Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Max pulled my suitcase out of the back of his Range Rover while I stood frozen in place, staring at the grand stone building where my cousin’s wedding and reception were taking place like it was my doom.
“You look like you’re about to face a firing squad,” Max teased, slinging his fancy Italian leather duffel over his shoulder.
I tore my gaze away from the hotel’s exterior, forcing a small laugh. “I didn’t expect everyone to be here already.” Through the double doors, I could see members of my extended family milling around the lobby, dressed in coordinated burgundy and pink outfits—Melody’s request for the rehearsal dinner—chatting like they didn’t have a care in the world.
“You knew we had to get this over with at some point. Better now than at the rehearsal itself, right?”
I shot him a glare as I grabbed my bag from his outstretched hand.
“Relax, Han,” Max said softly, stepping close enough to wrap his arm around my shoulder. “We’ve got this.”
And for a moment, I almost believed him.
Inside, the lobby was a hive of activity. Three of my great-aunts were clustered around the foot of the grand staircase, gossiping like it was their job, while some of my many cousins’ kids darted between luggage carts while their frazzled parents shouted after them. Max kept his arm firmly around me as we made our way to the front desk, playing his part perfectly—though after several days of carefully maintained distance, even this casual contact had my nerves firing on all cylinders.
The desk clerk glanced up as I approached. He wore the harried look of someone barely hanging onto their last shred of patience. “Welcome to the Harrington Hotel. Checking in?”
“Yes. Hannah Carlisle,” I said, sliding him my driver’s license.
Behind me, I could practically feel the stares of at least six relatives, including the most judgemental of the bunch, my mother’s sister, Aunt Bettina.
The clerk typed something into the computer, his brows furrowing for a moment before he said, “Ah, yes. There it is. A junior suite with a king-sized bed.”
I started to nod my head in agreement until I realized what he’d just said. One bed, not the two I’d specifically paid for.
“Umm, no. I specifically reserved a room with two beds,” I whispered as I glanced over my shoulder to see my terrible cousins Rachel and Jessica lounging in a nearby sitting area, their heads bent together as they discussed what I could only assume was the latest bit of family gossip. The last thing I needed was for them to overhear this conversation. “Can you check again, please?”
The clerk—Brandon, according to his name tag—tapped at his keyboard with growing uncertainty as he squinted at the screen. “I’m really sorry, ma’am, but I’m only showing one reservation under Hannah Carlisle for a junior suite with a king-sized bed.”
“That’s impossible.” I fumbled for my phone, pulling up the confirmation email. “See? One standard room with two queen beds; says it right here.” There was no way I could have ever afforded a suite in a hotel like this, and I never would have booked a room with only one bed.
Brandon’s expression turned apologetic as he glanced at my phone. “Yes, I see that.”He clicked several more keys, frowning even more. “There may have been some kind of glitch in our system, or perhaps you’re one of the lucky guests who received a complimentary upgrade?” He glanced uncertainly between Max and me, clearly not understanding what the problem was.
“But we need two separate beds,” I protested, my voice rising slightly before Max squeezed my shoulder gently. I could feel myself starting to spiral, so I forced myself to pull a deep breath into my lungs and let it out slowly, counting to five as I did.
“I understand, ma’am. And truly, I’m incredibly sorry for the error. I’ve made a note of it in the system for the general manager to look into it further so that something like this doesn’t happen in the future. Unfortunately, for today, there’s nothing I can do. Your original room has already been assigned to another guest.”
Max’s arm slid from my shoulders to my lower back, and even that slight adjustment in his touch felt like a live wire against my skin. After six days of deliberately trying to put space between us after our kiss, the simple touch threatened to be my undoing.
“And there’s no suite available with two queen beds instead? I’m willing to pay for the upgrade if needed,” I said, my voice turning pleading.
Max’s hand dropped from my back—the loss of contact leaving me feeling oddly bereft. He reached into his jacket to pull out his wallet, retrieving a credit card I was sure didn’t come with a spending limit. He set it down on the counter, a silent offer to pay for it instead.
Brandon shook his head apologetically, his pained expression seeming to beg us for understanding. Knowing my mom’s loud, brash family, the poor man had probably been yelled at multiple times already this afternoon. “I’m truly sorry. We’re completely booked with the DeLuca-Moretti wedding. You’re lucky to have a room here at all. We had to move several friends of the groom to our sister hotel this morning.”
I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles turning white.
One room. One bed.
The universe wasn’t just conspiring against me; it was actively trying to kill me.
Brandon continued typing away at his keyboard, his eyes flicking briefly between Max’s shiny American Express card and his screen. “Well, there is one of two premium suites available. Typically, it would have been rented in conjunction with the bridal suite for the groom and his attendants, but for whatever reason, that hasn’t happened. It doesn’t have two beds, but it does feature a separate living area with a pull-out sofa, so it’s almost like having two rooms,” he offered hopefully as he swung the computer screen around to show us a photograph of what could only be described as the most beautiful hotel room I’d ever laid eyes on.
Brandon’s description of the suite didn’t do it justice. The photos showed a sprawling sanctuary bathed in natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a private balcony. A magnificent four-poster bed was draped in crisp white linens and accented with what I could only guess were cashmere throws in shades of pale blue and gray. A separate sitting area boasted a leather Chesterfield sofa and mahogany tables, all arranged to take advantage of both the sweeping views and the elegant fireplace. The ensuite bathroom was a masterpiece of veined marble and polished chrome, featuring a deep soaking tub positioned beneath a crystal chandelier and a separate glass-enclosed rainfall shower large enough for two—a detail I immediately tried to force from my mind.
I stared at the photo, my mouth going dry. The room wasn’t just beautiful; it was romantic. Intimate. The kind of suite honeymooners dreamed about.
I opened my mouth to protest—there was no way I could let Max spend that kind of money on a room like this—but he was already nodding. “We’ll take it.”
And I was going to have to share it with Max.
Brandon’s relief was palpable as he swiped Max’s credit card from the counter. “Wonderful. Let me just run this and grab your keys.”
I turned to Max, ready to argue in earnest, but the words died in my throat. His expression was carefully neutral to anyone who might not know him, but there was a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before. His eyes flickered to photographs on the computer screen, lingering for a beat too long before snapping back to mine.
“Max,” I hissed under my breath. “That room has to cost a fortune.”
“It’s fine,” he said softly, though something in his voice suggested it was anything but. “I’ll take the sofa.”
“That’s not the point?—”
“Hannah.” The way he said my name—low and rough like a man might speak his lover’s name in the heat of the moment— made heat immediately pool in my belly. “It’s two nights. We’ll make it work.”
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore how my body hummed. Two nights. In a beautiful, romantic hotel suite. With the man I’d been secretly in love with since I was a little girl. The man who, less than a week ago, had kissed me senseless. What could possibly go wrong?
Brandon returned with our keys and directions to the elevator, and I watched as Max signed the registration card, his movements controlled but somehow lacking his usual effortless grace. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he handed back the pen.
“All set,” Brandon announced. “Room 742. Elevators are to your right.”
Max grabbed both our bags before I could protest, and we made our way to the elevator bank. As we passed the sitting area, my Aunt Marie called out, “Hannah! You two make such a handsome couple!”
I managed a weak wave, painfully aware of my cousins’ knowing smirks. This was fine. Everything was fine. I just had to survive two nights in a hotel suite with Max Bennett without completely losing my mind.
The elevator doors closed behind us, and I let out a shaky breath. In the confined space, Max’s cologne wrapped around me like a heady fog. When I dared to glance at him, he was staring straight ahead, his grip on our bags white-knuckled.
Well. At least I wasn’t the only one affected by this situation.
We stopped in front of the door to our suite, and Max swiped his key card against the small black square to unlock it. The door swung open, revealing a small marble foyer that opened into a suite even more breathtaking in person than in the photos we’d been shown. A beautiful winter sunset glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in a burnished light that made the whole space feel almost ethereal.
I stepped inside, trying to ignore how my heart hammered against my ribs as I slowly wandered the space, my jaw practically hanging open. The photos hadn’t captured the little details that made the space feel so intimate—the way an already-lit gas fireplace cast dancing shadows across the walls, the subtle scent of fresh flowers from an arrangement on the entry table, the plush carpet that made me want to kick off my shoes and curl up by the fire.
Or that massive four-poster bed, which suddenly seemed to dominate the entire space.
“Well,” Max said, dragging my luggage into the room and setting his leather duffel next to it. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m going to check out the rest of the suite.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He disappeared into the separate living area, leaving me alone with my thoughts and that impossibly large bed.
Numbly, on legs that felt suddenly made of lead, I made my way to the bathroom, closing the door behind me with trembling hands. I gripped the marble counter and stared at my reflection in the mirror.
“Get it together, Carlisle,” I whispered fiercely to myself. “You’re a 35-year-old woman who handles obstetric emergencies without breaking a sweat. You can certainly handle this .”
My reflection looked unconvinced.
From the other room, I heard the distinct sound of closet doors opening and closing, followed by Max’s footsteps. “Han?” he said, tapping lightly at the bathroom door. “You okay?”
I closed my eyes, drawing in a deep breath. “Yeah,” I managed. “Just … freshening up.”
There was a pause, and then, “Take your time. I’m gonna get the sofa bed made up before the rehearsal.”
The sofa bed. Right. Because Max Bennett—the man who’d starred in approximately eight thousand of my dirtiest fantasies—would be sleeping less than twenty feet away from me.
I was so screwed—and not in the naked, sweaty, fun way.
I splashed some cold water on my face and touched up my makeup, taking far longer than necessary in an attempt to compose myself. I couldn't hide in here forever, though.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, Max was standing at the windows, his suit jacket draped over one of the mahogany chairs, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, as he talked on his phone.
“Yeah, we just got here,” he was saying. “No, everything’s fine. The room situation got a little complicated, but we worked it out.” His eyes met mine in the reflection of the window, and something in his expression made my breath catch. “Listen, I should go. Hannah’s got the rehearsal in—” he checked his watch “—shit, thirty minutes. Yeah, I’ll tell her. See you tomorrow.”
He ended the call and turned to face me. “David says hi. He can’t make it to the rehearsal dinner, but he’ll try to be here first thing in the morning. He said Melody was surprisingly understanding about it.”
I nodded, trying not to focus on how good Max looked with his tie loosened and his collar unbuttoned. “How’s he doing?”
“Tired. But he sounded okay.” Max's expression softened with concern—the same look he always got lately when discussing my brother. “Said the new medication seems to be helping.”
“Good.” I moved to my suitcase, partly to get my dress for the rehearsal but mostly to put some distance between us. “Did you get the sofa sorted?”
“Yeah, it’s …” He cleared his throat. “It’ll work fine.”
I glanced up at him. “Are you lying to me?”
His lips quirked to the side in a small, wry grin that I loved. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
An awkward silence fell between us then, heavy with all the things we weren’t saying to one another. Through the window, the sun was sinking lower, painting the sky in shades of purple and pink that seemed to amplify the romantic setting we found ourselves in.
“I should change,” I said finally, grabbing my garment bag. “Aunt Marie will never let me hear the end of it if I’m late to the rehearsal.”
Max nodded, already reaching for his jacket. “I’ll head down and give you some privacy. Meet you in the lobby?”
“Yeah, perfect.”
He paused at the door, his hand on the handle, looking like he wanted to say something else. But then he just gave me a small smile and slipped out, leaving me alone in our ridiculously romantic suite.
I unzipped my bag with shaking fingers, pulling out the burgundy dress I’d ordered from Amazon only a few days ago. When Percy had taken me dress shopping in Boston, I’d forgotten all about needing a separate outfit for the rehearsal dinner. When Melody had sent a reminder about the dress code, I panicked. Thank god for women whose reviews included photos and cited their height, weight, and measurements; otherwise, I don’t know what I would have done.
Now, as I changed into the wrap dress with a low, plunging neckline, I couldn't help but wonder if Max would like it—if he’d look at me the way he had that day on my couch—like I was something he desperately wanted to taste.
Stop it , I ordered myself. This weekend was going to be hard enough without letting my imagination run wild.