Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Her energy dried up somewhat when we found a cab and they helped us load our suitcases up into the trunk. We practically flopped into the back seat as our exhaustion truly caught up with us. It had been a long fucking flight.
Elaine’s fingers squeezed mine and she let out a yawn as she arched her back against the seat, barely able to keep her eyes open.
“Sleep, sweetheart,” I told her, but she shook her head.
“Not until I can sleep curled up against you, warm in bed. My chest is hurting again, but not so bad.” She smiled. “You saved me from that. You are amazing.”
Yet again, I loved the cuteness in her. Such adoration was the most intoxicating thing.
“Where in the city are you headed?” the cab driver asked and I made up an answer on the spot.
“Elephant and Castle.”
Elaine looked at me as the cab set off. “I’ve never heard of that.”
I shrugged. “Quite a memorable name, you’ll be sure to remember it.”
I’d been to Elephant and Castle once as a boy on my way to some deal with my father. It had certainly stuck in my memory. It wasn’t a particularly grand part of the city, which was necessary seeing as I was yet to organize my identity and my finances. I couldn’t be too grandiose. Not yet anyway.
The outside rumbled by in a blur as we made our way from the airport to the city. I could barely keep my eyes open.
“Elephant and Castle,” the driver said finally.
I snapped back to attention, checking out the street through the window.
I got him to pull up outside a budget inn that looked significantly nicer than it would have if we hadn’t so recently holed up in her friend’s shithole of a neighborhood. It would sure do us alright until we could get our damn life together.
Its mediocrity didn’t seem to matter shit to Elaine. She stared up in abject awe at the building as the cab driver unloaded our suitcases beside us.
“Wow!” She was a sweet little girl all over again with that one little word.
The cab driver was off as soon as I’d paid him, and still she was staring up at the hotel. I held open the entrance door for her to step inside and she was tight against me as we made our way to the reception desk.
“I’m hoping you have a double room available for a few nights,” I said to the woman behind the counter.
She nodded. “Yes, sir. Would you like standard or premium?”
“Premium,” I told her and she handed over a key.
“That will be a hundred and twenty pounds per night.”
Pounds. The word would be a novelty for some time yet.
I handed over one of my credit cards. This one belonged to a fake ID known as Evan Taylor. She swiped it through her machine without any concern.
“I’ve booked you in for two nights, Mr. Taylor. Please let us know if you would like to extend your stay.”
Looking around the lobby, I very much doubted it.
I doubted it even more when we stepped inside the premium room and found it to be little more than a crappy cheap box with a plain double bed, a cruddy little dresser and a budget little TV on the wall, but that didn’t matter. Not right then. It didn’t matter shit to either of us.
Elaine let out a huge sigh as she dropped her suitcase on the floor and threw herself backwards onto the bed. She was washed out, exhausted and showing it, eyes barely open as she kicked off her sneakers and scrabbled her way up to the pillows.
My eyes were barely open when I climbed up beside her.
We weren’t even under the covers when she snuggled her way up against me. She let out a sigh as I wrapped her up in my arms.
“I still can’t believe it,” she whispered after another yawn. “We’re in London. My name is now Penelope Jackson and I live in London.”
Only she wouldn’t be Penelope Jackson, just as I wouldn’t be Jason Reynolds or Evan Taylor or any other of the numerous fake IDs I had in my suitcase. I’d already realized that on the flight, sitting amongst the regular travelers, the thoughts churning over in my mind all the way.
I didn’t want to be Jason Reynolds, or Evan Taylor or any of the other numerous fake IDs I had in my suitcase and I never could be.
I was Lucian Morelli.
I’d always be Lucian Morelli and the world would always know me as Lucian Morelli. Jason Reynolds could go fuck himself, and so could some cheap, pathetic little life on the run.
I watched the pretty angel fall asleep beside me, drifting into lovely steady breaths with the very gentlest of snores, and I let the thoughts tumble and focus one last time before drifting asleep myself.