Long after Rose has fallen asleep, he is still awake, staring. Staring at the clock, staring at the ceiling, staring at the almost full moon outside the window. Staring anywhere but at the face of the woman who has swept into his life like a gale force wind and left him utterly unsettled. His sense of unease from earlier has only deepened as a litany of doubts and worries parade through his mind. In his head he can hear his ex-wife, her voice full of scorn. "What the hell do you think you're playing at, Alec? Girls like Rose don't go for guys like you. She's only here because she wants something from you. Her fifteen minutes of fame, or money, maybe both. She probably wasn't even on the pill. She probably got pregnant on purpose to lure you in, and you fell for it. Hell, it might not even be YOUR baby, you have no idea, she could've slept with a dozen other men between now and then. And she's just barely ten years older than your daughter, for shame. Just wait til the press gets wind."
"No, it's not like that. The whole world isn't out to get me. Stop it, just stop it," he hisses angrily to himself, breaking the silence in the room.
Rose stirs and turns over towards him. "You alright?" she murmurs sleepily.
"Fine," he grunts. "Just a bit restless. Go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you."
"S'okay," she yawns, nestling against him. "Mmmm...fancy a cuddle? You're so nice and warm."
The request catches him off guard, but he drapes his arm over her waist and rests his fingers tentatively against the small of her back. She sighs and snuggles closer, and without thinking, he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head. The sudden urge to protect Rose and their unborn child is fierce and overwhelming, and unconsciously, he draws her tighter against him. The feeling of her body pressed against his is enough to calm and reassure the voices in his head and finally, he is able to sleep.
"Please just kill me now," Rose moans into the bowl of the toilet.
"I'm afraid I can't do that," he says, holding back her hair. "It'd be considered double homicide. I can go downstairs and get you a ginger ale from the bar, though."
"Would you please?" she says, lifting her head just slightly.
"Yeah, of course," he replies, dropping her hair carefully against the back of her neck and tucking it behind her ears. "You stay here, I'll be right back."
"Where'm I gonna go, Ipswich?" she asks crossly. Promptly thereafter, she vomits, again.
"Sorry, sorry, I'll be right back," he apologizes as he backs out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He hurriedly throws on a shirt and a pair of trousers and walks downstairs. It's still relatively early in the morning and Becca is sitting at the front desk, her nose buried in a book.
"Hey," he says uncomfortably, sidling up to the desk.
Becca looks up briefly from her book, a tattered bodice ripper with a Fabio look-a-like on the cover. "Hey," she replies dismissively.
He plows on anyway. "Sorry to bother you, I know the bar isn't open yet, but I was wondering if you had any ginger ale? Got a bit of a stomach ache."
She sighs dramatically, and sets down her book. "So go to the Kwik Save. They sell Pepto-Bismol."
He blinks, taken aback by her frosty tone. "I'm not supposed to mix that with my heart medicine. Can you just do me the favor and get me a ginger ale? I'll pay you for it, if that's what this is about."
"I bet you will," she mutters under her breath as she gets up from the desk, leaving him to stand there, bewildered. She returns a moment later with a can of Schweppes. "That'll be £2."
"For a single can of ginger ale?" he replies, incredulous.
"£2, or you can go to the Kwik Save," she answers curtly, banging the soft drink down on the desk.
"What the hell is your problem?" he shoots back, trying to fight off the anger that is starting to rise.
"Oh, like you don't know!" she spits.
"No, actually, I don't," he replies, gritting his teeth.
She glowers back at him. "I may not be the paragon of morality, but I don't appreciate people calling whores to my hotel. I have a bad reputation, I don't need the Traders to have one as well."
"That's what this is about? You think Rose is a prostitute?" he asks in disbelief. "How desperate do you think I am?"
Becca stares back at him silently.
"How many whores do you know that will spend the night?" he asks her with barely contained fury.
"There's a price for everything," she replies nastily.
"She's not a whore!" he shouts.
"Who's not a whore?" Ellie asks, walking into the lobby.
Alec whips his head around to look at her. "Miller. What are you doing here?"
Ellie raises her eyebrows at him. "Uh, I've been staying here for over a week now, remember? Anyway, who's not a whore?"
"The woman he took up to his room last night, apparently," Becca replies before he has a chance to answer.
Ellie's mouth drops open so far he thinks she might have unhinged her jaw. "You took a woman back to your room last night?"
"Why is that idea so shocking?" he asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He tries to will himself to calm down before he has another episode.
"So who's the lucky lady?" Ellie asks, the corners of her mouth turning up just slightly. Now she's interested.
He blushes red. "No one. Just a friend from London. It was too late and too far for her to drive back home last night, so I offered to let her stay with me."
"Did you now?" she replies, her grin widening.
"It's really not like that," he insists.
"Oh no, no, no. Of course not," she says with a perfectly straight face.
He scowls at her. "I'm not having this conversation with you right now."
"How about later then?" Ellie asks, almost gleeful.
"Miller, just drop it," he says, taking a £5 note out of his wallet. He throws the money down on the desk in front of Becca and grabs the can of ginger ale.
"Keep the change," he calls over his shoulder as he stomps away, then mumbles under his breath. "You bloody wench."