Cusco.

Nadia's feet padded across the cobblestones as she headed for the Inca Trail information session, grumbling to herself. Bloody hell, I'm late.

Behind her lay Plaza de Armas, and around the corner in an Irish pub, sat Thomas — still off his food and nursing a pint of Guinness in place of a meal, insistent it was an appropriate supplement. Pfft, not likely.

Starting tomorrow, she and Khai would have four days stuck with each other. Three nights sharing a two-person tent. There would be no more skating around their problems. The idea scared the living daylights out of her. Triggered a thousand 'What ifs?' which fizzled out of her brain and into the rest of her body, setting off a nervous agitation.

That afternoon, she'd been unable to sit, read a book or follow a conversation. Liquid courage had been needed.

Still tired and drained, Thomas had insisted on accompanying her, though she forbade him to go further than the pub. That would just lead to more conflict — and she suspected there would be enough in the future. Khai was frickin' stubborn and had developed a resentful streak.

They had arrived in Cusco the morning earlier and high-tailed it for a cab. Prompted by Thomas' Spanglish cry of "Hotel bueno please!" the driver had grinned broadly as if mentally rubbing his hands, and taken them to a boutique establishment where the staff greeted him by name before setting them up in a two-story suite.

Nadia thought the expense unnecessary. But the edge of steel in Thomas' eyes had told her to leave off any argument.

Fine, she had thought. If he wanted to waste his money on panoramic views of a Spanish-colonial city amongst a backdrop of rolling mountains, on whitewashed walls hung with handmade tapestries, crisp white sheets and the smell of beeswax polish — well, he could go right ahead.

She snorted to herself, admitting it was bloody brilliant. Particularly the bathtub. Big enough to soak all her dirty laundry. Then there was the complimentary Twinning's tea which had appeared in the kitchen. Reluctantly, she realised she could get used to travelling like this.

A locum doctor had confirmed her diagnosis: giardia. Third bane to backpackers after dengue fever and malaria. The doctor jabbed Thomas with a needle — sourced from the sterile stash in her own medical kit, prescribed antibiotics and rehydration crystals, then, with a pocket full of sols, went on his way.

Thomas spent much of the time moaning and groaning — when she was in, that was. He'd demanded she go out and explore, which she did readily enough at first.

Cusco was one of the travel capitals of the world, and it was no fun watching someone run to the toilet every ten minutes. The city was packed to the brim with things to see and do. Spectacular architecture, history, arts, crafts, and cuisine. But despite its beauty, everything felt lacklustre.

To her surprise, and dismay, she realised it was because Thomas wasn't with her. It didn't mean she couldn't enjoy herself without him. She could and did. Yet things took on a different shade, like going out with sunglasses on a cloudy day. He'd grown on her, and she had begun to take his presence for granted.

And so, again and again, she found herself returning to sit next to him. Snuggling up at his side and watching bad Latin sitcoms, or reading aloud from her Kindle as he tossed and turned in a sweaty stupor.

For some reason, his clammy convalescence only seemed to make him more appealing. Shaking her head, she recalled the assessment she had made of him at the bus station in Lima, not a week before. Thomas Waterhouse was dangerous. For days, he'd wriggled his way under her defences, and almost up her top. It needed to stop. She needed to turn her thoughts to Khai. Work all this out before she made any decisions.

With renewed determination, she picked up her pace. Lost in her mind, she didn't hear the tread of footsteps behind her.

She stopped under a sign indicating a local travel company and breathed in raggedly. This is it. She exhaled, unclenched her fists, pressed against the green door and pushed.

An orchestra of voices slid down a flight of old stone steps. They grew louder as her feet tapped their way up the stairs, following the direction of a red arrow on the wall. At the top, a young man with a long, olive face, dark almond eyes and a wide-set mouth welcomed her and indicated an adjoining room. Stacks of camping equipment filled one half off it, and a dozen tourists sitting on couches, the other.

As she made her way toward them, her heart stopped. Khai sat in the small crowd, hand clasped with Savannah's, head bent, chatting away excitedly.

A spike of adrenaline shot through her. No! What the hell was the grass lady doing here? Thomas had said all the Inca Trail passes sold out months ago. Did Savannah buy her ticket when she first met Khai? Surely, they would have said something. Though, perhaps not. Dread settled in her stomach.

A stout middle-aged man, wearing a cap and puffy vest approached. "Buenas noches, señorita. I am Miguel. Can I help you?" He held a clipboard in his hands, his forehead creased.

"Umm, yes, I am booked in for this tour." For a moment her trembling hand fumbled in her bag until she found what she sought.

The man smiled and took the printed copy of a confirmation email. He squinted his eyes as he read, then looked up at her with a question on his lips.

"But Khai is already here."

"Ah, yes." Shit. Now she remembered. Khai had registered it all under his name. "I am the plus one."

The man regarded her from his kind but determined eyes. "His plus one is here, too." He examined the clipboard again. "A Miss Savannah Logan."

Nadia gulped. "That can't be right." Heart racing, she pointed. "Look here. This was cc'd to [email protected]. You had me down as the second person." She directed him to Khai's subsequent email, telling her they were registered, and held out her passport, opening it to her ID page. "Look, I'm Nadia Romanowski, the same as my email address!"

The man tugged his collar away from his throat, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. "I am sorry, señorita." Guilt etched across the planes of his face, but he knew his business. "Unfortunately, you did not purchase the tickets, and the purchaser has brought his guest."

Tears welled, hot and stinging. She peered at Khai again. This time he saw her, held her gaze for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and returned to a conversation with the man next to him.

With a foundering heart, angry and ashamed, she forced herself to thank the man, tucked away her email and slunk from the room with what dignity she had left.

By the time she descended the stairs, her eyes had blurred in a steaming haze. She was almost blind when she threw herself out into the cold night air and crashed into something hard.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Buenas noches, señorita — Good evening, young lady

Image sourced from: http://www.wheretowillie.com/category/mexico/cusco/