Chapter 13 – Roman
ROMAN
The Yucatán heat nails us in the face like a one-two punch. Honestly, I’m shocked we got here. Yes, I had to come for work, but I thought after everything that happened in Vegas, Braelyn would have fled home. The girl continues to surprise me.
“Yeesh. Glad I didn’t bother to straighten my hair,” Braelyn comments, taking her curls and twisting them up on top of her head into a bun.
Despite her best efforts, she has some gravity-defying wisps framing her face.
“This humidity is no joke. All week I’m going to look like I’ve been electrocuted. ”
“That’s different from how you regularly look?”
She smacks my arm, making me laugh. “Curly hair is both a blessing and a curse. Same with freckled skin and seeing how bright that sun is outside those doors, I’m going to have to be liberal with the SPF.”
Yesterday, it was like she finally switched to vacation mode, shut off her brain, and stopped asking questions about the details.
Then again, she was pretty fried after our all-night walk.
She spent most of yesterday lounging by the pool while I was at the restaurant for a few hours, making sure everything was as it should be.
Now we’re here, and even though I’m here to work, being in Mexico and going to a resort for a week feels different than it did in Vegas.
“Come on. The car’s waiting for us.”
Her phone rings in her purse and she fishes it out, only to tense. Adam. She sends him to voicemail and a moment later, my phone rings. Great.
“Are you going to answer him?” she asks.
“Not right now.”
“What will you tell him when you speak to him?”
“Not that we’re married, don’t worry.” Shockingly, it’s been an easier secret to keep than I anticipated. I simply removed my wedding band before I went to the restaurant yesterday and that was that. “I don’t know. I’ll figure that out before I call him back.”
Without another word, I wheel our bags over to where the car is waiting for us. No luggage pickup here. We had to go through customs. The driver collects our things and we settle in for the drive. Thirty-five minutes later, we pull into the main building, and I get a look.
“This is very swanky.”
“It’s a reserve.”
Her eyes are glued to the grounds and the Caribbean Ocean, playing peekaboo as we glide through toward the main building. “Not a resort?”
“It’s both.”
“Roman, I didn’t say much about the villa in Vegas, but shit. I can’t let you pay for me here, business expense or not. It has to be a couple of grand a night.”
“I had my assistant get us another villa. It’s all done. No arguing.”
She huffs and folds her arms, but there is no getting over the azure water or the breathtaking landscape.
I’ve never been down here before, and I’m already in love.
We climb out of the car, shielding our eyes from the sun, and head into the cool lobby that feels like a breath of fresh air on our heated skin.
“Hola. Welcome,” a greeter says, holding a tray of pink drinks with pretty flowers in them. “Hibiscus agua fresca?”
“Sí. Gracias.” Braelyn accepts a glass despite her silent protest with me, and I take one as well, the cool sweetness welcome, even here in the air-conditioned lobby.
“Mr. Fritz, we’re delighted you and Ms. Albright are here,” the receptionist says to me as Braelyn meanders around the lobby, taking in the sculptures and art.
Probably because she doesn’t want to hear what I’m paying a night here.
“We have you set up in one of our Cortes beachfront villas. It’s on an upper floor, with magnificent views as well as a private terrace and plunge pool.
I am sorry to inform you that we were unable to grant the request your assistant made for a room change.
Unfortunately, our resort is full this week as it’s also spring break in America and Europe. ”
Oh shit. That’s going to cause a problem. For both of us.
“There are no other accommodations?”
“No, sir. I apologize. We have you in our finest villa, though.”
He launches into a spiel about experiences that celebrate nature as well as soul-nourishing wellness rituals.
The spa, the pools, the cabanas. I stop listening until he describes the other restaurants, and then I’m all ears.
They already broke ground on my restaurant, and I have meetings lined up all week with designers, chefs, and restaurant managerial staff.
“Miguel will show you to your villa, senor. Please enjoy your stay and we are most excited to see your restaurant come to life here.”
“Gracias. Brae?” I call out and wave for her.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to tell her about the villa and now my heart is starting to pound.
I text my assistant, who replies instantly that she just got the notification about it an hour ago and has been working to see what else she can do. But there’s nothing to do.
The resort is full. It’s spring break in Cancun.
We follow Miguel, our personal attendant, through the property, a winding path that takes us past immaculate landscaped gardens full of tropical plants and flowers. The resort unfolds in levels down toward the ocean, with an endless blue horizon. It’s paradise. No two ways about it.
We’re led to our villa, a spacious oasis on the edge of the beach with all ocean views and a stunning living space, a magnificent private pool with an outdoor lounge as well as an eating area, an enormous bathroom with both an indoor and outdoor shower, and… one large king bed.
Braelyn notices it the moment I do, and her head swivels toward me with the speed of a meteor crashing to earth.
Miguel is prattling on about the hammock and temperature controls for the pool and the sound system and the fully stocked private bar. That’s all great, but not anywhere close to where our focus is at the moment. She’s going to eviscerate me.
I tip him generously and close the door behind him, waiting as silence expands, filling every corner of the suite.
Braelyn stands in the center of the living room, her arms folded, her expression a complex mixture of emotions that for once, I can’t decipher.
“One bed,” she finally says, and it’s not a question. It’s an accusation.
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrow. “Did you request that?”
“No,” I defend. “This is the villa I originally had for myself. I asked my assistant to change it to a two-bedroom suite in the main part of the hotel because they don’t have two-bedroom villas here. They weren’t able to accommodate us because it’s spring break week.”
“Roman…” She trails off and storms out toward the terrace as if she doesn’t know what to say. Slowly, I trail her and find her staring out at the ocean that stretches endlessly before us, an intense blue meeting the equally blue sky in a line so sharp it looks as though it was drawn using a ruler.
“Brae?”
“I’ll let the money stuff go even if I’m not happy about it. But what do we do about the bed situation?”
“I’ll press them a bit and see when another room or suite will become available,” I offer.
“I can’t ask you to pay for another suite or have you move.”
My lips bounce as I catch the latter part, despite her deadpan tone. “I’d be the one moving, huh?”
“Well…” She pans her hands around. “I mean, yeah. Look at this place. I’m not switching rooms to something less. It’s my non-honeymoon.”
My eyebrows lift. “Your non-honeymoon?”
“I am technically a newlywed.”
I gesture back toward the inside. “So this is our honeymoon suite then?”
“Non-honeymoon suite,” she corrects. “Except I didn’t intend to share the bed with my husband.”
My hands meet the back of my head, my elbows butterflied out. “At least I know you didn’t marry me for my money the way every other woman tries to.”
I get an eye roll. “Your money is one of my least favorite things about you.”
“So what’s your favorite then?” I counter, giving her a challenging eyebrow.
She puffs out a small laugh. “I’ll tell you later after we’re done fighting about this.”
“I can sleep on the sofa.” Though the idea of spending seven nights on the admittedly beautiful but likely uncomfortable couch makes my back twinge preemptively.
She shakes her head. “You’re too big for the sofa. You’ll be in traction, and I don’t want to have to nurse you back to health. I’m off-duty this week.”
“I don’t know what else to do, Braelyn. You’re not going to fit on that sofa either.”
She turns around, her hair that’s escaping her bun whipping in the wind before she unexpectedly marches inside and through the suite to the bedroom. I follow and watch as she jumps backward onto the bed, her arms and legs spread wide like a starfish.
“What are you doing?”
“This bed is huge.” She moves her arms and legs like she’s making a snow angel. “We could probably both sleep here without knowing the other person is there.”
My heart picks up a few extra beats, though I work to keep my expression neutral and the hope simmering in my stomach down. “You’re okay with that? We’ll have to share the bathroom too.”
“Roman, I’ve seen you in nothing but your gym shorts with a split lip and possibly a fractured rib after those ridiculous fights. I’ve held your head and rubbed your back as you threw up tequila on my twenty-first birthday. I also walked in on you fucking… what was her name?”
I huff out a breath and climb onto the bed beside her. “I wasn’t fucking her.”
“You were both naked.”
“I was twenty-three. That was a very long time ago.”
“I know. I was seventeen, and I remember it. You look different shirtless now. More muscles and ink. I’ll manage.”
I prop myself up and stare down at her. “Are you sure?”
“We’re both adults, and it’s just sleeping.”
Disappointment ripples through me, but it’s no less than what I was expecting. Or what I’m used to fighting when it comes to wanting something I’ll never have with her.
“Right,” I agree with an empty laugh. “Just sleeping.”