Chapter 325

The room itself is bigger than the entire club apartment.

A massive black four-poster bed in the middle made up with layers of white bedding and furry cushions, shoved up against a free-standing brick chimney-like pillar with built-in shelving. Dark wooden floors and one wall is a cleverly concealed row of white doors which I assume are wardrobes and meant to look like one glossy wall. There are some huge dark wood dressers along the wall to my right, between this door and another set of closed doors which are the only other things in here, besides a massive glass panel fireplace on the chimney, a good ten feet over the bed, and above the dressers facing it is an equally huge TV. Everything is concealed, no clutter or much furniture and insanely serene with it. Art on the walls is sparse, although they are large to cover all the white spaces that are left. They are abstract and brightly coloured splashes over muted tones.

“Bathroom is in there; I will get you something from my wardrobe to wear that might fit until Mico has your clothes sent over.” She smiles pleasantly pointing at that door in the room and nods at the bathrobe on the bed. A white fluffy one, concealed because it matches the throw on the end of that luxurious setup.

“If you leave your dirty clothes here, then I will have them laundered.” She smiles again, wide and friendly and doesn’t even flick her eyes over my messy dishevelled appearance with any kind of question. Just accepts.

I like her.

“Thank you … umm … did Alexi say when to expect him back?” I ask awkwardly as she turns to leave, knowing she might not have a clue, but it’s worth a try; my stomach is tying itself in knots and could do with a little intel. If I know when he’s about to show up, I can at least relax in the meantime and unwind all the taut nerves and sickening anxiety running through me.

I don’t want to sit here for days waiting for him and not know what will happen when he shows up. That’s a special kind of agony.

“He said to make sure you were attended to and that he would be home shortly and to prepare dinner for you both. He does not like reheated food, so I’m guessing he intends a return within the hour.” She smiles again, nothing but warmth in that wrinkled little face and I wonder if she was an attempt at giving himself a stand-in mother. She has that maternal vibe and I could see why he wouldn’t want the hassle of a live-in maid whom he has banged. He hates women trailing around after him when he’s done with them.

A cosy home he never lets on is his, a dog and a motherly maid. Alexi made himself what he was lacking, and I can see why he never let me come here before. Like his bolthole, this place is somewhere he can be someone else, and it feeds a side of him that his mother never nurtured.

“Of course.” I falter, covering my sheer lack of knowing what’s happening or even something as basic about him as not liking reheated food. It’s not something that ever came up, seeing as I don’t cook for him, or have ever had to get food for him. A girlfriend should know these things though. I want to know these things about him.

After today I guess that’s a moot subject and I can stop planning beyond tonight if he’s coming back today. I don’t see how we can have a future after today.

She hovers a moment to see if I have any other questions and then nods when I remain silent. She walks out and closes the door quietly behind her, clicking it securely and leaving me with myself, my thoughts and my bath.

As soon as I’m alone it all sort of leaches out in a loud, heavy sigh and my body sinks from its practised posture. I stopped crying in the car, to be honest, I think it was the shock and an initial reaction to that turbulent episode of events. I then sat quiet and numb for the rest of the car journey and now it feels like I have a heavyweight of doom and gloom pressing down on me as I have another look about me. Trying to shake off the weary fatigue of carrying such an emotional burden. I feel like I’m not done crying, but I don’t want to start again in case it never stops. Instead, I try to take my mind off it by investigating my surroundings. Walking past the bed to nosey at a space I can see before the windows.

There’s a huge dog bed in the far corner the bed had concealed when I was at the door, and now I can see a bookcase tucked in around a corner beside it. A little dark square space where the dog has his bed, toys and a couple of shelves with collars, spare tags and a puppy framed picture over it. The pillar on the other side making a small nook where Lync seems to have his own space. Furry rug peeking out under the large, plump bed.

I wander over to it, realising it’s much deeper and larger than it looked, and finger the array of novels and bric-a-brac nestled here on the built-in bookcase, filled with very Alexi things. Thrillers, spy books, psychological novels and framed pictures of those Alexi holds closest. All suggesting this apartment is truly where he spends time and calls it home. It’s a hidden piece of his bolthole and some of the items resemble the kind of things he keeps there. Sentimental little things, random, eclectic statues, books, trinkets and my hand hovers over a picture of me.

It’s a selfie I took on his phone one day in the office to assign to my number when he told me to save it. I did it in sarcasm, just to annoy him whenever my name popped up on his screen. Pouting an overly dramatic kissy set of blood-red lips, a wink as I tousle my hair seductively, cleavage out and nestled cross-legged on his desk, a lot of thigh on show with his chair in the background. I remember taking it and the way he frowned at me when I handed his phone back to him.

It’s been printed out as a five by seven inch and he has it propped in front of a large picture of him and his brother, at eye level. No frame but in front of everything on that shelf in prime viewing position.

My heart somersaults, the warm feeling of gooey he seems to be able to inflict and I harbour a little hope that maybe this won’t be as bad as I think it will. Calming some of my frazzled nerves.

Alexi kept a photo of me with his personal stuff in a home he likes to keep people away from.

I don’t know when he printed this, but the fact he has it, says a lot. That lump that forms in heart and chest making itself known and I feel even more inclined to cry, just for different reasons.

I run my fingers over my overly sexual pose and an almost smug expression, knowing I meant it to get at him and wish I could replace it with something more genuine. Maybe one of us. A picture that was not intended to get on his nerves, although judging by the fact it’s here, I don’t think it had the desired effect.

I quickly move past it, fixating on other things on the shelf and push it out of my mind before I have the urge to cry again. Focusing on the pictures in frames but avoiding any of him because I’m not ready to stare at his gorgeous face and break all over again.

There are pictures of Gino, Mico, Jackson, the guy I saw Sophie Huntsberger with, so I guess that’s Arrick. And one with him and Alexi in boxing shorts and gloves, and another man who is most definitely Carrero. All three of them have that look. The third one is a lot like Alexi in so many ways. Black hair, strong, tall and handsome but he has green eyes and a severe love of tattoos all over his arms, shoulders and chest. I mean, the three of them do, but he has by far the most coverage. He’s holding up a glove and has a cheeky grin aimed right at the camera. No lack of confidence in that one, anyway.

To have such great DNA in a bloodline where all of you are a little too hot by human standards is pretty annoying. I can see that it’s a strong gene and seems to produce little replicas through the entire family. These could be his brothers, cousins, maybe even second and I wouldn’t be able to tell.

I put the picture down and pick up one of a girl. She looks young, maybe teens and I recognise her from his picture album as one of his sisters. She’s pretty, cute, sort of innocent looking but definitely a raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty of a Carrero.

This family and their looks. Crazy.

The pictures are also a little pointer that my cold, heartless brute cares enough to keep his family close in sentimentality. I have never owned a framed picture of anyone in my life and wouldn’t have any need of a shelf to stow them on. I never knew what it was like to be part of a family until I was taken into Alexi’s club and despite his issues with his mother, it’s obvious he cares about his family a great deal.

I slide off my shoes, dusting off as much of my collected debris as I can before sliding out of my soiled dress and lingerie and leaving them heaped on the floor in a little pile for the woman I didn’t get a name for. They look like I wore them to a mud wrestling match, and I pull on the fluffy robe and pad to the bathroom, leaving the mess behind me. Leaving his shelves alone and tearing myself away from torturing my sanity. I need headspace and not reminders of him right now.

My whole body is sore, bruised and achy. Much like my soul and the thought of sinking into hot water and letting it all ebb away is all I can focus on. My brain is shutting down on me due to fatigue and emotional exhaustion and my eyes are dry and itchy from crying it all out.

The taps are still running when I open the door and step inside to a huge cloud of scented bubbles growing on the surface of the deep water in the middle of a tub made for two.

The tub is huge, big enough for Alexi, Lync and me if I wanted it, made from a natural looking grey stone in a bathroom decked from floor to ceiling in the same grey tiles and built-ins. It has sunken wall lights inside frosted shades and a whole natural spa feel to it which is a stark contrast to the almost clinical furnishings of his room in the club. These are softer, less edgy and sterile. I guess because this is the place he considers home, then he opted for a slight softening of his harsh choices.

Like the bed.

Huge and foreboding, but simple white and natural bedsheets, with a fur throw across the end.

Masculine, minimalist yet oddly welcoming. I can imagine lying in that bed and watching a good old city rainstorm in the sky from that wide wall of floor to ceiling windows. He has shades pulled up and sheers at the sides with a runner that suggests he can cover all the windows with either a light fabric to still see the lights at night or the blackout blinds when he sees fit and wants daytime darkness. That’s someone who likes to watch the view while falling asleep so even more of a contradiction to the windowless box of the club.