Chapter 5 #2
I watch as she leans across the check-in counter, probably sharing some enthusiastic observation about the decor or asking a dozen questions about local attractions. Marina’s professional smile has shifted into something more genuine—another victim of the Ella Manning charm offensive.
Whatever. This is fine. It’s a large resort. I can avoid her easily enough. Different restaurants, different pool areas, different schedules. I’ll retreat to my suite and she’ll probably spend her entire vacation making friends with every staff member and guest on the property.
Except she’s been standing at that desk for an unusually long time now, and Marina’s expression has shifted from welcoming to concerned. There’s obviously some kind of issue.
I should mind my own business. I should finish my sparkling water and wait for news about my suite without paying attention to whatever drama is unfolding at the desk.
Instead, I find myself getting up and walking toward them.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, and both women turn toward me with surprise.
Ella’s eyes widen when she sees me. “Alec? What are you doing here?”
“Apparently the same thing you are.” I look between her and Marina, whose professional composure is starting to show cracks. “What’s going on?”
Marina clears her throat delicately. “Well, this is rather unusual. There seems to have been a system error in our reservations. Both of your bookings are for the same suite.”
“The same suite,” I repeat slowly, because surely I misheard.
“The Coral Crown Honeymoon Suite,” Marina confirms, her voice getting smaller with each word. “I don’t know how it happened, but it appears you’ve both been assigned to the same accommodation.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I paid an obscene amount of money for privacy and solitude, and instead I’m being told I have to share a room with the most disruptive woman I’ve ever encountered.
“That’s impossible,” I say, my voice sharp enough to make Marina flinch. “I specifically booked—”
“I know exactly what you booked, sir, and I sincerely apologize. The problem is, with Crop Over and Grand Kadooment happening this week, we’re not just fully booked—we’re overbooked. I’ve been frantically calling other resorts all morning, but everywhere is in the same situation.”
“So, what are you saying?” I demand.
Marina swallows. “Well, um… there’s two of you and only the one room. I’m so sorry.” She looks like she wants to disappear into the marble floor. “Perhaps I could speak with the manager about alternative arrangements?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Do that.”
Twenty minutes later, the manager appears—a distinguished man in his fifties who exudes the kind of calm authority that comes from years of dealing with wealthy, demanding guests. His solution is diplomatic and utterly unsatisfactory.
“I understand this is highly irregular,” he says, “but given the festival circumstances, I’m afraid our only option is to ask if you might be willing to share the suite temporarily.
It’s quite spacious—over two thousand square feet with separate sitting areas.
And the moment we have a cancellation, we’ll move one of you to alternative accommodations immediately. ”
“Share,” I repeat, looking at Ella, who appears equally horrified by this prospect.
“This is insane,” Ella says, though she sounds more bewildered than angry. “I can’t share a room with him. I don’t even know this man. What if he’s a serial killer—or a rapist?”
“I’m not,” I say flatly.
She turns to me with raised eyebrows. “Which one?”
Despite everything—the ruined vacation, the invasion of my carefully planned solitude, the complete collapse of my control over this situation—I feel my mouth twitch. The response is so unexpected, so perfectly timed, that for a split second I forget to be furious.
I should leave. I should demand my money back, book a flight home, and chalk this up as yet another reason why vacations are a terrible idea.
But Dr. Vaughn’s warnings echo in my head, along with the memory of my chest seizing up during the poker game.
I need this break, even if it comes with complications I never could have anticipated.
“Fine,” I hear myself saying. “Temporarily.”
Ella stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Are you serious?”
“Do you have a better suggestion?”
She opens her mouth, closes it, then shakes her head. “I guess not.”
“Excellent,” the manager says, relief evident in his voice. “Marina will escort you both to the suite immediately. And again, we sincerely apologize for this inconvenience.”
As we follow Marina toward the elevators, I tell myself this is manageable. It’s a large suite, it’s only temporary, and I can handle anyone for a few days. How hard can it be?
Then I catch a whiff of that warm, indefinable scent that seems to follow Ella everywhere, and just like on the plane, it sends a powerful current of awareness through me. I want her, despite the fact that she is the last woman I should ever crave.
As I stare at her, I realize I may have just made the biggest mistake of my very carefully controlled life.
The woman is chaos incarnate, yet somehow I’ve just agreed to share living quarters with her. Paradise location. Honeymoon suite. One bedroom.
Fuck my life. This vacation is going to kill me.
If my heart condition doesn’t finish the job, cohabiting with Hurricane Ella definitely will.