I wake up in a panic. For a second, I don’t know where I am, who I am, what time is it, anything.
Then it all comes flooding back.
France. Lukas. The bathroom with no lock.
I sit up and look around. Everything is exactly as I left it, except for one thing: There’s a simple sundress draped over the armchair by the window. It’s a peach-colored cotton with delicate straps, light and functional. The simple underwear folded beneath it actually looks like underwear instead of v****a floss, for which I am eternally grateful. On the floor are a pair of leather sandals.
I scoop up the pile and head for the bathroom.
The shower is one of those old European contraptions with creaky brass fixtures and water pressure that could strip the paint off a warship. I crank the handle to scalding and step
