Chapter 3

March had come and gone, and with it, the first month of Matilda living at the Continental had passed easily. She had managed to pick up a few easy jobs, and in the months that followed more and more people had heard her name. By December, she had a respectable amount of cash and gold to her name. It was cold outside, but on that particular Saturday night, Matilda sat with Winston at a booth in the Continental Club, enjoying a beer.

"So, you're leaving my fine establishment soon then?" Winston asked a note of sadness in his tone.

Matilda grinned, taking a swig from her bottle. "If I don't leave soon, I never will." She set the bottle on the table, her finger running gently, up and down the side. "You do your job well. I've loved calling the Continental home. But I think I'll start looking at apartments in the city soon." Matilda took another drink of her porter. "I'll be able to leave after the New Year."

"But you will visit?"

"Of course. I wouldn't stay anywhere else while I'm working." She grinned lovingly at him.

Winston smiled at the young woman and took a sip of his own drink. In the nine months she had spent at the hotel, they had developed a closeness he could have only dreamed about. They had spent a while straining around the awkwardness their relationship had held, but now she saw him in the fatherly light she had once as a little girl. Though the subject of her father never came up, Winston was fine to leave that topic lie while he could. He was just happy to have family around once more.

A subject that did come up once every few months, however, was John Wick. Winston took special note whenever he saw Wick was staying at the Continental and noticed that Matilda hung around in the Club more, on the weekends John stayed. Though the two never interacted, he could not help but feel that Wick was the reason she was more social. She would bring it up innocuously, ask what contract he might have taken up. But she would stare if he passed, could find him in the darkened bar with no trouble, like she was tracking his movements.

Winston found that John was much the same about Matilda. John moved like he was aware of where she was, of where she looked. He stared when he thought she couldn't see, many times not paying Winston any attention. The few times John had been caught looking he'd had the decency to look ashamed, but Winston had just smiled. They had no idea that they were so aware of each other, after only one meeting in an elevator nine months before. It was warming and painful and Winston didn't know quite what to make of it except that if Matilda left this hotel without talking to John, he'd lose his damn mind.

"Well my dear, I'm glad to hear your compliments. The hotel will be sad to see you go, of course." Winston cleared his throat. "I'll be sad to see you go. I've enjoyed having a companion…and you've grown into such an educated and capable young woman. I'm very proud of you." He took a sip of his martini. "I don't think I've said that yet."

She shook her head, trying to control tears that threatened. "You're too sweet, really. Thank you." She smiled at him, happiness blooming like a warmth in her chest. Mixed with the warmth of her drink, she was starting to relax. "I appreciate that." She finished her beer and set it to the side, crossing her fingers in front of her on the table.

"Would you be willing to help me comb through the classifieds on Monday? I don't' have a job lined up for a couple of days, I thought maybe we could spend some time together?"

Winston rose a brow. "You want me to go through newspaper ads trying to find my daughter an apartment? Darling, I have one of the best real estate agents in the city on speed dial. I'll give him a call Monday morning and have him clear his schedule."

Matilda laughed, clear and short. "You really don't have to Winston. How hard could it be to find an apartment in New York?"

"I want you to think about what you just said and then get back to me." He replied.

Winston took the last sip of his martini and licked his lips. Setting it down, he looked up to the bar to see John Wick walking into the club.

"Darling, would you get me another drink?" He asked Matilda kindly.

She nodded her head sweetly, smiling at the old man. "If I must." She took their glasses and stood. Before she walked off she gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek and turned on her heel towards the bar.

Winston smiled in the dark light, and put on his glasses, and opened his ledger. He hoped she wouldn't come back at all tonight and would instead find something more…interesting to do with her evening than keep him company.

Matilda weaved her way through the crowded dance floor and strutted up to an open spot at the bar. She found a very familiar profile next to her; John Wick.

She looked up at him discreetly and saw that he was doing the same to her. She smiled and plucked up her courage.

"Good evening Mr. Wick."

He looked momentarily taken aback, before he wiped any expression from his face and adopted a cool façade. It was betrayed by the flickering candlelight that revealed the pink tinge to his cheeks.

"Good evening Miss Baier." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "How are you tonight?"

Matilda set the empty glasses down on the bar before turning her head to look up at John. "Well, that depends," she drawled. "Are you going to buy me a drink?" She asked bravely.

There was just something about John Wick that she couldn't ignore, much as she had tried. It was a bad idea to become entangled with him. She was sure of that. Because of her, or because of him, she was uncertain. But she wanted to roll the dice and see anyway. Maybe they would get lucky and it could be a no strings encounter that would leave them both satisfied. Or they could get luckier and come to the mutual agreement that being in the hotel together, meant being together. The only other outcome Matilda saw was she and John having a lovely evening, and parting ways. After two years with Lauren, and the heartache that London had become, she wasn't looking for serious.

John looked down at the bar, smiling almost to himself and looked at her. His eyes betrayed nothing, his one hand on the bar stayed still and flat. But he was roving her with his mind. Taking in every little detail of her, talking himself into and out of the situation he had been presented with. There were so many reasons he should just tell her to have a good night and walk away. There were so many reasons to have a good night with her.

Taking a deep breath, "What are you having?" He asked, smiling, a twinkle in his eye.

"Well I was enjoying a rather lovely porter. I think however, I'll switch to whatever you're having." She leaned closer to him, smiling coyly. "And another for Winston of course, though I think a passing waitress can deliver him his drink this time."

John turned to the bartender, Noah, and crisply ordered a martini for Winston, and a bourbon for his new companion. Matilda took her drink in one hand, her godfathers in the other, and the two stepped away from the bar.

"So, John, where would you like to sit?" She asked, looking around for a server while she did so.

"There's a little booth right in the back that I usually enjoy. I don't believe I see anyone sitting there." He pointed towards where Winston was sitting.

Matilda followed his gesture and saw a few booths behind her usual companion. Nodding her head in silent agreement, the pair started walking. As they passed by Winston, Matilda dropped off his drink and gave him a light kiss on the head.

"I'm afraid I found some other company for tonight. I hope that's alright." She whispered.

"Of course, darling. I trust that you'll find Mr. Wick to be entertaining." He winked at her before settling back into his seat, returning to his ledger.

Unsure of how to process what Winston was trying to imply, Matilda brushed off the thought and joined her date at the booth he had picked. She crossed her legs as she sat and stared at the man across from her.

"So, what are we celebrating for you tonight, John?" She asked, taking a sip of her bourbon.

John took an uncomfortable sip of his alcohol. "What we always celebrate here. A job well done."

Matilda cocked her head, taking a long look at him. "Do you like what we do?"

"I'm good at what we do. But I suppose that's not what you're asking." He looked thoughtful for a moment, wistful almost, before he took another sip. "I'm good at it. At this point, I'm not sure anything else matters."

She shook her head in disagreement, "Of course it matters. It's how you feel after all. There's always time to get out somehow, find another life."

"I did." He looked down at his lap, suddenly uncomfortable. "I got married, had a real life, outside of…all this."

"Can I ask what happened?"

"What always happens. She was sick. And then she wasn't anymore."

Matilda watched as the man before her, who seconds ago had been a little awkward, but confident and sure, seemed to wither a little before her. His shoulders slumped, and his head seemed to hang with every word that came out of his mouth. "I am so sorry, John. Really. I…I know how that feels."

John looked up at her to see the young woman cross her elbows in front of her chest, a half frown forming on her face. "It was why I left London, actually. I was…seeing someone. We weren't married…but I think we would've been." She smiled wistfully, tucking a hair behind her ear, as she remembered. "But he died. He got very sick and I spent everything I had trying to make him comfortable."

"I'm sorry too." John reached a hand across the table, settling it against her arm. "I'm sorry you know that pain."

Matilda put a hand over his, feeling the warmth, and the calloused skin. It was comforting in that moment, and it made her brave again. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

He blinked, and stared at her, wondering if he had heard correctly.

"If you don't, then that's perfectly alright, but…I don't think I fancy being alone tonight…and I like you John." Her honey colored eyes bore into his, open as she could be, letting him see her pain, her ache, but also her desire. This wasn't the road she had imagined, but it was the intended destination.

John took his hand back out from underneath hers, and sat for a moment, silent. She sat still and watched as he very carefully lifted his glass to his lips, finished his bourbon, and stood. Her breath hitched, realizing he was leaving her without a word. Of course. She was surprised then to see him stop next to her; a hand outstretched.

"Yes."

The warmth in his gaze as she took his hand told her everything, she needed to know about how this night would end for the two of them. It would be slow, and languorous, and long. Explorative. An evening the two of them needed; had needed, for at least a year. They would find companionship and forget, for just a few hours, the troubles that shackled their hearts. They walked hand in hand out of the club, to the elevator, and arrived moments later at the tenth floor. Matilda led him to her room, where she shut the door, and neither emerged for the rest of the evening, and most of the morning.