C2 The Private Guest Room

Evelyn got Douglas through the private corridor by keeping one hand around his arm and the other pressed against the wall whenever his weight dragged them sideways.

“Slowly,” she whispered.

“I am walking slowly.”

“You are walking into the wallpaper.”

“The wallpaper moved.”

“The wallpaper has been in this hotel longer than you have.”

Douglas gave a breath that might have been a laugh, but it ended in a rough cough. His fingers tightened around her shoulder.

“Do not let go.”

“I am not letting go.”

“You said that before.”

“I have said many things in the last five minutes.”

“Most of them sounded like orders.”

“That is because you are not listening.”

“I am listening to you.”

The guest room was at the end of the corridor, beyond a set of carved doors used by the Hulwart family when they needed privacy during large events. Evelyn had entered it only once before, years ago, when her aunt had sent her upstairs with a tray of tea. She remembered the pale curtains, the dark wood, and the enormous bed that had seemed too grand for anyone to sleep in.

Tonight, Douglas reached the bed and missed it completely.

“Careful.”

“I am careful.”

“You nearly fell.”

“I was testing the floor.”

“And did it pass?”

“Barely.”

Evelyn guided him down. His knees struck the side of the mattress, and he sat heavily, one hand braced behind him.

“There,” she said. “Stay seated.”

“I dislike being told what to do.”

“You dislike it when you are sober too.”

His brow creased. “Have we met?”

The question came quietly this time.

Evelyn turned toward the small table beside the window, pretending to search for water. Her hands had begun to shake. She curled them into fists before he could see.

“No.”

“You answered too quickly.”

“I have a tray. I serve drinks. You are a guest. That is all.”

“That sounds rehearsed.”

“It sounds sensible.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No.”

“A nurse?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because you could not stand.”

“People would have helped me.”

“People were taking photographs.”

That silenced him.

Evelyn found a glass and filled it from the carafe. When she turned, Douglas was watching the door.

Evelyn crossed the room and held out the glass. “Drink this.”

He stared at it. “What is it?”

“Water.”

“You expect me to trust you because you say so?”

“No. I expect you to drink because your mouth is dry and you are sweating through your shirt.”

Douglas accepted the glass, but his fingers did not close around it properly. Evelyn caught the bottom before it tipped.

“Let me hold it.”

“I can hold a glass.”

“You are holding air.”

He looked down. “That is inconvenient.”

“Give it to me.”

“I am not helpless.”

“I did not call you helpless.”

“You thought it.”

“I thought you were drugged.”

His expression changed. The haze in his eyes did not disappear, but something guarded moved beneath it.

“Do not say that loudly.”

“We are alone.”

“We are not alone.”

Evelyn looked toward the door. “Who is there?”

“I do not know.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“Because someone wanted me in this room.”

“Did someone tell you that?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

Douglas pressed his hand over his eyes. “I do not know anything.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

“Have I done something to you?”

“No.”

“Then why do you look at me as if I have?”

She rose too quickly. The room tilted for a moment, and she steadied herself against the bedpost.

“I do not look at you in any particular way.”

“You do.”

“You are confused.”

“I am confused, not blind.”

“Drink the water.”

He picked up the glass again. This time she guided it to his mouth. He took a small sip, grimaced, and pushed it away.

“More.”

“I will be sick.”

“You may be sick whether you drink or not.”

“That is encouraging.”

“I am not here to encourage you. I am here to keep you from collapsing.”

“Why?”

“Because you need help.”

“People do not usually help me without wanting something.”

“Then tonight you will have to endure a new experience.”

He drank again. A little water ran down his chin. Evelyn reached for a clean cloth on the washstand and wiped it away before thinking.

Douglas went still.

Her hand remained beneath his jaw for one unguarded second.

Douglas looked toward the window. Beyond the curtains, the city lights blurred into pale streaks. “My father will be looking for me.”

“He sent you here?”

“No.”

“Then he will find you eventually.”

“I do not want him to.”

“Why not?”

“Because he will turn this into a problem.”

“It is already a problem.”

“He will turn it into a public problem.”

Evelyn rose and checked the lock, then immediately crossed to the phone. She left the latch engaged for privacy, not confinement; anyone from the medical team could open it from the corridor, and she would open it herself if Douglas worsened.

“Can you call someone?”

“Your family?”

“No.”

“An ambulance?”

“No.”

“That was not a choice you were qualified to make.”

“I do not want a hospital.”

“You may need one.”

“I need this night to stay quiet.”

“You need to stay alive.”

She pressed the hotel operator’s number.

A sleepy voice answered. “Hotel services.”

“This is the east private guest room. A guest may have been drugged. Send the duty medic immediately.”

Douglas reached for the phone. “Do not—”

Evelyn moved it out of his reach. “I am not asking permission.”

The operator asked for the guest’s name.

“Douglas Hulwart.”

He stared at her. “You said you would not tell anyone.”

“I said I would not tell your father that you were afraid. I did not promise to let you become dangerously ill in silence.”

The operator said the medic was on the way.

Douglas leaned back, his face tightening. “If they see me like this, the gala will become a scandal.”

“It may become a scandal whether they see you or not.”

“You do not understand how quickly people turn weakness into entertainment.”

“I understand people were taking photographs while you could barely stand.”

“You will survive it.”

“You sound certain.”

“I am certain about very few things.”

“Name one.”

“You need more water.”

He gave her a tired, unwilling smile. “You are impossible.”

“Drink.”

Douglas stared at the glass. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I will call the medic back.”

“You use threats very calmly.”

“They are not threats. They are plans.”

He drank.

“Marcus,” he said after swallowing.

“Your security officer?”

“Yes.”

“He was with the woman in the corridor.”

Douglas’s face tightened. “What woman?”

“The woman who was speaking to him about the cameras.”

“Did you see her?”

“Yes.”

“Who was she?”

“About what?”

“The company.”

“Then what?”

“Someone handed me champagne.”

“Who?”

“I cannot see her face.”

“Was it the woman with the silver bracelet?”

His breathing changed.

“What bracelet?”

“Silver. Narrow. It had a dark stone in the center.”

Douglas lifted a hand to his forehead. “Stop.”

“I am sorry.”

“Do not ask me to remember.”

“All right.”

“Do not call anyone.”

“You need medical attention.”

“I need this night to end.”

“That will not make the drug leave your body.”

“Then stay until it does.”

Evelyn stared at him.

Douglas’s eyes were closed again, but his hand had found the edge of the blanket. He held it tightly, like a child afraid that someone might pull it away.

“Please,” he said.

The word was so unlike the Douglas she remembered that it nearly undid her.

“I will stay,” she said.

“Until morning?”

“Until you are well enough to leave.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

His grip loosened.

“Do not tell my father,” he murmured.

“I will not.”

“Do not tell anyone I was afraid.”

“You were not afraid.”

“I was.”

Evelyn sat beside the door, where she could watch him and the corridor at once. “Then I will not tell anyone.”

After several minutes, Douglas said, “Evelyn?”

“Yes?”

“Have we met before?”

Her throat tightened.

“You asked me that already.”

“I know.”

“And I answered.”

“I know.”

“Then why ask again?”

“Because when I look at you, I feel as if I have forgotten something important.”

Evelyn’s fingers closed around the key in her palm.

“You have forgotten the water,” she said. “Drink another sip.”

He obeyed without arguing.

“You said my name like you have said it before.”

Her heart stumbled.

“Sleep.”

“I will remember you,” he whispered.

She looked at him then.

His eyes had already closed.

“You do not remember me now,” she said, so softly he could not hear. “You never did.”

Outside the latched room, a camera’s tiny red light blinked once in the dark corridor.

And somewhere below, while the last guests were leaving the gala, someone began sending photographs from a hidden phone.