Wish You Weren't Here (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter Nine

Sleep evades me for most of the night.

Despite the obscene comfort of that luxurious bed, I find myself restlessly tossing and turning until dawn, my brain racing with too many thoughts, and only then do I finally fall into a heavy and apparently dreamless coma-like state.

When I eventually arise from the dead, it's 10.30 a.m. already, and Lewis appears to have kept his promise: I see no trace of him in the suite. I find myself slightly disappointed about that - which is a little surprising given he is the precise reason I couldn't sleep. I kept replaying that wounded expression on his face after I made my unnecessarily mean comment last night. And then the look in his eyes when he'd dropped that unexpected compliment bomb.

And those words? They had shattered me, affecting me in a far different way than they had when Milos had voiced them. I don't think Lewis had ever said anything so sweet to me, and I doubt anything out of his mouth had ever rang with that much sincerity. That one sentence caused a feeling I couldn't quite identify to bubble and fizz in my chest, and that made me immensely uncomfortable. Maybe, I'd thought at one particular point during the night, slightly delirious from lack of sleep, I need to Google heart attack symptoms.

It's official - Lewis Sheridan has finally got sick of merely attempting to bait me and is now trying to kill me . . . with kindness.

And, even more annoyingly, I might like it.

God!!!

Desperate to give my messed-up mind a much-needed wake-up call, I race towards the patio doors, flinging my pyjama top and bottoms off as I go like a travel influencer filming a silly Tiktok, and throw myself head first into the pool in nothing but my knickers. Let's call it the equivalent of a cold shower since the sun hasn't yet had an opportunity to warm it up today.

It doesn't work, of course, and I immediately panic that Lewis will return unexpectedly and catch me. So, after approximately ten seconds of cold water therapy/torture, I clamber back out and wrap a towel around myself, shivering uncontrollably.

After I've dried off and dressed, I finally notice the plate sitting on the kitchen counter. It holds a delightfully flaky croissant, accompanied by tiny portions of both butter and jam and a small bunch of grapes. And there's a note, penned in Lewis' messy but surprisingly legible scrawl.

Just in case you're hungry when you wake up. :-)
- L

He must have gone to breakfast without me and brought this back before he left for the day.

Why is he doing this? It's like a whole new form of torture!

But I am hungry (damn him!), so I spread the butter and jam over the pastry and devour it, only briefly wondering if he's poisoned it.  (Come on, I know I hate him, but I don't actually think he's capable of murder!)

As I pop a grape in my mouth (dessert!), my phone begins to vibrate on the worktop. A video call from Lauren.

"Are you both still alive?" That's her first question when I answer. It looks like she's dressed in her gym gear - she's one of those crazies who actually gets up early on the weekend to "get her workout out of the way". Then, she often follows that up with a hike up a mountain. Sometimes, I'm not entirely sure why we're friends. "I know we always said we'd be there for each other if we needed to bury a body, but I don't think geography is on my side in this case!"

I giggle, delighted to have her virtual company. "You'll be relieved to know we're both still breathing . . . For now. He did try to drown me in our private pool yesterday, though." That's odd . . . I was so mad about that at the time, but now the memory of it actually makes me smile slightly. Argh!