✏️ The Littlest Spy

14. Point Blank

Isadora woke the next morning feeling groggy and unrested, her thoughts from the previous night still weighing heavily on her mind. She lay in bed for a long moment, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling and slowly becoming aware of the clammy sheets clinging to her skin. The feeling wasn't a pleasant one, and wasn't familiar either, so she could distract herself from the bigger issues for a while trying to deduce the source of her physical discomfort.

Of course, the air was hot like an oven; and the sea breeze added salt spray without really cooling them down. Especially in here, with the balcony door and windows closed tight against the distracting noise of the waves. Isadora had never liked sleeping in a place that wasn't silent, and she dimly remembered having a music box which would play all night, drowning out the traffic noise from beyond the window when they had lived too close to a major highway. But if she was going to sweat this much, she might have to learn to deal with the waves after all.

She stood up, and peeled off her pyjamas. Of course, they smelled strongly of sweat, and she would need to find out if the hotel had a laundry service today. This was one possibility she hadn't thought about when she was reading all about the sunny climate here. She would have liked to take a shower, but she couldn't get to the bathroom without passing through the little lounge area where Brock was sleeping. And that thought put her on edge again. So she wiped herself down with a towel, and put that in the same bag with her pyjamas. To be dealt with later. Then she dressed for the day, choosing a flowing dress that showed off just as much skin as the one from the day before; but this time she was starting to realise that the light coverings were intended to help her stay cool. Her wardrobe wasn't just tailored for the male gaze.

As she got to the bedroom door, she knew what she had to do. It would have been easy to put it off. She knew how to ignore the elephant in the room. But they would be close to Lorenzo Arrencani; a man well known for the unfeeling execution of anyone who crossed him in business. There was a good chance that her life would be in Brock's hands then, and so she needed to trust him completely even before they got there. So she would bite the bullet, rip off the band-aid in one sharp movement. She would ask him right out whether he had any feelings towards her. She knew what she had to do, and she knew that she had to do it right now, or she would just get more and more nervous. But knowing that didn't make it any easier to ask the question.

With a sigh, Isadora dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She took her time getting ready, brushing her teeth and splashing cold water on her face as if she could wash away her doubts and insecurities. When she finally emerged, she found Brock already up and dressed, sitting at the small table by the window with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. And breakfast ready for both of them on a tray; he must have gone down to the café downstairs. He looked up as she approached, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Morning, sleepyhead. I was starting to think you'd decided to spend the day in bed." And then seeing her sigh, he continued: "Not that there's anything wrong with that. If you need a rest, you can just take it easy."

Isadora didn't return his smile. Instead, she sat down across from him, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "Brock... we need to talk."

"Okay," he said, and nodded. "Talking is good. There should be nothing that we can't discuss, because we need complete trust. What's on your mind?"

Isadora took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me." Brock just kept nodding, not giving her any hints about his emotional state. He just seemed calm and unconcerned, like this was the kind of conversation he had every day.

"The rumors," Isadora blurted out, unable to keep the words back any longer. "About you. About your... your reputation with women. I need to know how much of that is true. I know we mentioned it before, but you just brushed it off. I need to be able to trust you, Brock. And that means knowing whether little romantic gestures like that flower... I need to know if that's purely in character, if you're just trying to be a friend, or... if you're trying to get in my pants in some subtle way. We don't need mind games, if we're going to trust each other."