Page 11 of The Hitman

Zahra

I wake up drunk. Or hungover. Or jetlagged.

Probably all three.

This isn’t that far off from the way I planned to wake up on the first day of my honeymoon, but it sure hits different when I’m single, alone, heartbroken, and still dehydrated as hell. I feel like a wreck, a husk of my former self but now with swollen eyes. Instead of hopping directly in the shower, I have to press two damp towels against my eyes for a few minutes. This definitely wasn’t in the cards for my honeymoon.

Once I can see again, and I’ve showered, I decide that I need to get dressed and leave my room. As much as I want to wallow in peace and quiet, I’m worried that if I don’t leave today, I won’t leave for the rest of the week, and that’s not why Shae sent me here. Also, Zoe wouldn’t approve in the slightest.

I finally open my suitcases and stare down into them, trying to imagine if I have an outfit that adequately reflects my mood. I don’t. Ryan’s stylist helped me pack for this trip. The vibe we were going for was #cottagecoreUnder the Tuscan Sun. I feel veryEat, Pray, Loveright now, but specifically that scene in the movie where Julia Roberts just cries. Yeah. I feel like that but Black and tipsy.

My best wardrobe bet is to fashion an outfit that’s as different from the storm of my emotions as possible. I want to hide away, so I need to stand out. Very Zoe Wardrobe Tips 101. The sheer red wraparound dress shows off the white bikini underneath in glimpses as the light hits it, and the thigh-high slits at the sides show off all the leg I can. To be very candid, I look fucking amazing. I’m still drunk or hungover or whatever, but Ilookfantastic.

Except my eyes. They’re still swollen and red — almost the same color as my dress, but that’s beside the point — and no outfit can distract from that. Sunglasses can, though, especially big expensive ones that are technically stolen property, just like this is technically a honeymoon. I push my new Chanel glasses onto my face with a relieved sigh. I don’t feel any better, but I look like a brand-new person, and that’s the most I can ask of myself right now.

I consider going to the hotel restaurant, but I’m not hungry. I have a headache, and I need to drink at least a sip of water to feel normal again, but as I ride the elevator down to the lobby, I realize that I don’t want to feel normal. Normal will mean having to process all the betrayal I’ve experienced. Normal will mean that I’ll have to accept that the life I’d been building is nothing more than dust. For the first time in my life, normal is the exact opposite of what I want.

I want oblivion. I want to forget. I want tonotthink or feel.

Once the elevator opens up to the lobby, I turn down a hallway and end up at the gym. I frown and double back to the front desk.

“How may I help you, madam?” a new front desk attendant asks me.

I clear my throat and try to smile like a not-frazzled mess. “Can you tell me how to get to the pool?” I ask in a hoarse voice that makes me feel even worse for some reason. It’s been hours since I’ve spoken or made any sounds besides sobbing. It actually hurts to talk.

“The pool is just down the southern passage,” he says, indicating the other hallway I didn’t go down.

“Thank you,” I croak. “Do you have poolside service?” I remember to ask.

“Of course, madam. What would you like for breakfast?”

“Wine,” I say. “White. Expensive. Whatever you sent to the South Penthouse,” I tell him.

“Yes, madam,” he says, judging me with his eyes, but not with his voice. I appreciate that. “Would you like anything to eat?” Okay, he’s a little judgey out loud.

Not really, I think, but it’s only my first day here. I don’t want to get a reputation as the sad lush in the penthouse, not on my first day, at least, and especially not while I’m stealing the money for these incidentals.

“Yes,” I say. “Some fruit? Maybe croissants?”

“Of course, madam.”

“And water,” I add since I’m pretending to be a normal, well-adjusted person.

Once my order has been received, I head for the pool with a bit more enthusiasm. This feels like progress.

Here’s hoping I don’t start crying poolside. Actually, scratch that, I’ll cry in my bikini if I want. I’ve earned it.

* * *

Giulio

I’m a simple man, and after two very strong espressos and breakfast, I feel less angry. Still angry, just less so. Also, I’m easy, and the flirty waitress flashing her cleavage at me as she serves me breakfast lifts my spirits considerably.

I feel like a new man as I walk outside to spend a little time by the pool. The sun is high in the sky, but it’s not so hot yet that it feels oppressive. I strip down to my swim briefs and recline on a wooden pool chair with nothing but a stone wall behind me so no one can sneak up on me. Just because I’m on holiday doesn’t mean I need to let my guard fall completely.

I forgot my sunglasses and close my eyes as I let myself relax. I sigh contentedly and pretend that my cover is real, and I’m just a businessman taking a break for some sun and relaxation. It’s true enough.

I fall asleep in the sun within minutes.