Page 58 of Liberating Bells
I chuckle again, shaking my head at her, but loving every second of this playful banter. I don’t know for sure, but I’m about 90% certain that my weekend just got a hell of a lot more interesting.
20
IZABEL
Ryan pullsinto an empty space in the hotel parking lot, then gets out to go check-in. I stay in the car, unsure if he wants me with him or not. Anytime I travel with Mark, he always has me stay in the car while he handles the business.
Mark.He’s going to be so pissed at me when he finds out where I am. My stomach is already knotting up in anticipation of the fight that is likely to unfold between us. I meant what I said to Ryan; I don’t really care if Mark will be mad, but I need to prepare for the worst when he does find out.
Unless I don’t tell him.
I’ll be back home by the time he returns from his trip with his dad. Really, if I keep my mouth shut, and Ryan doesn’t mention it, there’s no reason Mark would have to find out. I bite my lip and ponder that thought.
All I want is a weekend away, to be me and not worry about getting my head bit off for every little thing. Is that too much to ask for? Then, I can go back, fresh, and ready to work everything out with him. Hopefully, Mark will have a new perspective from his trip too. We don’t have much longer before our wedding. So it’s time to iron out these kinks now before it’s too late.
It took a tremendous amount of effort to avoid touching my neck during the car ride with Ryan. The bruise has faded slightly from a deep angry purple into a more even-red, though it is still an angry reminder of the fight. I purchased the most expensive full-coverage makeup I could: concealers, color correctors, foundation, powders. The makeup works pretty well to cover the remaining redness, as long as you’re not looking for the bruise. But I don’t want to touch the skin since there’s the risk of wiping the makeup away.
This weekend will be tricky, keeping that from Ryan, but I’m hopeful I can do it. He hasn’t noticed anything off yet, so maybe I’ll be in the clear.
I jump when I hear Ryan’s knuckles tapping on my window and his muffled voice saying, “Are you coming or what?”
I smile to myself and then grab my duffle bag from the open trunk, slinging it over my shoulder and jogging to catch up to Ryan. Together, we stride into the hotel and up to the desk. Ryan puts his bag on the ground by his feet so he can pull out his wallet.
“Hi, I’ve got a reservation for the weekend under Miller,” the receptionist starts typing on her keyboard, her fingernails clacking over the keys. “I was hoping I could change that from the single king to two side-by-side rooms. Queen beds will be fine if that’s all you have.”
The clerk looks over her glasses at Ryan and frowns. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s a holiday weekend, and unfortunately, we do not have any other rooms left. I still have the one you reserved, but it’s a king room.”
Ryan looks at me, his emerald eyes wide with concern. He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, his tell for when he’s feeling nervous or awkward. “Maybe somewhere else will have two?—”
This is unacceptable. I step forward and place my hands on the counter, giving the receptionist my sweetest smile. “Listen, we need two rooms. Either you find a way to make it happen, or I’ll be having words with your manager,” I pause to peek at her nametag, “Louisa.”
God, I hate to bethat person. But it gets shit done!
The woman stares at me blankly, and then types on her keyboard again. “I have a guest who hasn’t checked in yet. I can upgrade them when they get here, and you can take their room.”
I clap my hand against the counter and give Louisa a wide grin. “That would just be lovely. Thank you so much!”
Ryan presses his lips together. I can tell he’s uncomfortable. I don’t care, though, he can get over it. Because it’s a holiday weekend, the rates at the other hotels are going to be outrageous. We might as well take what we have.
The receptionist gathers Ryan’s information and hands us two small packets of key cards, then directs us to our rooms. We’re on the fourth floor, rooms 421 and 422. We take the elevator and walk down the hall.
Ryan stops right in front of our doors, handing me the key card to mine. He looks at me and rubs the back of his neck again. So nervous today, Ry. “So uh, I guess we can just get settled in. I have to be at Bates in about an hour. Do you want to come with me or…?” He trails off, as if he’s unsure where he’s going with this conversation.
I offer him a small smile and grip the strap of my duffel bag over my shoulder. Why does this feel so awkward? I get I’m kind of throwing him for a loop with my abrupt change in outlook, but I figured he’d just be happy to go along with it. “You go ahead over to Bates, and I’ll call Sage and see if she wants to do something this afternoon. Maybe we can reconvene for dinner or drinks tonight.”
He nods at my suggestion. “Okay, that sounds good. Wanna meet at the bar downstairs around seven?”
I agree, and we each step into our separate bedrooms. It’s the typical hotel aesthetic: two queen beds, a TV, a desk with a chair, and then an armchair. The room smells clean like fresh linens.
My duffle bag flops on the extra queen bed, and I sit next to it, glancing around. I can’t believe I’m in Nashville with Ryan, and not at home with Mark. What an exciting change of events.
Mark has gratefully respected my request for distance. He sent me a few texts each day checking in—simplisticgood morningsandgoodnights, and the occasionalI love you. Other than that, I haven’t seen or heard from him since I kicked him out of my apartment. Cell service for him will be spotty at best up in the mountains, so I’m not expecting to hear from him any more for the next few days.
My heart is still bitter from everything that went down between us last week. It’s hard for me to process. One second, we were curled up on the couch, sipping wine and watching a cheesy rom-com, and the next, I was pressed against a wall, gasping for breath.
Over the past week, I’ve been trying to gather my thoughts so that I can relay to Mark what will hopefully help him understand how I feel. But nothing has worked thus far. All I feel is anger and betrayal. I’m afraid to type out a text because I might say something impulsive and then actually send it. But I don’t want to call him on the phone either, because then I know I’ll just get flustered and end up flubbing what I really want to say.
My eyes fall to a pad of paper, sitting on top of the measly corner desk in the room. Next to it are a few stray pens bearing the logo of the hotel. I shuffle toward the desk, pull out the chair, and sit down. My fingers wrap around the pen, and I tap it against my hand.
