Chapter Fourteen
Marek sits at a table on the hotel restaurant’s balcony. He barely touches the breakfast in front of him. I join him, sitting across the table. The view of the city from our position is beautiful. The sky is almost a perfect blue. I lift my face toward the sun to soak in its warmth.
“What are we doing?” I ask, bringing my eyes to him.
He stares at the road below. “Making sure they didn’t track us.”
“Should we change hotels?”
“Maybe,” he says, his eyes not leaving the road. “But it’ll have to wait until later. We can’t waste time, or we’ll miss entry into the Vatican Museums.”
“I thought we were going to the Sistine Chapel.”
“We are. By way of the museum. It closes at six, so we need to go right away. Shona and Cain keep sleeping late, and it’s cutting into our time.”
“Did someone mention my name?” Shona wears a blue patterned jumpsuit with flouncy long sleeves, a powerful necklace, and shiny rose-gold loafers. Hugging a tan trench coat and clutching a closed black umbrella, she gives me a look, then removes the sunglasses from her head and puts them on. “You are changing, aren’t you? It’s the Vatican. You should wear something more respectful.”
“Is it going to rain today?” I ask, nodding at the rain gear in her arms.
“It did yesterday.” She places the umbrella and jacket on one of the chairs. “It’s better to be prepared than sorry.”
A chaos of storm clouds rolls fast over the buildings, lightning flashes, and not soon after, the cracking of thunder follows.
“See,” she says.
“Wow, talk about moody weather,” I say. “The sky was a perfect blue just a minute ago.”
Sid prances in, wearing tight black pants with a blue silk jacket over a crisp white shirt. His makeup is subdued, but he gets in some flash on his fingers. There are so many rings stacked on each I don’t know how he moves them.
I glance down at my jeggings, bomber jacket, and cropped top. It isn’t one of those short kinds. It barely shows my tummy with my high-waist pants.
“All right,” I say, standing. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m helping,” Sid says. “I’ve been dying to get at those brows. Can I use your supply, Shona?”
“My foundation won’t match her,” she says.
Sid gives her a look like she should know better than to make that statement. “Obviously, honey. Other than that zit forming on her forehead, she doesn’t need it.”
I search my forehead with my fingertips, and sure enough, there’s a small bump forming just above my right eyebrow. “I don’t need help.”
“Girl, there’s no getting out of this. Once I find a cause, I’m relentless.” He laces his arm through mine and leads me toward the door.
“And backpacks aren’t allowed,” Shona calls after us. “Purses are, though.”
Great. It’s not that I don’t know how to do my makeup or dress nice. I used to be into all that stuff before my dad died. It would take me two hours to get ready for school in the morning. I just prefer understated now. Plus, I get an extra hour or so of sleep every day.
The lobby is busier than when Marek and I went out earlier. We weave through people bunched together around suitcases, waiting to either check in or out.
When we arrive at my room, I remember I’d forgotten to take a pill earlier, so I down one and slip the bottle into my purse.
Sid pats the bed. “Sit here. It’s time for the master to work his magic.”
I shuffle over and drop onto the mattress with a sigh. “I thought we were in a hurry.”
“Puh-lease, I’m a pro. This will take ten minutes. You can time me.”
He plucks my eyebrows and shapes them with one of Shona’s pencils that almost matches my hair. He uses a light-colored contour to shadow my eyes and cheeks. After applying mascara to my lashes, he takes a step back and studies his work.
“Not bad,” he says. “Would’ve been better with foundation. But I’m not mad at it. And. Girl. Those eyes are popping.”
I can’t help but smile. Sid is full of energy and extremely confident. “Thank you, it looks great.”
His eyes go to Shona’s bed, and he wrinkles his nose. The blankets are all bundled up, and her clothes practically cover the entire surface. “How do you room with her?”
I shrug. “I try to ignore it.”
“Do you have other clothes?”
I show him my suitcase, and he searches the items inside. When he’s done, he frowns at me. “It’s as if a ten-year-old packed this.”
I cross my arms and give him my best annoyed glare. “I packed for camp. Coming to Rome was a surprise.”
He chooses a simple blue tunic top with small white flowers that covers my bottom.
“I’m not wearing this alone,” I say, taking it from his outstretched hand.
With a sigh, he tosses me my burgundy jeggings. “Give me more credit than that. We’re going to the Vatican, not a nightclub. Here.” He picks up my nude-colored ballet shoes.
“Nope. Not happening. They pinch my toes.”
“So why did you pack them for camp?”
Vans will have to do, since I’m not wearing those ballet shoes. Courtesy of Jane. She bought them for me and insisted I bring them to camp for the final night’s dance. I take them and toss them aside.
He sits on the bed. “Hun-ney, you’re killing me.”
I dress quickly in the bathroom, and when I come back out, Sid is studying the box of Antonia’s stuff.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He looks up as if it doesn’t faze him that I just caught him snooping. “This is interesting. Is it some sort of experiment?”
I practically tear Isabella’s record book from his hands. “It’s private.”
“It’s morbid if you ask me,” he says, ignoring my outburst, shuffling over to the door and yanking it open. “The others are waiting.”
Before following him out of the hotel room, I grab Dad’s lighter from my discarded jeans and slip it into the tiny front pocket of the jeggings. The hall smells like pot.
“At least someone’s having a good time,” I mutter to myself while draping the strap of my purse over my shoulder.
When I join Sid in front of the elevators, he’s holding his chin and scrutinizing a painting on the wall between the two doors.
“That’s not an accurate depiction.”
Stepping around to his side, I examine the artwork. It’s an odd piece to have in a hotel where you want to make your clientele feel relaxed. Not sure why he didn’t notice it coming up to the room. The thing is almost too big for the wall. The artist used a lot of red paint to create some sort of Roman battle.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open.
He whirls away from the painting. “Pompey’s horse was black, not white.”
We step inside. “What, are you some kind of history buff?”
“I am history.”
I flick him a confused look right when the elevator goes up and I grasp the railing. “What does that mean?”
We arrive at the top, and the doors open.
He walks out with me trying to catch up to his brisk steps. Back straight, chin up, you’d think he was strolling a fashion runway or something.
Marek is still watching the road below when we arrive on the balcony.
“That’s much better,” Shona says, swiftly rising to her feet. “Another masterpiece, Sid. Shall we be on our way?”
Shall we? So formal. I mentally roll my eyes, slipping on my bomber jacket. She’s trying to impress Sid.
“Where’s Cain?” I ask, noticing Marek adjust to look at me in my peripheral vision. At my quick glance at him, he shifts back around to continue observing the street.
Did he just check me out?
Shona raises a brow at Marek and then turns a smile on me. “Cain’s sleeping. He took a couple of PMs, so he’ll be out for a while.”
Oh, so that’s what was under the pile of blankets and Shona’s clothes.
“What if he wakes up before we get back?” I ask.
“I’ve instructed him to remain in the room.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and heads for the door. “Why are we wasting time? The clock’s ticking. Tick-tock.”
That annoys me. She isn’t leading us. We’re on equal ground here. I lean closer to Marek to tell him just that when he shakes his head and lifts his eyes to the ceiling.
“Someone thinks she’s the boss,” he says only loud enough for me to hear. We trail her and Sid, staying several feet behind.
I drop a laugh. “My thoughts exactly.”