Page 65 of Saving Ian Pope

“The setting is lovely, but it’s so cold in here.”

“I haven’t been here for a month. I’ll turn on the heat.” He grabbed our overnight bags and veered down a dark hallway.

“I didn’t mean the temperature, although it is freezing.” I hugged myself and rubbed my arms. “I mean the atmosphere. No warmth or humanity.”

He returned to the room, and his arms replaced mine. “It’s just for one night, Tink. I have a few things to finish in the studio tomorrow morning. You can sleep in or go sightseeing. I hear there’s a good exhibit on the Silk Roads at the British Museum. Then we can have lunch and do something else before Jovan takes us back.”

“I can manage one night here. Can I have some water?”

He pointed at the kitchen. “I think there are bottles in the fridge. I need to make a few calls.”

I wandered into the kitchen, which sported every modern appliance known to mankind. It all sparkled with newness. I pulled open the fridge door and drew back sharply when I saw an unopened bottle of champagne cooling its heels inside. Did Ian know this existed?

I wanted to grab it and toss it out the window, but I might kill someone from this height, and then the police would have another reason to arrest me. Instead, I snatched some water and slammed the door shut.

Ian’s voice from the other room stopped, and I called out. “Baby?”

“Did you find the water?” He poked his head into the kitchen, his phone clutched in his hand, his gaze shifting to the bottle I held up. “What do you need? I have one more call to make. Also, your phone buzzed in your bag out there.”

I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “There’s a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” He squeezed the back of his neck. “It’s leftover, not new. You can have some, if you like.”

Digging one hand into my hip, I said, “I won’t drink in front of you. Should I open it and pour it down the drain?”

He whistled through his teeth. “That’s a very expensive bottle of bubbly. Take it home and give it to someone. Don’t worry. I’m not going to creep in here in the dead of night and pop a bottle.”

“Ian, is this where you fell off the wagon? This...place?”

“It is. Don’t worry. It’s not gonna happen again.” He held up his hands, crossing one finger over another. “I’m not even tempted by that champagne in there. Had forgotten its very existence.”

No wonder this flat gave off bad vibes. “Yeah, I know. I’m not worried about that. You said my phone rang?”

“Yeah.” I followed him into the other room and slipped my phone from my purse, as he started another call. I glanced at Chloe’s name on the display and then checked for a text message. Nothing. Must not be that important, and I was too tired for Chloe’s drama right now.

With Ian still on the phone, I crept down the hallway to the rooms in the back. I found the master suite with our bags in the corner. The plush, white carpet cushioned my steps as I walked to the window. Who had white carpet?

I pushed aside the drapes and pressed my hands against the cool glass. Lights blinked on the bridge below, and the gray mist clinging to the banks of the river seemed to have seeped into this building and swirled its way up to the 32ndfloor.

As I turned, a glint of light at the end of the window ledge caught my attention. A short, squat whiskey glass glared back, the amber liquid in the bottom daring me. I clenched my hands, hot anger coursing through my body. An urge to do violence thumped in my veins again, just as it had when I saw the champagne bottle. My hands itched to pick up the glass and smash it against the blank, white wall. What had he been drinking? Whiskey or champagne? Both? He’d mentioned whiskey for the one occasion, but hadn’t said anything about the other relapse, the worse one.

“Ivy?” Ian sailed into the room, still high from the studio session and whatever conversations he just had with Ronnie and his business manager.

I pinched the rim of the heavy glass between my fingers and turned around. “You left this here.”

He blinked. “That you can toss down the drain.”

“Is there a half-full bottle of this around here somewhere?” I cranked my head back and forth as if looking for it in this room.

“I dumped that.” Cocking his head to the side, he asked, “Are you alright?”

I wrapped my hand around the glass and squeezed. “I just hate seeing evidence of your...downfall.”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Downfall, is it? That’s a bit harsh. What happened to you’re only human, Ian, and now we can celebrate your two-month sobriety together?” A smile twisted his lips as he took a light tone, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“It just makes me angry—not with you. It’s like I’m hating on inanimate objects.” My hand sliced through the air. “And I don’t like this place.”

He strode toward me, snapping the wire of tension that vibrated between us. He took me by the shoulders and skimmed his fingers along the sides of my neck. “You’re right. It’s rubbish. I’ll get rid of it.”

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