Reece's Haven

55: Reece

"And it was in Paris when I fell in love with you..."
– Nautica

❀❀❀

~ R E E C E ~

February 1998

"Goodnight, Reece," Dorothy says, her voice soft and gentle.

The way she is ending our call calmly gives me the impression that maybe she isn't missing me just as much as I'm missing her. Although the mere thought of that makes me feel a bit unsettled, I try to convince myself that we recently just got together and she needs more time to be able to reciprocate the full extent of my feelings.

But damn, I wish our call wouldn't end so quickly. I wish I could listen to her talk endlessly. Hell, I wish she was here with me, in Paris, right now.

"Goodnight, my little moon," I reply with a heavy chest.

The call disconnects, and I sigh, putting the phone back on the bedside table before dropping myself onto the king-sized bed in the Presidential Suite, which consists of three bedrooms attached to bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, a study room, a kitchen, a fitness room and a balcony with one of the best views of Paris – especially of the Eiffel Tower.

Trust Dave to have an expensive taste.

"Dude!" Dave whines, rubbing his arm. "Did you have to throw the remote control at me?"

"I had to shut you up," I say. "Dorothy doesn't know about you. I don't want her to know just yet."

"...Fair."

I then stare at the ceiling with my mind filled with Dorothy. Come to think of it, she has barely said anything on the call. Sure, our call did last for about five minutes, but she seemed less talkative than usual, and she sounded... lost?

"I wouldn't settle in bed just yet, if I were you," Dave says, interrupting my train of thought.

I turn my head and see him disappear into the living room before reappearing with a large stack of files. He approaches me and drops the stack on my bed, right next to me. With widened eyes, I get up and rummage through some of the files.

"What the fuck is all of this?" I say.

"Paperwork," Dave replies.

I look up at his grinning face.

"I have this much revision to do?"

"No, no! Of course not."

I sigh in relief.

"CHRISTOPHER!" Dave immediately yells, startling me.

A large, burly man walks into my room, carrying a stack of files twice the height of the stack Dave brought in. He is very tall, over six feet. His black hair is in a bald fade cut. He has a scar that runs from his chin to the corner of his thin lips.

Chris.

My bodyguard.

Trust Dave to be overprotective over me.

"Dump them here," Dave instructs him, gesturing to my bed.

With a nod, Chris places the tall stack onto my bed. Then, he silently leaves. The thing about Chris is that he never expresses emotions and he rarely speaks. The last time I heard him speak was probably six weeks ago, and I think I've forgotten what he sounds like now.

Dave turns to face me with an innocent smile.

"You have this much revision to do," he says, gesturing to the stacks.