Chapter 15 #2
"The Windsor Suite," the concierge repeated, smiling blandly. "One of our finest accommodations, with a private terrace overlooking the lake. The dual master bedroom configuration should be most comfortable for you both."
Stephen set his glass down with exaggerated care. "There must be some mistake. We should have separate rooms."
The concierge consulted his tablet. "According to our reservation details, Dabney specifically requested a suite with adjoining bedrooms for Dr. Ryland and Mr. Huxley.
The Windsor Suite offers private sleeping quarters connected by a shared living area and terrace.
Most couples find the arrangement quite satisfactory. "
"We're not a couple," Stephen said, then immediately regretted it as Ryland's posture stiffened beside him. "I mean, we're colleagues. Professional colleagues. Who work together. Professionally."
Brilliant, Huxley. Absolutely masterful use of language there. Your legal education was clearly worth every penny.
"I see," the concierge replied, in a tone that suggested he saw rather more than Stephen was comfortable with. "Unfortunately, we are fully booked for the conference. The Windsor Suite is a premium accommodation. Any alternative would represent a significant downgrade."
"That's fine," Stephen said, desperation thinning his voice. "I'm happy to downgrade. Thrilled, even. I love downgrades. Smaller rooms. Less space. Fantastically character-building."
The concierge's professional smile never wavered. "But sir, I'm afraid we have nothing else available at present. The conference has filled our capacity."
"Nothing? Not even a broom cupboard? Storage closet? I'm not fussy, really."
Victoria Harlow, who had been listening with poorly concealed impatience, stepped forward. "For God's sake, Huxley, it's a suite with separate bedrooms. Not a prison cell with a single bunk. Sort it out between yourselves and stop creating a scene in the lobby. Don't be such a prude."
Stephen flushed. The entire Dabney delegation was watching his minor meltdown with expressions ranging from amusement to irritation.
"Right. Yes. Of course." He accepted the keycard with as much dignity as he could muster. "The Windsor Suite will be fine. Perfectly adequate. Sorry for the confusion."
As the group dispersed towards the lifts, Stephen risked a glance at Ryland. The alpha's face gave nothing away, but his jaw was set a fraction too tight.
Stephen's stomach turned. He'd made it sound like sharing space with Ryland was punishment.
When the problem was the opposite. Three nights on the other side of a door from the man whose scent made his omega biology roll over and beg.
Three nights of pretending his increasingly detailed fantasies weren't running on a loop.
He didn't trust himself to keep his hands where they belonged, and that was the truth of it.
The lift ride to their floor was excruciating. Stephen stared at the floor numbers as they climbed, shoulders almost touching Ryland's in the confined space.
"I apologise if the accommodation arrangement is uncomfortable for you," Ryland said quietly as they exited the lift. "I can speak to Eames about alternative arrangements if necessary."
"No, no, it's fine," Stephen replied, guilt landing squarely in his chest. "It's not... I didn't mean to suggest... It's just a surprise, that's all."
They reached the door to the Windsor Suite. Ryland swiped the keycard. The door swung open to reveal crystal chandeliers, gilt-edged mirrors, plush carpets thick enough to lose small pets in. Through the French doors, Lake Geneva glittered under the afternoon sun.
"Fuck me," Stephen breathed.
"That would be inappropriate in a professional context," Ryland replied, deadpan, and it took Stephen a full three seconds to realise the alpha was joking.
He laughed, some of the tension breaking loose. "Right. Yes. Very unprofessional. I was just expressing surprise at the accommodations."
"They are statistically significant outliers in the hotel room quality distribution," Ryland agreed, setting his bag down and moving to examine the terrace doors. "The suite is approximately 2.7 times larger than average luxury hotel accommodations."
Stephen ventured further in. A lavish marble bathroom with a tub that could comfortably fit four people. Beyond it, two bedroom doors on opposite sides of the sitting area. Each contained a king-sized bed draped in Egyptian cotton with what appeared to be actual silk pillowcases.
"Well, I suppose we'll manage somehow," he said, aiming for lightness. "Try not to snore too loudly, and we'll get through this with our professional dignity intact."
"I don't snore," Ryland replied. "Though I do occasionally talk in my sleep. Usually equations or experimental parameters. My brother recorded it once for research purposes."
Ryland had a brother. A brother who recorded his sleep-talking. Stephen pressed his thumbnail into the pad of his index finger and held it there.
"I'll try not to disturb you if you start reciting the periodic table at 3 AM," he managed.
Ryland nodded seriously. "I appreciate that. Though it's more likely to be non-linear differential equations than elemental classifications."
"Of course. Silly me." Stephen retreated towards the room he'd mentally claimed as his. "I should probably freshen up before dinner. The delegation is meeting in the restaurant at eight, right?"
"Correct. 8 PM in the Windows Restaurant," Ryland confirmed. "I'll take the bedroom on the right if that's acceptable."
"Perfect. Absolutely perfect. The left is great. Lovely. Couldn't ask for better." Stephen was babbling now, backing towards his room. "See you at dinner!"
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, heart hammering. Three nights in a suite with Ryland. Three nights of knowing the alpha was on the other side of this door, probably sleeping in ridiculous silk pyjamas or, God forbid, nothing at all.
"Get it together, Huxley," he muttered, moving to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. "It's just a hotel room. Just a conference. Just three days of pretending you're not desperately in love with the man sharing your suite."
The water did nothing to clear his head. He sat heavily on the bed, staring at the adjoining door until his mobile chimed with a message notification.