Chapter 6 Tania #2
Richard heads to the desk first. Silas and I wait near the entrance, and I’m acutely aware that we’re about to check into a hotel together for the night.
Silas studies me. “I can get two rooms.”
I nod.
Richard finishes and waves at us. “You’re up.”
But he’s not leaving. Why isn’t he leaving? Silas won’t be able to book two rooms if he’s standing there.
We cross to the desk, and the woman behind it looks up and freezes.
“Mr. Locke.” Her smile is immediate. “It’s an honor.”
Silas gives her a polite closed-mouth smile. “I need a room. One night.”
I understand why he only books one room. Richard is still standing beside us, and newlyweds wouldn’t book two rooms.
She types quickly, cheeks flushed. “Of course. King bed or two queens?”
Silas hesitates. The pause is brief, half a second, but I feel it. He’s thinking about me. About only having one bed.
“One king.” I step forward and smile at the clerk. “We’re newlyweds.”
“Oh! Congratulations.” Her smile wavers. “I saw photos online. Aren’t you with all three brothers? I thought the article said—” She stops and realizes she’s asking questions that are way too personal. “Never mind. One room. King bed.”
Silas hands over his identification and credit card. “Thank you.”
She hands Silas the key cards. “Top floor. Suite. Complimentary champagne.”
Richard claps Silas on the shoulder. “See you both for breakfast. Eight o’clock?”
“We’ll be there.”
We head to the elevator, and I don’t look at Silas until the doors close, and we’re alone.
“I should go back down.” His hand hovers near the elevator button. “We need to get a second room.”
“After I just told her we’re newlyweds?” I lean against the wall. “She recognized you, Silas. What happens when she tells her friends about the Locke brother whose brand-new wife wanted separate rooms?”
His jaw tightens. “Fuck.”
“Exactly.”
He pulls his hand back from the elevator controls, and we ride the rest of the way up.
The suite is beautiful, luxurious. It has a living room, a separate bedroom with French doors, and a bathroom with a large tub for two.
There is a lot of space, but only one bed.
I stand in the doorway and stare at it.
Silas sets his portfolio case on the desk. “I’ll call the concierge. We’ll need clothes for tomorrow. Pajamas. Toiletries.”
“You can do that?”
He picks up the phone. “I can do a lot of things.”
I wander to the window while he talks. The city spreads out below, lights reflecting off wet pavement. Somewhere out there, a jet is grounded, and I’m stuck in a hotel room with a man I’m supposed to be married to.
A man I’m realizing I don’t mind being stuck with.
Silas hangs up. “They’ll bring everything in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you.”
He loosens his tie. “You should shower first.”
I nod and escape to the bathroom before I say something I’ll regret. The hotel provides thick, soft robes. I shower quickly, washing off the day: meetings, dinner, Richard’s scrutiny, Silas’s hand on mine.
When I step out, my reflection is flushed from the hot water, and my hair is damp and curling. I put on the robe, tie it, and return to the bedroom.
Silas is on the phone again, pacing near the window. He glances at me, and his eyes linger on the robe before he looks away.
I sit on the edge of the bed and wait.
He finishes the call and sets the phone down.
I gesture toward the bathroom. “Shower’s yours.”
He grabs the second robe from the closet and disappears into the bathroom. I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the water run.
This is fine. We’re adults. We can share a bed without it meaning anything.
Except I keep thinking about his thumb on my knuckles and the way he paused before answering the woman at the front desk.
The water shuts off. I sit up.
There is a knock at the door, and I answer it. A hotel employee hands me two garment bags and a toiletry case.
“The items you ordered.”
I thank him and close the door.
Inside the bags: pajamas. Real ones, not hotel robes. Soft cotton pants and a matching shirt for me. A similar set for Silas.
I knock on the bathroom door and tell Silas I have his pajamas. He opens the door slightly, and my thighs clench at the thought that he is on the other side of that door naked.
I hand him the pajamas through the small crack, then I change into my own pajamas quickly and climb into bed before he emerges.
When he does, he’s in the pajamas, hair damp, and the effect is striking. He looks younger and almost relaxed.
He stops at the foot of the bed. “I can take the couch.”
“You won’t fit on the couch.”
He looks up at the ceiling, deep in thought, trying to come up with another solution in his mind. “I’ll call housekeeping and ask them to make up the sofa bed.”
I find it funny that he's so nervous about sharing a bed with me. “You understand the problem with that, right?”
It takes him a second. “If I call down to the front desk, I risk speaking to the same woman who checked us in, who will find it odd that newlyweds need two beds.”
“Exactly,” I respond. “Because who knows if that will end up in gossip magazines if she suspects trouble in our relationship.”
He blows out a breath.
I pull the blanket up. “We’re adults. We can share a bed.”
He studies me for another beat. Then nods.
“Don’t tell your brother.” A hint of amusement creeps into his voice. “I’d like to live to my thirtieth birthday.”
I snort. “Silas Locke, was that a joke?”
He smiles. “Maybe.”
He turns off the lights, and the room goes dark except for the glow from the city outside. The mattress dips as he climbs in. We’re both on opposite sides, a canyon of space between us.
I close my eyes and try to sleep.
“Tania.”
I open them. “Yeah?”
“Thank you for how you handled the hotel situation.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It is.” He shifts. “You didn’t have to make it easy. You did anyway.”
I turn onto my side, facing him in the dark. His outline is barely visible.
“It seemed like the right thing to do.”
Silence.
The darkness makes me braver than I should be. I rarely get Silas alone, and this feels like a wasted opportunity if I don’t at least try to get to know him better. But I don’t know what questions to ask.
“You work a lot.” I immediately feel stupid for saying something so obvious.
He nods. “I do.”
“Have you had to take on a lot more since your dad died?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t immediately elaborate, but then he continues. “The company. The will. The trust. The inheritance clause.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
I trace the edge of the pillowcase with my finger. “Tell me about him. Your dad.”
“My dad was an asshole.” He chuckles. “He was detached. He never actually knew us. I didn’t want him to die, but I can’t say I miss him.”
The honesty catches me off guard. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He pauses. “What about yours? Your dad. I never met him.”
“I don’t remember him at all. He left when I was little. Ben barely remembers him.”
“That must have been hard.”
“My mom made it work.” I pull the blanket higher. “My mom worked at the prep school. That’s how we could afford it, which you already know. The faculty housing was tiny, but it was ours. She made sure we had what we needed.”
“But not what you wanted.”
I pause. “No. Not always.”
We’re both quiet after that. The city hums outside. Rain starts, light and rhythmic against the windows.
I close my eyes, and sleep pulls me under.
Hours later, I wake to warmth.
But I’m not wrapped up in blankets and pillows. The warmth is coming from Silas. His arm is around my waist, my back pressed against his chest, his breathing slow and even against my neck.
I’m on his side of the bed. Or he’s on mine. I don’t remember moving.
I should pull away and pretend this didn’t happen. I don’t.
His arm tightens slightly, and his breathing changes. He’s awake.
Neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks.
I feel his chest rise and fall. The weight of his arm around my waist. The heat of him against my back, my legs, and everywhere we’re touching.
His thumb moves in small circles against my hip bone through the thin cotton of my pajamas.
Everything inside me tightens, and I inhale sharply. Involuntarily, of course.
He heard it. His hand goes still for half a second before his fingers spread wider across my stomach.
I feel his warm exhale against my neck. I’m not imagining this.
But neither of us acknowledges what’s happening.
His lips press against my hair. Not quite a kiss. Just warmth and pressure and the exhale that comes after.
I wait for him to pull away. He doesn’t. His arm tightens, pulling me closer, and I let him.
This is a mistake. But I don’t move, and neither does he, and eventually, sleep drags us both back under.
Morning light wakes me the second time. I’m on my side of the bed. Silas is on his.
The space between us is back, and I wonder if I imagined the whole thing. Except I can still feel where his arm was, and where his breath touched my neck.
Silas stirs, opens his eyes, and focuses on me. “Good morning.”
I blink, still waking up. “Good morning.”
He sits up, and then we get ready in silence. I don’t know if I am upset or grateful that we’re both choosing to ignore what happened last night.
When we meet Richard for breakfast, Silas’s hand finds the small of my back, and I lean into him like it’s natural.
And maybe it is.