Chapter 13
Harrison
The hotel lobby looks like it was designed by someone whose favorite color is marble.
Zac and Hannah insisted on this place. Swore Ava would love it. Not for the over-the-top everything, but because it’s locked down tighter than the U.S. Mint.
No paps.
No cameras.
No surprises.
Thank God.
Because it’ll be a little hard to explain photos of me popping the question when we’re already married.
I step up to the front desk with the kids clustered behind me and Mrs. D. trying to corral them like cats.
The woman behind the desk offers a polite, practiced smile. “How may I help you?”
“Harrison Evans. I have a reservation.” I’m about to ask about adding rooms when she lifts a finger.
“One moment, sir.”
Her fingers fly across the keyboard. “Ah, I found it. A single king suite, but…” She looks up, her smile tightening just enough to set off alarms. “About your room…”
“What about my room?”
“I’m sorry, sir. The room you booked was released. You were expected to check in two hours ago.”
Yes. Yes, I was.
Until the Evans family staged a full-scale coup at thirty thousand feet.
I exhale. “Do you have anything at all?”
“I’ll have to check…” She glances past me, noticing Mrs. D. keeping a loose eye on the kids as they circle a giant fish tank. “I’ll be right with you, ma’am.”
“Oh, we’re with him,” Mrs. D. says brightly, waving.
The clerk looks back at me, eyes flicking over the herculean man-child and the two smaller accomplices now actively redecorating the hotel’s centerpiece tank with their fingerprints.
Her brow lifts. “Five, sir?”
My smile feels desperate. “Six, actually. My wife will be joining us.”
Hopefully.
Her brows shoot up. “But you only had a king suite booked.”
“I was traveling lighter when I booked it.”
“You booked it last night.”
She’s got me there.
She quickly checks her system, then gives me a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid we’re fully committed.”
“Maybe there’s a nearby hotel—”
“Between the holidays and the food and wine festival, most places have been booked for weeks.” She softens slightly. “But let me make a few calls—”
“Thanks,” I say, already pulling out my phone, mentally running through options that don’t involve renting an RV.
Mrs. D. steps up beside me, producing a cellophane-wrapped brownie from her Mary Poppins carpet bag. “Anything I can do?”
“This helps,” I say, because no matter how bad my day is, her food is magical. “If you could whip up a place to stay in, that would be amazing.”
“I’ll take over, Charlotte.”
A well-dressed man steps in beside us.
“Antoine Lefèvre. Regional Manager.” He looks right past me and holds out his hand.
To Mrs. D.
His smile nearly splits his face. “And you’re Delilah Donovan, aren’t you?”
Mrs. D. lights up. “Why yes. You know my name.”
He gives a small bow like he’s just met royalty. “I have all your books. Breakfast and Br?lée. Cupcakes and Cocktails. And my personal favorite, Chocolate and Consequences.”
“Well, aren’t you sweet.”
Charlotte leans in and whispers something in his ear.
He straightens. “Six?”
She nods.
He takes in my brood, actively wearing down the rug as they play tag around the tank.
I’m fairly certain we’re about two seconds from being politely escorted out when he says, “Oh, I’m sure we can find something.”
He steps behind the counter.
His fingers fly across the keyboard. Then, with an almost conspiratorial glance at Mrs. D., he says, “You’re in luck. We’ve had a cancellation. Just one teensy room, if you don’t mind a squeeze.” He winks.
“No problem. We’ll be as cozy as hot cross buns,” she says brightly.
“Then you’re in. As long as you wouldn’t mind a small book signing during the food and wine festival.”
She giggles, delighted. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”
He hands us each a key card and waves across the lobby. An older man in a gold vest appears with a cart. “You’re all set. Freddie will take care of you.”
Freddie loads every last bag onto the cart, and motions with a smile.
“This way.”
Psychically aware they’re about to be left behind, the kids rush over. We all enter the elevator and he presses a button.
The elevator smells faintly of lilac and money.
When the doors open, we pile into a corridor as Freddie pushes the cart. I hand Connor my keycard. “You all help hold the doors open.”
They rush ahead while I lean into my security training and take in the fact that this entire floor has only two rooms on it. The one I just passed, and the one up ahead that the feral children are rushing through.
“Oh, my God!” Mrs. D. screams, followed immediately by the kids.
My feet move before I can think.
I nearly plow into Freddie, who steps aside and gestures. “Here we are.”
This is not small.
It’s the opposite of small.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the marina, sunlight detonating across the water like a glitter bomb.
Freddie moves ahead, opening doors as he goes. “The grand suite. The Duchess suite. And junior suites for each of your children.”
By suite, he means they each have their own bathroom. I can already hear the complaints when this over-the-top vacation ends.
Mrs. D. has apparently selected her room already, judging by the way she’s floating toward it like a cartoon character following the smell of pie.
“BALCONY!” Snooki screams.
The kids bolt.
“Do not climb anything!” I call after them. My mild heart attack eases when I see the balcony is fully enclosed in glass.
“Incredible view of the marina,” the man points out. “Best in the hotel.”
“This was your last room available?” I say, taking it in. It’s less a room and more a waterfront mansion.
He gives a small shrug. “The Signature Villa. Technically it’s never available to the public. It can only be reserved through the concierge or the regional manager. And only for our most distinguished guests.”
I glance over to find Mrs. D. making faces at Ollie while he waits his turn with the binoculars.
Distinguished. Right.
I hand him a tip.
He shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary, sir. I’m part of your amenities.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I’m your butler, sir. I’m just down the hall. Day or night, I’m at your disposal.”
He hands me a card, then moves to the fridge.
I glance down.
Frederick Long
555-863-2121
Call or text. 24/7.
“We really don’t need a butler…”
“And yet, you have one, sir.”
He pops a bottle of champagne and pours two glasses, handing one to me.
I take it. Apparently, this isn’t optional.
He moves past me into one of the rooms, already opening Snooki’s suitcase. It’s packed with enough stuffed animals to fill a zoo.
Mrs. D. appears at my side, leaning in. “Oh, the tight squeeze.”
I pass her the other glass and nod toward Freddie. “It’s about to get tighter.”
“What’s going on?” she asks, taking a sip.
I chuckle. “Freddie’s your butler.”
Her attention jerks to him, horrified. “He can’t touch my suitcase. My unmentionables are strictly self-managed.”
We watch as Freddie arranges each stuffed animal neatly on the bed.
“Enjoy this while it lasts,” Mrs. D. warns, clinking her glass to mine.
I check my watch. “New York’s three hours ahead. What time are the kids planning to call Ava?”
“In about an hour,” she says easily. “That way, she’ll be surprised.”
Good.
That gives me time.
I pull the ring from my pocket, taking one last look.
Mrs. D. sighs.
“Can you keep an eye on them?” I ask.
Her expression softens as she takes in the ring. “Of course.”
I turn to my loud, chaotic kids. My whole world for the past few years.
Now it’s time to go get the rest of it.
I pull them in for quick hugs. “Be good.”
They nod, already distracted by the binoculars and the marina below.
I head, finally on my way to Pix.
My phone rings.
I glance at it.
Henry Bloom
Not him again.
The elevator doors slide shut before I can answer, cutting the call.
A second later, there’s a voicemail.
I play it.
“Crud, his voicemail again.” He clears his throat. “Mr. Evans, Henry Bloom. I’ve been trying to reach you. I’ll be out of the country for a few weeks—doctor’s orders—but we need to speak when I return. It concerns your wife. If you get this within the hour, call me.”
I stare at the screen for a moment, then slip the phone back into my pocket.
Call him? Not a chance.
I’m too busy proposing to my wife.