Red Hot Rebel - Olivia Hayle Page 0,65
mine, emanating from wherever in the oversized hotel room I’d tossed my handbag last night.
Cold suspicion grips a hold of me. “What date is it?”
“Should be the twelfth,” Rhys says. “Why?”
“Damn it!” I slide out from under him, racing across the room to the bathroom. I slide into one of the giant, fluffy bathrobes. “My dad and sister are calling. They scheduled a FaceTime call for today.”
“Scheduled?” Rhys calls from the bed.
“Yes, scheduled!” I run a brush through my hair as the signal dies. I know I’ll have no more than a minute before they call again. “We knew I’d be traveling all the time, so we settled on a place and a time that would work for us both with the time difference.”
Not to mention Dad is the textbook definition of punctual. Looking in the mirror, I hurry to wipe at the smudged mascara under my eyes. It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do.
My phone rings again. Rhys leans against the headboard, an eyebrow raised as he watches me search for my phone.
“Interesting,” he comments, as I race to the adjoining door.
“Don’t speak?”
“I won’t,” he says, waving me away.
I hit reply and my dad’s chin fills the screen. “Ivy?” he asks. “Ivy, can you hear me?”
“Dad, not so close,” Penny chides him, and the phone is tugged back. There they are, my dad with his reading glasses on and gray hair, Penny sitting next to him.
She’s grinning, he’s frowning.
“Where is… oh! Hi sweetheart,” Dad says. “Are you in a hotel robe?”
“Yes, I have to jump in the shower after this,” I say. “I’m in Singapore.”
“We know.” Penny holds up the trip itinerary that I’d forwarded to the both of them by email. They’d printed it, and each stop I’ve already been to has a tidy checkmark next to it. “We’ve been following along!”
“How’s Singapore?” Dad asks.
I launch into an explanation of the city, focusing on the buildings and new construction. It’s what he’s interested in, but Penny rolls her eyes halfway through. “What about the food? What about the people?” she asks.
“I’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours!”
“But you must have eaten?”
Laughing, I tell her all about the dumplings Rhys and I ate last night. “Oh, and have you seen the pictures I’ve sent you both? I’ve tried to take as many as I can.”
“Yes, and they’re much appreciated,” Penny says. Behind her, I see the familiar outline of my living-room windows. They’re in my apartment—which means Dad came into the city to visit Penny for this call, rather than vice versa.
That’s impressive. If he can, he’ll avoid any big city.
“I miss you,” I say. “I know I’ve only been gone for a week and a half, but we’re flying so much it feels like a month.”
“You’ll be home soon,” Penny says.
Dad nods. “Only two more stops now. Bali, and then Sydney.”
“I’ll be taking a ton of pictures for you.”
“How is it going with the photographer you’re traveling with? Has he been behaving himself?”
I glance toward the open door between our rooms. No doubt Rhys can hear this whole interaction. “He has,” I say. “Turns out, he’s actually quite nice.”
“What about your studies? Have you been keeping up?”
Penny elbows Dad, but he ignores it, looking straight at me. “It’s been difficult to find the time,” I admit, “but I don’t think it’ll take me more than a day or two to catch up when I get back.”
It really hasn’t been long at all, and I’m loving this trip, but my chest is aching with homesickness when we say goodbye, with only a few minutes to spare before the hair stylist shows up.
Rhys appears in the opening between our two rooms, dressed in nothing but a pair of slacks. His hair is a tousled mess, his abs on full display.
He leans against the doorway. “The photographer is actually quite nice?”
I groan. “You heard that?”
“I did. I’m not sure which word is more offensive. Actually, quite or nice.”
“You don’t like being called nice?”
He shakes his head. “The weather can be nice. Having a cup of coffee can be nice. People shouldn’t be described that way, least of all me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, cocking my head. “Would you like to give me a list of pre-approved adjectives that may be applied to you?”
He grins, stretching out beside me on the bed neither of us had slept in. “I’ll email it to you,” he says. “Are you ready for Bali?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, stretching out beside him. “I have no