Footsteps. Both of us froze in bed and listened as something bulky was dropped on the ground, then another item. The footsteps disappeared and we heard the ding of the elevator.

Donovan tip-toed to the door, peeked outside, then brought my box of daily supplies inside. “He delivered them early. Usually it’s in the afternoon. Huh, there’s a letter with it today.” He glanced at me. “It’s signed by the concierge of the Residencia Al Gladiatore hotel.”

“What’s it say? Maybe we can go home!”

“If you are not comfortable remaining in the hotel,” Donovan read out loud, “you are invited to move to our partner location, the Express Hilton Roma. You will still be confined to your rooms there, but you will find a greater number of amenities, such as a fully-operational kitchen and maid staff.”

He lowered the letter and looked at me. I searched his face to gauge his reaction. We had an opportunity to go somewhere else. Did he want to leave?

“I don’t need maid service,” he finally said.

My heart swelled with happiness. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay here with me.

“We already have a fully-operational kitchen,” I said. “Switching to whatever chefs they have will probably be a downgrade.”

“Not to mention there are more people there,” Donovan agreed. “And we would be stuck in our rooms.”

“Other people suck. Present company excluded, of course.”

“So you’re cool staying here?” Donovan asked.

“Are you kidding? I have a private chef who I also get to have sex with whenever I want.”

Donovan sat on the bed and kissed my shoulder. “Is that what I am to you? A sex robot who can also make pancakes?”

“Oh, pancakes! I’ll have those, please. Chop chop, sex robot chef.” I clapped my hands together.

He stood up and made mechanical, robotic movements across the room. He stopped at the divider door and said, “Ah, fuck.”

“What?”

He pointed at the door. “It must have blown closed when we opened the balcony door. I don’t have my room key.”

“Then how are you going to get back in?”

He looked at the balcony.

I quickly slid out of bed and got dressed so I could watch him climb over to his balcony. It felt far more dangerous in the bright light of morning, but he jumped the gap easily and then disappeared into his room. A few minutes later I let him through the dividing door to my room.

“Let’s prop these open so that doesn’t happen again,” he said. “Grab the door stopper…”

Sliding the jammer under each door felt like taking a step forward in a relationship. Our two separate rooms were now one big room that we were sharing.

I showered, and Donovan brought me breakfast in bed. While we ate, we watched Italian news with English subtitles. The number of infected Italians had increased, as well as the death count. Both numbers seemed to be climbing with alarming speed.

France had finally closed their borders and implemented a nationwide shutdown. The first cases in South America were reported in Rio de Janeiro. North Korea claimed they had zero cases due to the quick response from The Glorious Leader.

“I can’t watch this anymore,” Donovan finally said. “I’m going to the gym.”

“Want me to walk around the hall and distract you with my ass?”

He grinned. “Don’t you dare. I might break my neck this time.”

I stayed glued to the TV while he exercised. The footage of grocery store lines and empty shelves was like something you typically saw in a developing country. New York City had implemented a stay-at-home order. It was jarring seeing Times Square completely empty. It felt like the apocalypse.

Donovan returned to my room shirtless and sweaty. “There’s a rumor they’ll start opening up travel again to the United States,” he said while drying off with a towel. “Well, it’s not a rumor. It’s one person on Twitter who says so. Have you gotten an update yet?”

“Let me check…” I logged into the portal where we had registered. “Nope. It says my flight request is still pending.”

“Me, too,” Donovan said gloomily.

“What’s your estimate? Mine says April fifteenth. That’s three weeks from now!”

He frowned at his phone before answering. “April twelfth.”

I gave him a playful shove. “We’re both in Rome. Why are you ahead of me in line? You would think we would get put on the same plane!”

“No idea,” he said, staring off in thought. He shook his head and glanced at the TV. “You’re still watching the news?”

“I can’t look away,” I whined. “It feels like nine-eleven, but in slow-motion.”

He took me by the hand. “Come on. I have something that will help distract you.”

“What’s that?”

He grinned. “Me.”

I squealed as he led me into the shower and made me forget about all the problems outside the hotel.