"Come here," his voice is gentle again.
She gives in, placing her small hand in his. Lifting the cloth, he sees her blood spill out from her palm. He inhales sharply through his teeth and presses the rag back down. They sit there like that for abo...
Raising her hand, she presses her hair out of her eyes, digging her shortened nails into her scalp. The sharp sensation causes the muscles along her spine to contract in reaction, and she relishes it. She is still alive, dammit. This is nothing she can't deal with.
There are worse things than this, she reminds herself. Wash your damned face and move on.
She raises one arm and presses her nose into her pit, inhaling sharply. Not bad, but not good either. She needs to wash more than her face.
Turning the hot water faucet on, she reaches for the tray on the shelf above the bathtub, grabbing a lighter and lighting the small candle before pouring some bubbles into the now steaming water. She pulls her tendrils back into a high, messy bun and steps into the tub, settling down deep into the water.
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Back in the far reaches of the Napa Valley hills...
They are still smiling as they enter Saint Helena Inn, arm-in-arm, laughing and chatting about their day. They walk up the stairs and Keanu bids her goodnight, turning to go down the hall toward his room.
Once inside, he pulls the folded letter out of his pocket:
Now then, I believe you had some ideas for how to soothe my Chicago chills? I will need to hear more about your plans before I'm able to accept or decline. I'm sure you understand...
He leans back, bathing in his memories of her, grinning as he pictures her in his shirt. And nothing else. She is all he wants, all he can think about, and he cannot wait to wrap this film and see her again.
Knock, knock.
He opens the door to find Aitana, wearing the same flowing, satin white gown she was in the night he found her on the balcony. In one hand, she holds two glasses by their stems, in the other, a bottle of Pinot Noir.
"Nightcap?" she offers, blood-red lips matching the blood-red wine.
"Aitana." It was a statement more than a greeting. He pauses, then, carefully weighing his words before saying anything else. "What, um..." he pauses again, blinking a few times, "are you okay?"
The hair pins are out of her hair, and her raven strands curve down around her face, accenting her jaw line. She lowers her head for a moment. She wasn't expecting him to sweep her up into his arms like he had on set in their stage bedroom, but she had hoped he'd be a bit more...excited. Or at least a bit less withdrawn.
"Yeah, yes. I'm fine. I was just..." She held up the bottle. "I'm sorry, can we set this somewhere?"
His mouth curved into an unconscious, hollow smile, a smile of courtesy. "Of course." He takes the bottle from her hand and looks quickly around him, setting it on the small desk near the door. "Ahem," he slaps his palm across his chest as he forcefully clears his throat.
