Page 59 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

I startle at the man behind the counter’s scratchy voice. He looks like a gremlin, with beady eyes that are exponentially magnified by coke bottle lenses. His comb-over is greasy and there are sweat stains under the pits of his gray shirt. I fight the urge not to contort my face but . . . hasn’t this guy ever showered?

“Uh, yeah,” I say, pulling out my wallet. “We need two single rooms.”

“Not one?” he asks, looking past me to where Isabella is sitting lopsided on the bench.

“No, two.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the paper voucher. Shit, I forgot to ask James for his back. It’s not like the honeymoon suite at the Flamingo takes motel vouchers. It’s fine, I’ll just pay for my own.

“She okay?” The man eyes me shrewdly, then he turns toward the wall to grab a ring of keys.

“Yeah, she just drank too much,” I say, pulling out a few twenties to pay for the second room.

“Hmm,” the man hums. “You can have these two. They’re right next door to the office.”

The man makes no attempt to hide the way he looks at Isabella. He licks his lips and cracks a devious smile, and I find myself suddenly nauseous.

“Actually,” I say, taking back the cash from the counter and grabbing only one of the keys dangling from his yellow fingers. “We’ll just take the one room. We’re on a budget.”

The man’s gaze snaps back to me with a disappointed glare, but I don’t stay long enough to say more. With the room key in hand, I pick Isabella back up and push my way out the door. There’s no fucking way I’m leaving her alone in a shady motel room with that lecherous creep probably waiting for his chance to attack her.

“Dave?” Isabella whispers, her head burrowing into my neck. “Where are we?”

“At a motel. You need to sleep.”

“It still hurts when I sleep,” she whispers.

My brows furrow as I look down at her. “What still hurts?”

She sighs, her face pinching. “My heart.”

I hoist her up a little higher. Biting the inside of my cheek, I can’t help the sharp stab of guilt that plunges its way through my chest at her words. Is she hurting because of the school paper? Or is it because of me?

I insert the key into the lock and after a few tries, it pushes open. It’s a bit of a struggle to find the light switch, but when I do, the dim light reflects off the wood paneling on the wall and the burnt orange and brown bedspread. The room smells like smoke and reminds me that I’m desperate for one myself, but Isabella is the priority right now. Setting her down on the bed, I turn the bedside lamp on and begin to take off her heels.

“You don’t need to touch my feet again,” she slurs. I look up at her, eyes half open as she watches me from her pillow.

I chuckle. “I have no problem with your feet. In fact, they’re beautiful feet.”

“So it’s just the rest of me that’s ugly, then,” she says, her face buried in the pillow.

Sighing, I remove her shoes and place them at the foot of thebed. I sit down next to her and brush back the hair covering her face. “Trust me, there’s nothing about you I don’t find beautiful.”

She sits up on the bed and cradles her head in her hands. “I think—I might have drunk too much.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I just wanted a distraction, but I should’ve known it wouldn’t compare.”

“Wouldn’t compare to what?”

Her eyes close and she sways where she sits. “You.”

“Me?”

She scrunches her face and nods.

“What do you mean?”

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