“Hello. Luca, are you okay?” I ask in a panic.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He sounds tired. “I’m okay. I’m just at the police station now, answering some questions.”
“I’m coming down there,” I say quickly. “Just give me thirty minutes, and I’ll meet you there,” I explain as I reach for the fallen towel and quickly use it to dry my hair.
“No, Serena, there’s honestly nothing you can do. The detective looking after the investigation just has a few questions, and then I’ll head over.”
“Oh,” I say. “Detective? Do they suspect someone?”I wonder if, indeed, Harley had something to do with his death.
“Nothing yet. They’re going to do an autopsy to find out the cause of death. It’s most likely a heart attack, but better to rule out the cause of death.” I can hear the brokenness in his voice, and my heart aches for him.
“You sound tired, honey. Are you sure I can’t come down there?”
He sighs. “No, honestly, sweetheart, there’s nothing you can do. I’m almost done. You get some rest. I know it was a big day, and you must be exhausted too.” It’s quiet for a few seconds, then he says, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, this was supposed to be your special day.”
“Ourspecial day,” I correct him. “And please don’t be sorry… you’ve just lost your father. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“For what? It’s not your fault, Serena. It’s nobody’s fault. I love you.” I’m about to reply and say I love him too, but we’re cut off as a man in the background interrupts him. “Serena, I have to go. I’m being called back in. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
The call ends, and I place my phone on the bench and continue to dry my hair. Once I am dry I place the white silk negligee over my head and let it fall along my torso and over my hips, stopping midthigh. I choose not to wear any underwear, hoping when Luca returns, I can make him feel good and forget everything that’s happened by making love to him.
Running my fingers through my hair, I decide to leave it to air-dry rather than use the hair dryer, knowing how Luca loves my natural waves. Grabbing the champagne glass, I swallow the remaining bubbles, then hang the used towels on the back of the door before opening it to head back into my room.
It’s dark outside now, and just as I place my empty champagne glass on the side table to switch on the lamp, I scream because there, sitting on the edge of the bed, is a man I can’t make out. The room is so dark, but I can see his silhouette.
“Hello, Serena, it’s been a while.”
No, it can’t be.
Is it?
Is it him?
My heart beats fast, and my breath hitches at the back of my throat.
It’s him.
I know it’s him.
I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
