Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Parker
My mother had taken her interfering to a new level and bought me an entire new wardrobe to take to Mexico with me, which was the only thing to explain the mammoth-sized suitcase being wheeled to our room by the smartly dressed porter. Of course Tristan insisted on carrying his own.
“You think you can stay awake until we make it to the room?” Tristan asked.
I elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re hilarious.” I’d spent the entire ten hours on the plane asleep. “I was tired.”
He grinned at me. “I think we were meant to join the mile-high club, not the passed-out-snoring club. Great start to the honeymoon, wifey.”
“I’m not a good flyer. I think the anxiety sends me to sleep.”
“On the upside, I got more work done than I expected,” he said. “Which means I have more free time now we’re here.”
“You’re not exhausted?” I asked. I could sleep right now in the corridor if I lay down.
“Well now that you mention it, it’s close to midnight and we’re being shown to our hotel room. I’m guessing they’ve got a bed in there somewhere.”
I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me before, but it suddenly struck me that we were about to enter a room—most probably the honeymoon suite—which meant we were going to be faced with just one bed.
“Tristan,” I said, “there’ll be a bed. One bed.”
We came to a stop and the porter let us into the room. “Welcome to the honeymoon suite. You can’t see the view at the moment, but you’re on the beach and you have one hundred eighty-degree views of the ocean.”
I smiled, hoping he wouldn’t see me stressing about the fact that one of us wasn’t going to have a good night’s sleep tonight, or for the next nine nights.
“This is your living area,” he said as we came out of the hallway into a large, bright room with a dining table and chairs at one end, a small kitchen at the other, and to my everlasting relief, two sofas—large enough to sleep on—in the middle.
“You have a large terrace out of these doors, with a private plunge pool, a spa, and dining area. You also have a terrace outside your bedroom window.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“Lovely,” Tristan said.
“We have champagne for you,” he said, stopping at the kitchen counter, opening the bottle and then pouring us our second glass since we’d crossed the threshold of the hotel.
We clinked glasses and continued the tour into the bedroom.
“The bed is an Alaskan king-sized,” he said with a glance at Tristan’s tall frame.
“It’s a big bed,” I said, wondering what he was expecting us to say.
“A very big bed,” Tristan agreed, grinning.
“The bathroom has a steam room, a jacuzzi bath as well as a double-headed shower,” the porter said. “You’re going to have a great time.”
After the porter had showed us how to work the air conditioning, told us where the room safe was, and then gave us the number of our personal butler, Tristan assured him that we didn’t need any room service, tipped him, and closed and locked the door.
“I thought he was planning to stay for the week,” Tristan said as he collapsed on the couch. “Why is travelling tiring when you’re doing nothing but sitting?”
“Because you didn’t nap on the plane?”
Tristan laughed. “No one can categorize nearly ten hours of sleep as a nap. Whatever the reason, I’m exhausted.”
“You should sleep. You take the bedroom. I’m fine here on the sofa.”
Before I could move to dig out my toiletries from my case, Tristan scooped me up in his arms and padded into the bedroom. “This is what people do on honeymoon, isn’t it? The groom carries the bride over the threshold?”
“I think that last happened in 1947, but okay.”
He threw me on the bed like I was five years old and playing aeroplanes with my dad.
“Unless there’s a good reason, we can share a bed. We won’t even be able to see each other from our respective sides.”
The idea of ten days on the sofa wasn’t massively appealing. It didn’t take much to sell me on the idea. “I suppose we are married now.”
“You better have packed those cow pajamas, or I won’t forgive you,” Tristan said as he pulled his case open.
“Isn’t this insane?” I asked as I watched Tristan unpack from where I was lying on the bed and definitely not wondering how long it would be until I saw him in a towel.
“The room? It’s nice.”
I propped my head on my hand. “The fact that we’re on honeymoon. Together. We’ve only known each other a little over a month.”
“I’m not sure ‘insane’ is the right adjective. ‘Unusual’ maybe. We should just make the most of it. I know you didn’t want to come, but we’re here. We have this beautiful room. In this beautiful hotel, in this amazing country. Let’s just enjoy it.”
“I suppose we’re stuck here for the next ten days. There’s no escape.”
“Honestly, Parker, I can’t remember the last time I went away on a trip that wasn’t business related. I can’t wait to drink margaritas and lay out in the sun. I figure you owe me a night nursing me and my hangover after your sushi experience.”
I covered my ears with my hands. “Don’t say that word!”
“What word?” He turned to me from where he was putting his t-shirts onto hangers. “Sushi?”
I groaned. “No. I can’t even think about it without smelling vomit.”
“Then you won’t be pleased to hear about the Japanese restaurant just off the lobby. You could eat sushi for breakfast, lunch, and—”
I threw a cushion at him and he finally stopped talking.
“I’ll hold your hair back as you vomit from one too many cocktails and too much sun. Even if you hadn’t done it for me, it feels like it should be my wifely duty.”
Tristan chuckled, stalked out of the bedroom, and came back rolling my case in front of him. “You going to unpack?”
“Maybe in the morning,” I replied. “I can’t move. I’m just going to fall asleep right here.”
He shook his head and heaved the case onto the stand. “I’ll unpack you,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that,” I replied on a yawn.
“It’s my husbandly duty. Do you mind?”
That was the thing about Tristan. In some ways he bulldozed obstacles and objections, but in other ways he was tremendously reassuring and respectful of my boundaries. If I had designed a man who would fit me, Tristan would be it.
“You really don’t have to.”
“I’ll take that to mean you don’t mind.” I did nothing but watch as he untangled my messy packing and arranged things into drawers and wardrobes.
“You’re very organized,” I said.
“It’s all relative. You’re very disorganized.”
“Am I?”
“Have you seen your flat?”
“Hey! It’s small. There’s just not enough space for everything.”
When he finished, he shut my case and tossed it into a cupboard I hadn’t even noticed.
“Tell me something.” He lay opposite me on the bed, his long legs stretched out to the end like a desert road you couldn’t see the end of.
His hips mirrored mine, lying sideways on the bed, and my stomach swooped at how near he was.
It made no sense. We’d spent ten hours on a plane sitting hip to hip, but somehow the thirty centimeters between us now made me feel closer to him than I ever had.
“What?”
“Why don’t you get a bigger place?”
I pulled in a breath. “I don’t need a bigger place. It’s only me.” I didn’t want anything to draw attention to my family’s money. It wasn’t important. It wasn’t who I was.
“It feels like it means more than that.”
I shrugged as I watched his body shift. I’d never had an excuse just to sit and stare at Tristan before.
Obviously I’d seen him and been around him, been closer to him than this, but I’d never had the chance to stare—to notice how flawless his skin was, the two freckles on his jaw, how his eyes narrowed when he was frustrated. “My flat doesn’t define me.”
“Of course it doesn’t. But like it or not, the things that surround us reflect who we are. Do you not like being Arthur Frazer’s daughter?”
“I adore my father,” I said. “I’m proud to be his daughter.”
“Too proud to accept your parents’ help?”
I rolled onto my back to stop myself from staring at Tristan.
It wasn’t doing anything good for my heart rate.
“It’s not about being proud. I moved into this place because it’s just the right size for one person.
” My flat was cramped, there was no doubt about that.
But it suited me. “I don’t need a bigger place.
A big flat or a fancy car aren’t important to me. You were right. I’m not into flash.”
Tristan didn’t say anything, but there was something in his silence that told me we weren’t through with this conversation. So I added, “Money can be a magnet for the wrong type of people.”
“What does that mean?”
I rolled back to face him. The gap between us seemed to have closed ever so slightly. His hand was placed in front of him, just as mine was, and our fingertips were just centimeters away from each other. “I don’t want people in my life who like me because my father’s rich.”
“Surely people like that are easy to spot.”
I shrugged. Maybe for some people. Looking back, there were clearly signs I missed.
“I don’t think moving to a slightly bigger flat would make much difference. A two-bed place would mean you had somewhere to store your chocolate-covered raisins.”
I grinned. “Turns out my husband has a wine cellar with lots of extra storage space.”
“So taking help from your husband is fine. But not from your father?”
He splayed his hand and the tip of his little finger touched mine. A crackle of electricity sizzled between us.
“Being Mrs. Tristan Dubrow changes things a little.”
One corner of his mouth curved into a smile. “Believe me. It changes things a lot.”