Word Count: 517
I just noticed that WC is also an abbreviation for Water Closet. Maybe there's some really confused peeps across the pond going: 500 water closet challenge? what the heck is that about? I refuse to speculate about what that would be; it can only end badly. :)
Alice was not pleased to be woken up in the middle of the night.
“A flight from where?” she demanded, her voice thick.
“From Denver to New York, then the fastest flight you can get to Madrid.”
Alice grumbled, muttering his directions back at him.
“Alright,” she said, yawning. “I’ll call you when its arranged.”
“I love you, Alice.”
She only snorted and hung up. Colton closed his account access on his computer, the money wired and ready for tickets.
He looked up and grunted as Renee threw her arms around him.
“Thank you!” she said, pressing her face into his chest. “Thank you so much, for everything.”
He tried to pry her loose, but she squeezed him determinedly.
“Its fine,” he said. “Really, its nothing.”
“No its not.” She protested, leaning back to look up at him. “I can never repay you.”
He shrugged. “I had to.”
She smiled. “I know. Because you’re a wonderful, generous man. Thank you. I’m sorry I was such a brat.”
She laughed and thankfully broke away. She wiped her face. “There’s no way I can sleep now. And I’m sure my mom is going to call me a million more times tonight.”
“Probably,” Colton agreed wearily.
“Go back to bed, my hard-working husband.” She steered him for the door. “I’ll let you know if I need anything else.” She pried his cell from his hands. “I’ll deal with Alice. Go to bed.”
He went. He still couldn’t sleep. His room was cold.
He got up and adjusted the AC from where it had been set since he moved in.
Renee didn’t go back to her room. He could just hear her talking down in his office, hear her laughing.
He recognized his ring. She answered. He wondered what Alice really thought of her. They hadn’t spoken at the dinner with Trebell and Colton had been avoiding the house as much as he could since then.
He scowled at himself for his cowardice. He rolled over, pressing his face into his pillow, trying to shut out the reality he didn’t want to deal with. He hoped she would be cleared very, very soon and could go away. Back to the states, to London, or France or his uncle's Yacht in the Mediterranean. Anywhere but in his house.
He found her asleep on the couch the next morning, curled up with a phone in each hand. He gently worked his free of her fingers. She hardly stirred, exhausted. Hers fell out of her hand, hitting the floor.
He retrieved it, stilling as he looked at the screen. Curious, he hit the recent call button. He smiled; her mother’s number took up the last ten incoming calls, the most recent lasting over two hours. Between the two of them, he wasn’t surprised.
He scrolled down absently. He frowned, rereading one from yesterday afternoon.
He looked down at her still face, her bruises gone and the scar across her forehead pink with healing. He set the phone next to her and left for work.