The Morning After

After waking up, it took her a while to remember where she was. Sunlight flickered through the drawn curtains of her hotel room. The USA, trade talks, arriving yesterday, dinner.

And then?

Marie Lehnert stared at the bare ceiling and furrowed her brow. She could clearly see Soraya in her mind's eye. She remembered the whiskey in the living room and the feverish rush to the bedroom, where she had undressed piece by piece. Then came the heavenly night together—her first lesbian experience apart from a bit of drunken making out at college parties.

Had it all really happened?

Or had it just been a wild, exceptionally vivid dream? The latter was supported by the fact that none of it seemed like her. She liked to push boundaries, explore her possibilities. But she never really let herself go completely. Even in the midst of chaos, she remained in control.

The former explanation was supported by the fact that she was lying naked in bed, which was also unusual. But if so, how had she gotten back to the hotel from the remote house? Undressed and with no memory whatsoever?

She sat up. Immediately, a hammer drill started pounding in her head. Groaning, she held her forehead. She hadn't drunk nearly enough to have such a bad hangover, had she?

She squinted and looked around for a clock. What time was it?

But what was that? No, who was that?

She hastily yanked the blanket up to cover her upper body. A man was sitting on the chair next to the window. He was tall, and broad-shouldered, with a black jacket and a white shirt.

Steve.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice sounded rough, even to her own ears.

He looked at her, unimpressed.

“I'm looking after you,” was his succinct reply. Despite the cotton wool filling her head, she realized that this sentence could be interpreted in two different ways.

There were countless ways she could respond. But the most important thing at that moment was that she urgently needed to go to the bathroom. Pulling the blanket up to her chin, she wondered whether she should hold it in front of her like a shield when she got up. She shrugged. If last night's memory was correct—which she doubted less and less—Steve had already seen everything there was to see. Exhaustively.

She swung her legs out of bed, steadied herself briefly with one hand on the edge of the bed, and strode past him to the bathroom in her Eve costume. It wasn't easy for her to maintain her cool. Although he had probably been sitting here half the night, he looked spick and span. She, on the other hand, looked like she had been pulled out of the gutter. Embarrassed, she ran her fingers through her hair.

“Do you know what time it is?” She tried to sound casual and relaxed.

Steve glanced at his wristphone. “Eight thirty.”

“Damn,” she exclaimed. The conference started at nine. She had almost overslept.

She hurried past him. As she closed the bathroom door, it occurred to her whether he would allow that, since he was supposed to be watching her. He remained silent. Then again, the room behind the door was tiny and had no windows. So there was nothing for him to worry about. Either way.

After taking care of the essentials, she rushed out and picked out a suitable outfit from her suitcase. At that moment, she didn't care that she was bending over and presenting her bare backside to him.

She hurriedly got dressed, grabbed her notepad, and ran off. She didn't need to look back; Steve would surely be right behind her.

Would she arrive in time?