Page 2 of Fit for Love
My stomach roiled again, but nothing came out. Defeated, I clutched the toilet bowl in desperation. I felt the need to purge everything that pointed to Orlando Weare. The tears started again, and as I sobbed, I had never felt so bad.
Several minutes later, I was confident that there was nothing left for me to bring up, and the crying subsided. I was exhausted and felt like I’d been run over. However, I couldn’t spend the rest of my life sitting on the bathroom floor of a hotel room.
A shower would help. I stripped off my clammy underwear and ran the water as hot as I could bear, before stepping under the jets. Thankful for small mercies, I was glad I’d checked into a hotel with a decent range of toiletries, and lathered the shampoo through my hair, washing away the previous evening’s grime. The citrus-scented shower gel only made me want to vomit once.
Clean, and snuggled up in the hotel’s bathrobe, a towel wrapped around my wet hair, I perched on the edge of the bed, wondering what on earth to do next.
The room-service tray, with its odious smell, was the first thing to go. I held my breath as I opened the bedroom door and placed it on the floor of the corridor outside. With a nervous glance left and right, I desperately hoped no one had seen me.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t open a window and let in any fresh air, so a couple of pumps of Gucci perfume would have to suffice in an attempt to mask the stale, cheese aroma permeating the room. Next, I deposited the empty bottles into the bin under the dressing table, and slid it out of sight.
Glancing around the room, there was no longer any sign of the pity-party-for-one that had happened there the previous evening.
Now what?
I plumped up the pillows and made myself comfortable on the bed. Reaching for the remote, I found a morning magazine show where they were chatting about some soap-opera star’s meltdown. Somehow, it made my situation easier to deal with.
Reluctantly, I switched on my phone. The minute it came to life, there were about a million messages, most of them from Louise.
Remembering that I must have sent her some drunken missives at some point during the past few hours, I squinted at the screen, reading her responses. Her replies to my single message that simply saidFound Orlando in bed with a man!!! Don’t know what to do…need a drink…were hilarious, and comforting. Ranging fromA drink? It must be serious!! Christ, Cora, where are you? I’ll come over straight away!!toHe doesn’t deserve you then. I thought there was something off about himtoYou know there’s a spare bed here for you if you need it.
I couldn’t face talking to her now though. I fired off a quick text that said I’d call her later to stall her for the time being. I wasn’t sure I could face talking to anyone right now.
The thought of going out and acting normally filled me with dread. No way in hell I could deal with that now. There was a tiny part of me that thought I ought to face up to Orlando and demand answers from him. Though as I scanned the messages in my various inboxes, his name was the one that was conspicuously absent.
A thought popped into my head. It would be good to get away from London for a while, hide out, clear my head. I remembered that someone had once said to call if I ever needed help.
Abandoning the messages, I scrolled through my contacts, looking for the number I needed, and hit dial.
The call was answered after a couple of rings. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me, Cora.” I paused. “I need a favour.”
Chapter Two
Ethan
“That’s okay, love, just give me a fiver, it’s fine.” I flashed Mrs Jackson a huge grin, as I pulled up outside her house.
The elderly woman smiled and patted her newly blow-dried hair. “What do you think of the new ‘do’, Ethan?”
“Gorgeous. If only I was a few years older…” I gave her a broad wink.
“Oh, you.” She giggled. “Don’t forget to pick me up tomorrow.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. See you in the morning.”
I waited while she hauled herself out of the car, headed up her path and waved back at me, before driving off, blowing out a breath.
This wasn’t exactly how I’d envisaged my life back in Westbourne Water: driving taxis, carrying out odd jobs, and training clients whenever I could. But if I wanted the money for my next travel adventure—and something in South America was quite appealing—then I had to do anything and everything to get the money from wherever I could. Europe had been fun—in more ways than one—and I craved the next experience.
If it wasn’t for my best friend letting me live, rent free, in his enormous waterfront property, I’d be royally screwed.
Being Mal Colten’s best friend had had its benefits in the past. Before he’d settled down with Piper, we’d made a pretty formidable duo. Westbourne Water didn’t know what hit it when Mal was home between tours. The two of us ripped up the town, enjoying the benefits of tourist season and leaving the locals starry-eyed on an ongoing basis.
Since I’d got back from my last trip, all that had changed.
Mal and Piper were solid and there were times when I felt like the naughty younger brother amongst their coupled-up seriousness.
