Twenty-Nine
I SAT BY THE WINDOW of our hotel room, watching the fountain show in front of the Bellagio. Tourists came to the front every twenty minutes or so to watch slightly different variations of spray pass before their eyes. I was mesmerised, too. And it was only water.
Dante was busy in the shower. We’d checked in using our fake passports and we both hoped nobody would check our names, his pseudonym being Ethan Radley and mine being Cleo Patrick, of course.
His phone started buzzing and I got up to walk to the coffee table. It was the phone his father had been using earlier and I saw the caller was unknown.
“Your phone’s buzzing!” I shouted.
“Wait… I’m coming!”
I heard him jump out of the shower and he leapt from the bathroom with a towel barely wrapped around him.
“Answer it,
