xi

W

e arrived to Heathrow before eleven by night. The reservation included a car to transport us from the airport to the hotel so, as long as we made it to the airport there was a car waiting for us to take us wherever we request. Jorge indicates to the driver the name of the hotel; The Kensington Hotel, in south Kensington. The driver nods and starts our way right there with no unnecessary questioning, different from what uses to happen when drivers meet tourists. To my surprise, Jorge prevented that situation by indicating him a specific route and, the driver had no choice other than obey to the instructions. It sounds like Jorge doesn’t like to waste his time at any sense.

I understand this is necessary to be done when you take a taxi in order to prevent they charge you more money by taking a longer route. But, the taxi service was already cancelled, no matter the route...

When we arrived at the hotel a bellboy received us and helped us with our luggage while leading us inside. It is a beautiful hotel. It is a British style building, white facade and high columns in the entrance. Christmas decoration is just the necessary to create excitatement for the proximity of the session but, not to appear overdone.

We walked below the blue lighting letters of the hotel’s name and got inside its hall. Reception personnel assisted us dutiful, even more when they found out the category of the rooms we were going to stay. Jorge made the reservation from today until Friday in order to leave the suitcases while we travel to Paris so we would be more comfortable. I am used to look after lockers in every station along Europe to keep my bags while I go from town to town so; this is a total change for me. I can see Jorge doesn’t use to go around backpacking, the way I do very often.

We got up to our rooms to refresh a little before going down to the hotel bar for a drink. We are not very hungry because of the snack we ate in the plane but, we want to stretch our legs a little and drink something.

If its hall was stunning with high roof, enchanting lights and last century furniture recently placed; my room is unbelieveable! I even had a canopy over my bed. Furniture of red velvet upholstery, wallpaper of dark flowers, carpet, a tea and coffee service next to the mini bar and an amazing bathroom equipped with every courtesy products that possibly exist in the hotelier universe plus an oval bathtub with feet, my favorite. I need to try it as soon as possible.

My suitcase is already in the room so, I opened to save the stuffs Jorge bougth me. I frown while I realize what’s inside. I don’t like when people pay for my stuffs, I feel like I’m in debt with someone who invites me a coffee and Jorge is determined not to let me pay anything. And all this is... But, where did he go to buy these clothes? This is all my style completely, it is even my size! How did he find out my size? I have everything: Blouses, jerseys, pants, a pajama, shoes, a pair of red converse...-I inevitably think of David Tennat when I see them, I am in London and my whovian side goes bigger-.

Here is a beauty case... Oh my! Here is a Chanel case; he bought me make up... and here is a selled envelop... Underware! Right now I would kill Jorge with my own hands. To start, he has fulfilled a whole suitcase with clothes and not precisely Zara’s designes: I see ch one side, Gucci, Purificación García and similar brands; this shoes are Louboutin...and he dared to buy me underware! Six pairs of luxurious intimate lingerie. How can I see him now, if I know that he knows what I am wearing under my clothes?

I took a quick shower trying to clear my mind. When I finished getting myself ready, I heard someone nocked at the door. I opened the door and I see Jorge the other side staring at me surprised. I wore a pair of black dressy pants, a golden shirt with sparkles, a black jacket and the black Louboutin high hills. He looks at me up and down I think he effors to keep his mouth closed. I love the way he is looking at me, I feel I am been desired by the same man I secretly desire since many years ago. It is a good signal.

“Is this what it was in your suitcase?” e asks me with a voice tone a little louder that his regular voice and with his eyes wide open, staring at me.

“What do you mean is this what it was? You should know, you have been the one who bought even the underware...”

My voice sounds upset of course. I just remembered what he has done and my eyes set on fire. But Jorge watches me and starts laughing. It might turn funny to him!

“Do you think it was me who selected everything it was in the suitcase? I bought the suitcase, yes, but I called to a personal shopper that I know from Madrid, I showed her some pictures of you that you published at your social media and she handled everything. And I can see she is good...” he looks at me up and down again and he peeps his head inside my room “Can I see the rest of the clothes she picked?”

“I’ll show it to you when I wear it –I tell him taking out the room card from the switch and closing the door-. Now, I feel like drinking something to show this outfit.”

“Then you like the clothes?”

We called to the elevator of this lonely level in where we are. A gentle bell indicates the doors are about to open and we got inside the elevator, where a Jorge’s contemporary couple awaits patiently from us to get up and continue descending.

“I love the clothes, Jorge” I say, bringing the previous conversation back “But you have to let me pay for...”

“Once more? Laura, I try to have a nice time together; do not make me bother” and he sounds very serious again. And I want to see funny Jorge so, I quit the topic. I don’t forget about it, I am just thinking how to compensate that money. It is not good to let him spend a big amount of money just to date a stranger– that’s who I am practically –one week for vacations.

The couple we have behind our backs seems to be arguing in French. I only bable French. I understand a bit more when I read it but, I don’t understand anything of what they talked although, I can see the woman is offended for something that man has done. The elevator opens and she walks through us as fast as she can followed by that man who seems to effort to set reasons at his very angry couple. I turn to see Jorge and he is laughing, placing his hand on my back and walking with me out of the elevator as well.

“What do you laugh about?” I ask intrigued.

“They thought we did not understand them” he limitates to answer while he stops laughing.

“I didn’t understand them...” I confess some ashamed.

He stops for a moment to look at me and smile, not with arrogant attitude but sweet, making me feel better. He holds my chin with his fingers for an instant and we continue walking with his hand on my back again.

“The girl was jelous, you were too beautiful, the guy had eyes on his face and I am a lucky guy” he explains with a smile in his lips.

He turns to look at me right in the moment I start to blush ashamed, more or less understanding what he meant with his resume.

“I don’t... I don’t like to be observed, that’s all” I try to excuse my reaction which is inexplicable to him.

“Then, you must have akward times constantly...” and watching my strangeness face, he explains: “take a look around us for an instant and, realize how many people are watching you.”

My journalistic curiosity –plus a pinch of ego, I have to admit– makes me do what Jorge told me to do. And I immediately regret for noticing the annoying gazes some men are giving me while they pass next to us. But what makes me really furious right now are the women’s gaze; they practically eat Jorge with their eyes and they don’t botter on dissimulate their desire not even a little like any men would do. My eyes are rolling like a boson with a whole spin. I mean, almost in search of other quantum universes to be able to remain spinning by itself.

“What happens?” he asks when he saw my angry face while we walked in direction of the hotel bar which was already in front of us.

“I am jelous, you are too attractive and women have eyes at their faces, too many I think” I answer with an angry tone I can’t hide.

And it wasn’t funny at least not for me. Jorge starts laughing like if he doesn’t care at all about the entire people who might be watching us in this moment.

“Are you jelous?”

“I wasn’t until today” I explain, to the greatest delight of the semigod who still has his hand placed at the bottom of my back, making me more nervous every time with the tiny move of his thumb caring my skin over my clothes.

I feel his warm lips on my temple and my heart has suddenly beaten so strongue that forced me to take a breath deeper that regular to be able to fulfill my lungs. And I noticed that, Jorge’s gesture has accomplished one of the women who was staring at him and, who was sitting in the entrance of the bar, to make a discontent gesture placing her eyes full of anger over me and, turning back again towards his companion to keep chattering.

And I loved it.

The bar is just like other bars. Wooden furniture, stools around a big bar, couches the other side with cheerful people having some drink or eating snacks. Of course, the social status of this people goes weight over the media. We asked for a pair of mojitos: “Are you sure you want to drink a mojito considering this cold weather?” he asked me before ordering them and, we sat down in one of those blue velvet couches. This is life...

Jorge sips at his mojito, he mixed the bottom of his drink and sips it once more. I am fascinated at watching how his lips get wet by getting in contact with the green liquid of his glass. He has just shown his tongue when he passes it over his lips and I feel a thousand of needles in the middle of my stomach while I see that. I think I have never seen anything so sensual. Jorge realizes I don’t stop watching at him and he closes his eyes a little without understanding what could amuse me so badly.

I try to redirect his attention by saying the first idea that comes to my mind.

“I still can’t believe it” I tell him while I look around “This is so odd.”

“What?”

“Everything, I still can’t assimilate all of this. We both are here, alone, in London. This is insane...”

“But insane in a good sense, right?”

“Yes, don’t worry I don’t think you are insane” I made a pause “Well, maybe a little...”

We both stare at each other smiling, we both wishing his little insane results into something good.

We didn’t stay too long in the bar. It is twuelve and half when we walked to our rooms. Jorge comes with me until the door of my room. I am overwhealmed with all this. And on one side I want to get a kiss of him but, on the other side I am even scared. It is like if he wants to buy me to have an affair as the day of the Christmas party I rejected him when he tried to kiss me. This is stupid, I know, but...

Jorge limitates to grab my hands and kiss them without taking his eyes off me, like the day of the party when he accompanied me to the entry portal. Isn’t he going to kiss me today eather? And again, he reads mi mind as he did before.

“No, I am not trying to buy you to have sex with me, Laura” he explains by emphazising the phrase buy you to give it a second meaning.

“I don’t...” I answer ashamed.

“I know that is what you are thinking. You rejected me in the Christmas party and now you believe I try to conquer you with a different method. That is not wrong exactly” he stopped for a moment to think the better manner to explain me “it is like when Mr. Darcy starts doing things for Lizzy. He makes them with no second purpose. He only wants to see her happy. I don’t want you to keep thinking what you did about me at the beginning; I am very serious and plenty distant, I know. But I do care about you, Laura, I really do and I want to prove it to you. Just that. I want to use these days to show what you mean to me, that is it.”

He hasn’t stopped looking at my eyes while he talks. And with every word of his, I can feel I fall in love with him deeper and deeper. Me, the distant friend who always turns back to all those who attempt to get close to her, the cold girl who never vacillates on leaving a guy if something doesn’t match in the relationship they might have. The same girl, who never thought her platonic love would even pay attention to her, is right now in London with him on an enchanting travel.

“I will come tomorrow morning to have breakfast. Perhaps, eight a.m.?” he asks me giving me no time to process everything he has told me before.

“Well... ok, eight a.m.” I answered.

“Good night.”

He nods gently with his head, going apart far from me and leaving me not a small kiss.

“Good night” I say while I see him going away through the hallway until his room, leaving me very lonely in mine.