Not My Neighbor by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Fifteen

Krystal

“Don’t you need to take anything?” I ask Blake, who seems ready to leave right now. Even making a face when I tell him I need to shower and pack some things.

“We can just get what we need as we go,” he says impatiently, looking wounded when I ask him if he’s gonna take a shower at some point.

“Do I smell?” he asks, lifting his arm and thrusting his own head in for a sniff of his pit.

“You smell amazing,” I tell him, hinting he should at least bring some of the cologne he wears with us. I love it.

“What’s the rush anyhow? You on the run or something?” I ask.

I mean, I’m eager to get somewhere we can truly be alone but I at least want to have a shower and get dressed first.

He smiles, relaxing instantly, taking both my hands in his.

“Just a little too keen to claim what’s mine, I guess,” he admits bashfully, bending down and pecking me on the cheek.

“Maybe you could have a shower after all?” I suggest. His eyes narrow and his hands hook around my waist.

“We could save water and take one together,” he croons, and as much as I like the idea I know there’s no way both of us will fit in our shower cubicle.

Even if a part of him was inside me.

I wonder if his shower’s any bigger and I ask. He looks puzzled for a second, “You’re right. I barely fit in mine, so yours would be the same,” he says quickly.

“Well, don’t be long,” I tell him, hurrying him along by glancing at the door which he takes as his cue to leave me temporarily.

No breakfast, just coffee.

I wonder if that’s how he functions. Maybe that’s his key to staying in such great shape?

Me, I’m starving so I grab a couple of granola bars, and munch them down quickly before heading to the bathroom to get ready.

I resolve to take my new dress which I laid out last night and as I shower I make a mental list of everything else I figure I’ll need for a few days away.

I don’t get the impression that Blake wants to go for just one night, he seems like he’s got the permanent travel bug. Always on the move.

No wonder he left the owner’s house just as it was, he’s probably hardly ever there. A bit like my dad with our place.

At one point I think I hear the doorbell, but it’s impossible to say with the shower running all the way upstairs.

Once I finish and am drying off, I do something I never do which is look at myself in the full length mirror naked.

I don’t do this because I never like what I see, but today I’m looking trying to see what Blake sees. What he finds so attractive.

Can’t pick it myself, but I don’t want to jinx it either. If he’s happy I’m happy.

I slip back into my robe, hearing the front door as I pack.

Blake reappears in my bedroom doorway looking fresher but still wearing the same clothes. He scans me with a pleased eye and then frowns when he sees my giant suitcase which I’m filling up.

“Uh. You planning on going for good?” he asks.

I laugh quietly, figuring he’s kidding around but there’s a look he gives me as he waits for an answer.

“Well, no,” I tell him. “Just packing my new dress and a few other little things,” I explain. Wondering if he’s ever had a female companion before.

Most of us don’t travel ‘light’, even if it’s just a trip to the store.

“I was gonna bring my camera gear too,” I add, reminding myself not to forget it.

I could fill a thousand memory cards with images of Blake and it’ll be the perfect excuse to see more of him without many of his clothes on if I can get him to model for me.

He’s gone quiet, moving over to the window and glancing out through the lace curtains as he moves them an inch to one side.

I wonder for a second if he really is hiding from something or someone.

Since this morning’s two visitors, he seems almost on edge.

“Or I could just take my overnight bag,” I suggest, compromising without wanting to make him anymore tense.

“But I won’t fit my new dress in it,” I debate to myself out loud.

He has the patience of a saint with me and calmly explains again that we can grab anything we need as we go.

“I should be able to have our clothes from the tailors delivered to our hotel suite anyway,” he adds.

I’d completely forgotten. All those new outfits, shoes, and handbags.

My god, I wonder how much it all came to? Daphne did tell me that it’s useless to argue with Blake when he knows what he wants. And he wanted me to have a whole new wardrobe.

He tries to do it discreetly, but when I notice him looking at his watch, I know he’s giving me the hurry up.

I breathe out heavily through my nose, and stomping to the bathroom I pick one thing, coming back into my room holding up my toothbrush.

“How about I just take this, would that make you happy?” I ask, trying not to sound annoyed but his smile shows me I failed. Reminding me that he actually thinks it’s cute when I get mad.

“Perfect,” he exclaims, but I bundle him out of my room so I can at least get dressed in private otherwise we will be here all day.

In fresh jeans and a sweater and nothing more than my oldest sneakers on my feet, we head out. Blake’s mood seeming to get lighter and more like his usual self the further away from home we get.

He’s been busy with his phone for a bit, and I notice he sends a lot of texts rather than making actual calls.

When I ask him, he shrugs. “Sometimes people want to go on and on or complain about this and that. A text is simpler. More direct.”

I guess someone in his position can’t afford to spend hours a day on the phone.

Or in fancy hotels with girls half his age.

It’s none of my business, but I can’t help but ask if and when he has to be back at work.

“Oh, I’m hardly ever in the office,” he remarks, looking up from a text while his fingers still type.

“Amazing what you can do from one of these things,” he adds, holding up his phone.

I look away, not wanting to see any of the messages he’s sending, and I tell myself off for being such a sticky beak in the first place.

Even though it’s during the day this time, I have no trouble finding the hotel that has the same restaurant as last night.

It towers over most other buildings in the city and is easy to find.

The valet is as polite as ever, and with no real luggage, the concierge insists on seeing us up to our suite himself.

“Always a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Mason,” he gushes, almost as if he’s dealing with a celebrity.

Blake only smiles politely and once we’re inside the elevator he slips his hand over mine, giving it a little squeeze.

The ride up is long and I wonder if the elevator is broken, but once the shining silver doors open it all makes sense.

From what I can tell, we’re on the very top floor, with only one or two suites on it.

There’s a huge window at the end of the long hallway, red-bordered white carpeting, and a view that takes my breath away.

I want to go check out the view, but Blake’s hand in mine signals me the real view is from our suite. Not the hallway.

The concierge swells with pride, announcing the Presidential suite and flinging open both the huge white doors with gleaming brass handles before we both step in.

It’s huge, bigger than our whole house. Bigger than the whole block if it was laid end to end, it seems.

I gasp and feel overwhelmed as the concierge does his little routine, announcing the services and features available for the suite.

Blake was right, we’ll want for nothing staying here but I had no idea when he said fancy hotel he meant the Presidential suite.

It looks like something from a movie set, with old style furniture and fittings from another era that look like they were made just the day before.

More than impressed, I quickly forget about his keenness to get me away from home and into this place.

It all makes sense now.

I’ve never been so—

The concierge tsks to himself, picking up a remote from one of the low tables.

“Sorry Mr. Mason, someone left one of the televisions on.”

But before he can switch it off, I grab it from his hand, torn between trying to figure out how to work the volume and the image on the huge, wall-sized screen in one of the lounge rooms.

It’s a photo of the owner of Blake’s house. I’m sure it’s even one of the photos he took off the wall and put in a drawer.

Blake moves to take the remote, but finding the volume I keep it out of his reach just long enough to catch the end of the news story.

“…Mr. Nathaniel Macy, chief editor and part-owner of Chord magazine has been reported missing after not returning to his work or home as scheduled…”

My blood runs cold for a moment, and my entire body gets a chill, as Blake slips the concierge some money, murmuring that he’ll take it from here.

“…Vegas holdings, the owner and publisher of Chord is offering a fifty thousand dollar reward for any information leading to the whereabouts of their—”

I want to hear the rest, but Blake’s switched the TV off at the wall.

He’s obviously seen enough. And I’ve maybe seen too much.

“So if that guy on your wall at home is our neighbor, if he’s Nate Macy,” I ask, feeling like I’ve been winded. Punched below the belt.

“If that guy’s our neighbor,” I say again, not wanting to even look at him. “Then who the hell are you?”