Her eyes were burning, and Bobbie was wishing he’d let her go back to her room. At the very least she could have grabbed her glasses and taken out her lenses. Crying with them in always made her regret wearing them, not as if she’d cried often but in the shower with Olivier, she’d felt vulnerable with his tender touch, and she had wept. Now her eyes were dry, itching, and sore.
She heard him talking to a man in the other room and he laughed at something the man said and then wished him goodnight. He walked back into the room carrying several packages.
“What’s all this?”
“I had my security team get our dinner from a nearby restaurant instead of room service and had them stop and get you toiletries for the night.” He tossed a paper bag at her, “you probably need to get your contacts out.”
