Gavin’s cab arrived at the antiquated apartment he'd rented in Valletta, a few blocks from the central square, just as the sun was beginning to dip under the fortified structures of the island. He was dreading the conversation he was about to have with Mila, but the historic architecture put him at ease. The cobbled stone streets reminded him of childhood summers spent with family in Edinburgh. The stone walls, slatted shutters and the large oak door with a ring-pull door knob brought him back to simpler times, long past. What he really wanted, was to go for a swim off the rocky peninsula, to enjoy the beautiful lights that illuminated the battlements, but he knew there was no point in delaying the inevitable.
He entered the foyer, expecting Mila to rush out to greet him but instead soaked in the unexpected but welcome silence. Entering their bedroom he heard the shower running, and decided to wait for her in the living room. He kicked off his boots and lit up a cigarette, slowly sensing his anxiety dissipate. Even Mila’s displeasure couldn’t completely overshadow the fruitful conversation he’d had with Rohan. On the whole, he was still the same, willing to give anything a go that jived with his sensibilities. His problem was that he respected boundaries too much, opting whenever possible to toe the line. It was the reason Gavin withheld, for now, the greater truth. Rohan didn’t share Gavin’s revolutionary zeal nor his veneration of creative destruction. He had yet to understand that you can’t make an omelette
without breaking a few eggs. That this wasn’t about reform, it was retribution.
His thoughts trailed off as Mila entered the living room still clad in only a towel, hair dripping water on the sandstone tiles. It irked him, since he knew he would be the one wiping them down later, but he said nothing. She seductively came over and sat down on his lap, wetting his peached fabric pants.
In breaths of air between a slow kiss she said, “I missed you, not a single phone call or email. You know I hate when you do that.”
“Mila baby, you know why. I can’t risk any communication, even encrypted. Just knowing who I’m calling could jeopardize everything.”
Gavin knew this to be untrue, and he thought maybe even Mila did, but she played along. She likely knew that solutions existed for everything. A cypher on his phone encrypted calls, routing them through several hops which left the metadata inoperative. It was a fact of life, the greater the tools of detection, so too shall develop the tools of deception. God bless technology, that ultimate leveler of playing fields.
He only kept up the charade to keep a little distance between them, fearful of the speed with which things had moved. Here she stood, just months after they first got together, living in his apartment.
“I know,” she said brushing her hair away from her face, “but it still bothers me that protecting your work is more important to you than I’ll ever be.”
Gavin had no answer to that, so he began undoing her towel.
“Stop it… Okay, so did you tell Rohan?”
He gave her a feint without any real expectation of avoiding the conversation, “Tell him what? We discussed a lot, you know that.”
“About what? About what? Gavin, you always do this! You know exactly what! About us!” her voice broke, indicating to him she was going to great lengths to restrain herself. “Of course you didn’t, just another promise you break. Just like in Biarritz!”
He ignored her reference to the French city on the Bay of Biscay, where he left her at a café to meet with a wealthy would-be investor. He had told her it wasn’t a work trip; could he have been more of a cliché?
“Broke, promise you broke,” he responded knowing it would only serve to irritate her more. But she was oddly sexy when she was freaking out, and he couldn’t resist.
“Fuck you, Gavin! You know exactly what I meant.”
He pulled her closer, “Mila baby, I’m sorry. Listen, there was so much to discuss, and there just wasn’t enough time. Anyway, he’ll be here in a few months, as soon as he wraps up everything with the bar. We can tell him together.”
By the look on her face, he knew he was sleeping alone that night. Mila scampered back into their bedroom to dress. When she finally emerged, she was wearing a summer dress she knew he particularly liked, with an overnight bag in one hand and her silly journal she kept to work on her English in another.
His suspicions were proved correct.
“I’m going over to Elsa’s, I’m too angry to sleep with you tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When she walked out the door he let out a deep sigh, and then gave a little chuckle. That had gone a lot better than he hoped. The night alone would give him time to clear his head. He went into the bedroom to pack a half emptied cigarette with the most potent weed he was able to find on the island.