Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
— ABBA
16:42 — PRESENT LAKE COMO, ITALY
Carys Rose Fiennes couldn't pick her jaw up of the floor at the sight of the bedraggled brunette man before her, bag in hand with a cocky smile on his ever so perfect lips. She felt the bile rise in her throat, forcing a smile and she held back the vomit she'd inevitably spill later, once she had got the man to fuck right off back to Ireland.
"Phone sex?" He questioned, a singular eyebrow risen at the words he had overheard through the hotel room door, and Carys' cheeks flushed a rose colour. How could he be here and be acting as if everything is fine? Her mind ran in circles with a singular glance at the brunet, a dull ache in her chest.
The Welsh woman stumbled over her words, barely managing to form a sentence, "I— Uh— Gaida, y'know?" She pointed at her phone, assisting his understanding, relief flooding her body as he nodded, adjusting his grip on his backpack.
"Ah. Can I come in?" Robert asked, as he peered around the frame and into the suite where Carys had already begun unpacking her belongings.
Her brows quirked in confusion at the question from her ex-boyfriend of all people. Who does he think he is? "Excuse me?"
"Can I come in?" He repeated, attempting to push past only to be shoved back by a gentle hand on the chest, Carys still in a state of questioning, staring right back at him as if to say excuse me. "It's my room too?"
"Rob...ert," Carys' voice wavered as his name left her lips, "What the fuck are you doing here? Are you following me? Because that's creepy, and now international."
His face contorted into one of disgust, "What the fuck, no, I'm not stalking you. I'm here for the wedding?" Carys didn't even bother to speak, she simply stepped aside, allowing him in to the hotel room, impatiently awaiting an explanation from the Irishman. "I'm guessing Bryn didn't tell you I was still coming."
"Well, he told me you weren't anymore," Carys folded her arms to her chest, taking a seat on the ottoman at the end of the bed. Robert discarded his rucksack and singular, small, suitcase by the door, the amazement at the room evident in his terrifyingly blue eyes. Carys shrugged, tearing her gaze from her ex and placing it on the stunning horizon out of the window, "He must've— forgotten."
"Pretty huge thing to forget," Robert retorted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his joggers, standing stoic in the centre of the room, lips pressed together into a thin line, "He does know about us, right?"
