He immediately changed the subject.
But I couldn’t forget the question.
From that day on, every time he called me, I felt uneasy.
Then, a few days later, Richard called me on Saturday morning.
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“Emily, are you free today?”
“I think so.”
“Come with me. I booked a place outside the city. There’s a pool there too. We could relax for a while.”
I hesitated.
We had never gone somewhere like that alone before.
After my father died, Richard often tried to get me out of the house because he knew how withdrawn I had become.
So eventually, I agreed.
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The hotel was about an hour outside the city.
It was an old but elegant building with a large garden, an outdoor swimming pool, and long, quiet hallways.
At first, everything seemed completely normal.
We sat beside the pool, had lunch, and talked about work.
Then Richard suddenly became quiet.
I noticed that he kept checking his watch.
“Are you waiting for someone?” I asked.
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“No.”
He answered too quickly.
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A few minutes later, he moved closer to me.
So close that I instinctively turned toward him.
Then, in a low voice, he said:
“After the pool, come up to my room.”
I froze.
“Why?”
Richard glanced around.
“I can’t explain it here.”
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“What is going on?”
He only repeated:
“Seven o’clock. Room 214.”
Then he walked away.
From that moment on, I couldn’t relax.
The worst thoughts started running through my head.
Why had he brought me here?
Why a hotel?
Why couldn’t he simply tell me what he wanted?
Twice, I almost grabbed my bag and left.
But then I thought about my father.
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Richard had never hurt me.
