Zara grabbed my arm and leaned in, whispering, “Who is he?”
“I have no idea.”
Cat introduced us to the man, who we found out was the ambassador to the US, and the two switched back and forth between Danish and English. We were also provided with a steady flow of Nordic Mules, which were as fantastic as Cat raved about and a hell of a lot stronger than most drinks normally served at any happy hour I’d been to. The rye bread and smoked salmon open-faced sandwiches helped soak up a lot of the alcohol, but not enough, which could have been the reason that when she waltzed out of the embassy arm in arm with me and Zara, we didn’t demand to go back to the hotel.
Instead the European tour continued.
In the Italian Embassy, sipping a mandarin-and-Prosecco Puccini that tickled my nose, Zara and I sat in awe of the ease with which Cat roamed from one group to another, seeming to know everyone.
“She must’ve been a hell of a lot of fun in college.”
“Once she came out of her shell, there was no stopping her.”
“I can’t imagine her in a shell—ever.”
“As crazy as it might seem, she was. I used to be the outgoing one.”
“Wow.” Zara stared at Cat like she was seeing her with new eyes before turning back to me. “I know what you said earlier about you and Hunter not being a thing.”
The heat of the cocktails went straight to my cheeks. Not a thing went out the window a few weeks ago, but we hadn’t broadcast that to anyone yet. Something to do with being cooped up in the apartment and only coming up for air for work and necessities that couldn’t be delivered.
“But I’m happy you’re in the apartment with him. He’s so good at being present, while always keeping people at a little bit of a distance. At least we all know he’s got someone close by.”
Close didn’t begin to describe it. Even the weekend away down here had felt like there was a continent between us. I had less than three weeks left before my intended move-out date. Neither of us had broached the topic. I didn’t want to skip things ahead and put undue pressure on the newness between us, but the idea of moving out hit me harder than it should have.
But knowing Zara had given me her stamp of approval took some of the weight off my shoulders. The worries about what his friends would think after all the denials about anything going on between us weren’t as scary now.
“I’m glad to be there too.” I drained the last of my drink.
Vowing to spend the night enjoying the little bit of time I had with Cat and to not let the Hunter situation monopolize my every thought, I shifted back to Cat, who beckoned me forward from the dance floor. Knowing she’d drag me out, I grabbed Zara’s hand and pulled her out with me.
Romania. Estonia. Lithuania. Poland. Each only a minutes-long taxi ride from the next, where magically we were welcomed for invite-only parties where we didn’t have invites.
I wished I’d brought my passport for the European tour. At every party, Cat knew someone. They’d call her by name and order us a few rounds of drinks. Zara and I, at least, had one another when the conversations crackled with heated laughter in the language of choice, which Cat flitted to like it was second nature. In her line of work, I guess it was.
We crawled into the hotel room at the ass crack of dawn. So much for our nine p.m. bedtime.
I collapsed into my bed, facedown.
Zara did the same, groaning. “I’m never drinking again.”
Cat nudged me to scoot over.
I moaned and moved an inch to my right. “You’re a bad influence,” I grumbled, trying to gather my strength to get out of the bed and wash my face, get into pajamas, and pass out until noon tomorrow.
She flopped into the bed beside me. “If life was all good influences, it would be no fun at all. How you doing, Zara?”
“This is going to hurt tomorrow.”
“Let me get you two lightweights a cold washcloth.”
She disappeared into the bathroom. The running faucet was enough to send my parched mouth into overdrive.
“I’ve got water and ibuprofen for both of you.” She handed each of us a glass and two tablets. “There’s a bottle of water on your nightstands. Anyone want help getting into pajamas, or are you two party girls okay going to sleep in your clothes?”
Zara’s soft snores answered that question.
I lifted my head. “How are you still so coherent?”
She shrugged with a smile. “I’ve been drinking with Russians for the past two years. If I hadn’t built up a tolerance by now, I’d have never made it this far.”
My head dropped back onto the bed. “I don’t think I can move. Are you getting in?” I patted the empty space in my bed.
“I would, but I got a text from Ivan the Terrible. I need to head out.”
I shot up and immediately regretted it. The room spun around me. “What?”
“Duty calls.”
“No, you were supposed to have a whole day off.”
“You know how it goes.” She set the washcloth on my forehead. “Get some rest and kick some ass at the expo tomorrow. I’ll put in a breakfast order for extra carbs and bacon for the two of you.”
I peeled my eyes open. “I thought we’d have more time.”
A sad smile creased her lips. “I know, but I’m happy we got to hang. I missed you.” She bent and hugged me as tight as my revolting stomach would allow. “Night, Sabrina.”
She clicked off the light, and the room was bathed in darkness.
A flash of light from the hotel room door and she was gone.
As much as my life kept me confined to my apartment and chained to my desk, Cat seemed to be living a life in spurts and gasps of time she could call her own. Our paths had diverged after college, but it was funny how we were both living lives that weren’t our own. But I was determined to grab my life by the reins and not let any more time to do what I truly wanted slip through my fingers.
33
Sabrina
Zara and I had said bye at 30th Street Station, still nursing the tail end of the hangovers that had made the last day of the expo a nightmare I didn’t want to repeat anytime soon. Damn embassies and their copious amounts of alcohol.
Cat had made good on the promise of room service. The poor bellhop was probably afraid he’d been called to a room filled with groaning zombies after how I answered the door, but after a near IV drip of coffee and carbs, I showered and Zara and I dragged our butts down to the expo floor.
With all my samples and QR code postcards gone, I got a chance to roam. While a lot of the floor was filled with industrial, utility-style works, there were corners of exciting, creative work. Intriguing pieces drew inspiration from great works of art, artistic periods, and cities around the world I hoped to one day visit.
It wasn’t often I got to geek out over textile design—hell, I almost never got to geek out over it—but being in a place buzzing with the appreciation and excitement over the same things I loved made it one of the best days of my life.
And it was made even better by being able to come home to Hunter.
I opened the door to the apartment. Bags and boxes lined the hallway leading to the living room. The gentle melody of Christmas pop music drifted from farther in the apartment.