Page 40 of Double Apex

13

MONACO

LATE MAY

COSMIN

It wasn’t the bedspread that gave us away—Phaedra put that in the washing machine and told Inge she got blood on it. It was Reece noticing my words as we exited the boat.

When we got back to the hotel, she came to my room.

“I’m not best pleased I have to ask you this—it’s frankly not in my wheelhouse and I should be handing it directly to Klaus, but I thought I’d give you the benefit of the doubt in case I’m mistaken. Did you have sex with Phae this afternoon? And don’t lie.”

I offered what I hoped was a confused smile. “Why would you ask that?”

“Cosmin!” she snapped, eyes flashing. “On the dock you said, ‘After you, draga mea.’ The ‘mea’ implies you think she’syoursnow. Also: washing the duvet? I’m not a fool.”

As I lifted a bottle of pomegranate juice to my lips, buyinga moment’s time under Reece’s hawkish gaze, I could still smell Phaedra on my hands. “There’s no cause to bring anything up with Klaus.”

“Because you didn’t do anything, or—”

“Because it’s a private matter.”

“It’s not a ‘private matter’—it’s in your bloody contract!” She clapped a hand over her forehead. “You utter knobhead! What were you two thinking?”

When I went to the door of Phaedra’s room an hour later to tell her of the conversation with Reece, there was no answer. That evening, Reece texted me that Phaedra was on a flight back to the States to see her father. For the next week she stayed in North Carolina and attended meetings remotely. I went to Bucharest for a few days to spend time with Viorica.

Tomorrow Phaedra will rejoin the team in Monaco. I’ve been here since last night, staying at the apartment my friend Owen shares with his American girlfriend, Brooklyn.

She’s the daughter of a man who amassed a fortune producing reality TV programs. Smart, beautiful, excellent taste in music, and with a joyous, extroverted heart. I rely on Brook to introduce me to new bands. She and Owen have been together two years and have a passionate and loyal (though unconventional) relationship.

I’m lying on the bed in the small guest room, reading over some of the emails I’ve written but not sent to Phaedra this week. The lights in the room are off, but there’s ambient light from the large window looking out on the Boulevard du Larvotto and the sea.

A tap on the open doorway pulls my attention to the bright rectangle framing Brook. Her long blond hair is curly and has streaks of turquoise and pink. She rarely wears makeup, her chief adornment being the sleeve of vintage-style tattoos covering her right arm.

“Trying to sleep?” she asks.

“No, please come in.” I darken my phone and set it aside, and Brook sits on the edge of the small bed.

“I made a kickass couscous salad if you’re hungry,” she offers.

“Thank you. Perhaps later.” I roll onto my side and prop my head on one hand. “I’m being a poor guest. My apologies for appearing distant. I’ve been preoccupied.”

“Yeah, no shit,” she says with a small laugh. She takes her phone from her pocket and taps the screen. “I made you a gloomy playlist. Suspect you need it.”

My phone chimes and I open and peruse the link.

“That L.A. Witch song,” she continues, “‘Baby in Blue Jeans’ is basically auditory heroin. Angsty as fuck.”

We sit in companionable silence while I scroll through the new songs.

“You’re free to tell me to MYOB,” she ventures, “but you’ve got the ‘moping about a girl’ look. For a guy who has his dick in everything, it surprises me.”

My eyebrows lift in amusement. “I’m not as promiscuous as you assume, iubi.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

I consider whether to change the subject, then decide to unburden myself.

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