Frigid wind darted through the streets of Cusco, skating across puddles, and sending wisps of mist into swirling eddies. Little broke the pre-dawn torpor. A stray dog, an intoxicated tourist stumbling home, rubbish collection crews. Otherwise, the valley was at peace.

Moonlight illuminated the downstairs room where Nadia sprawled diagonally across a sofa bed, her arms and legs splayed, and one foot dangling off the edge. A thin track of saliva trickled down her face and pooled on the pillow. She was snug. Safe. Enveloped in the peacefulness of slumber.

A beeping slashed through the silence.

"Argh!" Her hand darted to grab the phone, but it slipped off the bed and skidded across the polished wood floor. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

Nadia threw back her duvet and pushed up on to one elbow, peering into the dimness. Too much hard liquor, the altitude and the early hour made her head a thick, fuzzy hell. All she wanted to do was to fall back into sleep.

The beeping persisted. Too loud, too insistent.

She rolled to the floor, crawling on hands and knees as she made towards the glowing-white screen hidden below a couch. Reaching under, she stretched her arm to its limit and swept back and forth until she grasped it.

She slid back and sat up on her haunches, finger poised to push 'Stop,' and gasped as she read the reminder: 'Inca Trail 5 a.m. collection.' Her heart leapt. Then she registered the time: 3:45 a.m. She needed to get cracking.

The night before, Mr Bossy Pants had ordered her to the shower and then to bed. Now she had no idea where to start. Coffee, she decided.

With a groan she stood and padded over to the kitchenette, her body shivering with cold and excitement. There was something special about being awake at this time, before everyone else, as if she was in on a secret. It was invigorating. The sensation was compounded by memories from the previous evening, setting her on edge.

The tap faucet squealed as she filled a jug. Water slopped onto the bench when she poured it, with sleep-deprived clumsiness, into the drip machine. Ignoring the puddle, she grabbed a fresh paper filter, spooned in coffee grounds, flicked the switch and let the appliance do its work.

Done, she turned, and, still wrapped in a disorientated fog, pulled herself upstairs to wake Thomas.

She found him awake, dressed in a half-zip sweater of grey-marl wool and a pair of navy chinos which hugged his long legs in a way that should have been illegal. Standing, hands on hips, he looked every inch a model surveying his perfectly organised packs, ensuring that all was in order — as if it wouldn't be.

He turned to look at her, his hair slicked back, face freshly shaved with a slight-pink sheen, the scent of bergamot and clove emanating from him.

She reached up to touch her hair, feeling a mass of static fuzz as she caught a whiff of her own scent: Eau d'Sweaty Sleep. With a loud huff, she spun on her heels and stomped downstairs.

The sound of a low burbling improved her mood slightly as she descended. She pulled a mug out of the cupboard and poured. Drops continued to flow from the drip-filter, falling on the hot element and filling the air with the smell of burnt coffee. She didn't mind; the scent was familiar. Any morning could, at least partially, be cured with a good cuppa. As she drank slowly, savouring the flavour, her temper cooled.

A succession of dull, steady thumps sounded. Without turning, she grabbed another cup, poured, and thumped the drink down an arm's length away.

"Er ... thanks — I think."

Nadia sniffed.

"Have I done something wrong?"

She shrugged.

"Are you still angry at me for buying the tickets?"

She sighed and considered. Yes, she was. Fucking pissed off. Who the hell did he think he was? She'd never had anything for free, not even pocket money. All she had, had been earned. The situation made her extremely uncomfortable. And what did he want? She couldn't quite place it. None of it made sense to her.

What ticked her off the most, what worried her, was that a treacherous part of her liked it. Liked having a rich and handsome man coming to her rescue. Loved when he kissed her. Pah! She was a traitor to feminists around the world.

Even worse, soon she would be stuck around Khai. This thought struck her. Hadn't she wanted that?

"Nadia?"

She stamped her foot and turned to face Thomas. He gazed down at her. His blue eyes were soft and gleaming as his graceful fingers speared through his hair, leaving new tracks.

Unconsciously, her attention diverted to her peripheral vision, and she glimpsed her reflection in a mirror. Her hair was a snarled mess.

She snapped. "How can you be so — so bloody chirpy?"

Thomas' mouth twitched at the corner, quivering almost infinitesimally. The movement was brief, but he could not hide the twinkling in his eyes.

The cocky bastard. "I thought you were supposed to be a gentleman."

"I am," he said politely, though a hint of insult tainted his impeccable enunciation.

"Huh? I didn't think gentlemen laughed at ladies."

"I'm not laughing."

"My arse you're not." She narrowed her eyes at him and leaned in close. "Just because I can't hear it doesn't mean you're not."

A grin spread across his face. "You're not exactly what I would call a lady." He took a long, slow sip of his coffee, eyes fixed on her.

She wiggled, feeling naked under his scrutiny. His eyes were too unsettling. Too ... She dismissed the thought, unready for its conclusion, and mimicked an aristocratic accent instead. "Just because I don't act all la-di-da and wear designer clothes, it doesn't mean ..." As she spoke, she waved her left hand in the air and tweaked her right pinky finger as she daintily held her mug. She went on for a time until his taciturn demeanour sapped the oxygen from her words and they died on a mumbled expletive.

Thomas raised one thick brow and curled a long forefinger under her chin, pulling it up. She trembled. He was getting more and more forward each day, and the behaviour put her on high-alert. He said he wouldn't try anything. He seemed safe. And yet ...

"You don't have to go, you know," he said. His eyes, the colour of a summer sky, locked on her and drew her in. Mesmerised, she stood transfixed. He continued. "I meant it as a kindness. Don't you trust me?"

About as much as a stoat dancing around a rabbit, she thought and pressed her lips together in a tight line.

He exhaled. "I won't go if you wish," he said on a sigh. "But hell, Nadia, you need to stop this."

"Stop what?"

"Treating me like your lackey."

"Your lackey!?"

He teetered on the balls of his feet, stretching to his full stature for a moment, and then, when she flinched, slumped back to the earth, balancing from one foot to the other, not quite meeting her gaze.

"I know you have let me follow you, that I asked it of you, and I know you don't like me paying your way. But ..." Nadia's head jerked up at the tone in his voice. His next words were infused with a quiet nobility which seemed to sink into her very bones. "I expect to be treated with respect."

A chill washed over her. She'd done it again. Acted like a bitch to this, albeit, not-quite-so-innocent man.

Then he spoke. "I don't suppose you behaved this way around him? Perhaps that's why −"

"No!"

She was far from perfect. Eccentric — maybe even a little unstable. But to Khai, she had been her best. Rage at Khai's behaviour blazed through her. She stormed off, plonking down on the bed and splashing coffee across her already grubby track pants. "Oh, you fucking cun−"

Thomas' round, incredulous eyes cut the word short.

Okay, no C-word around Mr Proper. Unable to exit her mouth, the release leaked out her eyes instead, heavy tears that welled at the corners of her lips in hot, salty pools.

He was there in a heartbeat, arms around her, pulling her against him and shushing her sobs. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry — I was a cad."

But this only made her cry more. She shook her head, pushing her hair back from her face.

"No, you're not." He wasn't. He was kind and compassionate — or, perhaps, the consummate predator? No, it was just that she had never been treated like this. Oh God, is this why I have never fallen for a nice guy? Do I date jerks to keep my mean streak in line? Well, if so, it needed to stop.

"You're right." Sniffing, she glanced up at him, "I've been horrible, I'm so —"

He reached out a hand and gently stroked her cheek. "You still love the idiot, don't you?"

Did she? She wasn't quite sure. Not so long ago she had. But now ... "He's been my idiot for years." That was true.

For a moment, Thomas' expression turned sad. He shook himself and smiled. "Come." He stood and offered his hand. "You look a fright. Let's get you sorted."

She took it, letting him tickle his thumb against her palm in a way that made her stomach flutter.

"Given the current state of affairs, it is imperative you look a million dollars."

They boarded the bus a little over an hour later and were wrapped in heat, diesel fumes and the smell of old rubber. The motor vibrated underfoot with a low thrum.

Ahead, faces assessed them, neutral, but curious enough to raise the hairs on Nadia's neck. Had Khai said anything?

She spotted him straight away. He sat in the middle of the back row, hand holding Savannah's. When he caught Nadia's gaze, he glowered. His expression turned to a smirk as he said something inaudible. Savannah smiled, shook her head, and tucked a lock of glossy black hair behind an ear.

Nausea drained through Nadia's body, but somehow, despite her red eyes and dripping nose, she walked erectly forward — until Savannah kissed Khai. Nadia froze on a gasp, breathing deep.

A gentle nudge from behind redirected her attention. Shaking herself, she took one step, and another, turning her head left and right as she forced herself into character: an excited tourist, brimming to the seams with anticipation. "G'day! Morning! Buenos!" She was going to make a positive first impression if it killed her.

Thomas' hand on the small of her back slowed her. An empty pair of seats waited on her right. They were, thankfully, not too close to the rear. She stilled as Thomas pulled her satchel off, the gentle brush of his fingers causing a pleasant shiver.

She turned and smiled her thanks, stripped off her jacket and beanie, and slid in, resting an elbow on the thin metal sill.

With nose pressed against the damp, cold window, she peered out at the dark street trying to ignore the fist squeezing her heart. The press of Thomas' weight on the neighbouring seat caused her own to lift and her heels raised off the floor. Her exhalation of breath fogged the glass.

"He's a half-wit," he stated frankly.

Nadia breathed harder. The fog spread and became an opaque oval. Stretching out her forefinger, she drew two parallel vertical lines, followed by two horizontal ones, and put an 'X' in the centre square.

A chuckle came from behind her. The window reflected Thomas' hand as it slipped past her neck. He continued to speak. "But you're not."

She didn't respond.

His finger squeaked as he traced a slow circle in the top-right space. "I think you have already won — that is if you keep your attention on your goal."

A cold sliver trickled down Nadia's spine.

They rocked at a violent thud from the back of the bus. A man's shadow passed outside and thumps reverberated on the side of the vehicle when he pounded his fist. "Listo!" The idling engine revved and jerked into action.

Nadia sketched a diagonal line through a series of three 'X's.

"Your game," Thomas said.

"Hmm."

He rested his left hand on her shoulder and his right fist, bunched in the sleeve of his pullover, swept past her face, leaving a memory of lavender wool wash. He rubbed the window clear.

Outside, beyond the ghosted reflection of their profiles, frost glistened like icing sugar across smooth granite cobblestones. They resembled baked goods stacked side by side, waiting for the world to waken. And it was. The faintest glimmer of the rising sun lit the city.

"It's your game," he repeated, his breath warm and humid on her nape. "I could help you." She made to turn, but his body held her. "You just have to tell me."

"I don't know what you mean." As she spoke, she made out his reflected features looking down at her, tentative, full of sympathy, and something else. Something calculated?

A hand stole around and fastened gently on her own, thumbing the exposed flesh, like she had seen Khai do to ... And with a shock, she realised what he was suggesting.

She tried to pull her hand out of his, but he held on, continuing to caress her skin. "They say that happiness is the best revenge." Her breath caught, then she exhaled, but remained speechless. "Sometimes, all you have to do is pretend."

Without thinking, she stroked his hand in response. The dark-blonde hairs tickled her fingertips as she considered his proposition. He had a point — jealousy was a powerful tool. If Khai and her relationship were to stand a fighting chance, she needed to use any weapon in her arsenal. Even if the act was underhanded. Even if it felt like moving on.

She shook the thought from her head. All was fair in love in war. And having a man to hug and kiss couldn't be such a bad thing. Her heart started to trill at the idea. A pool of warmth spread down low. He was an active participator in this, after all.

She nodded and squeezed.

"Don't worry." He turned her around, so she faced the front of the bus as they wound out of the city, then leaned down and whispered. "I will help you make him realise what he lost — what he could have had."

She was too tired to register that his words didn't quite match the plan.

Still holding her hand, he cupped her cheek and pulled her head to rest on his shoulder. Nadia closed dry, heavy eyes and sagged into instant relief.

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

Listo! — Ready!

Photo by Charles "Duck" Unitas on Unsplash.