Page 21 of Doctored Vows

“Wow. This place looks nicer than the online brochures.” Still accustomed to tipping from spending her formative years in the American schooling system, Zoya hands the driver a few low-domination bills from her purse before slipping out the back of his cab.

“It doesn’t even look like the same hotel,” I say after joining her on the footpath outside the massive steel-and-glass architectural structure. “Are you sure you said the right address? Your Russian is better than mine, but maybe you fudged an important detail.”

“I did no such thing.” She barges me away from her before I can search for the reservation she printed out this morning, then moseys into the elaborate foyer.

We added “Doctor” to my name during the booking process, hopeful it might award us an upgrade, but I doubt we will need it here. This place is so stylish. We stand out like a sore thumb in scrubs, shorts, and midriff T-shirts.

Zoya ribs me with her elbow halfway across the glistening marble floor that stretches from one side of the resort-like hotel to the next. “Act like we belong so we don’t get kicked out.”

My reply is barely a whisper. “They can’t kick us out if we’re guests.”

Although I’m telling her no, I straighten my spine, roll back my shoulders, and tilt my nose.

We look ridiculous, but the check-in clerk acts oblivious. “Welcome to Signiel. How can I help you?”

“We’re checking in,” I reply when Zoya fails to acknowledge she was addressed. She’s frozen at my side, gasping like a fish out of water.

“Wonderful. What name is on the booking?”

I remove the reservation Zoya pulled out of her pocket during our trek across the elegant foyer before handing it to the clerk. “Nikita Hoffman. Doctor Nikita Hoffman.”

“Welcome, Dr. Hoffman.” The clerk dips her head in greeting before punching my name into the computer.

I hold my breath, convinced we are seconds from being asked to leave.

My worry isn’t warranted.

After a handful of taps, the clerk says, “We have you as our guest for three nights. Is that correct?”

“Yes. We leave Sunday.”

“Wonderful.” She bounces her eyes between a still-frozen Zoya and me. “How many keycards would you like for your room?”

“Two, please,” I reply after ribbing Zoya, soundlessly requesting that she get with the program. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. Her cheeks are as white as my legs, and her pupils are massive. “Does this hotel offer a buffet breakfast?”

When the clerk nods, I slip her a twenty with the hope it will get us on the buffet list for free.

She peers down at the crinkled note before returning her eyes to my face. “That isn’t necessary.” My disappointment doesn’t linger for long. “Breakfast is included with your reservation.”

With Zoya back on planet Earth, she taps the low-five I’m holding out for her. With breakfast included, we won’t need to purchase hardly any meals during our mini getaway. Smuggled muffins and yogurt aren’t a feast fit for a king, but they’ll get us through the day with only the slightest grumbles from our stomachs.

“The elevators are left of the bar.” The clerk slips two keycards into a mini envelope before handing it to me. “You will need to scan your card to select your floor.” Her eyes once again bounce between Zoya and me. “If you need anything during your stay, my cell number is on the back of your keycard.”

Surprise resonates in my tone. “Great. Thank you.”

She smiles before asking if we need a bellhop to assist with our luggage.

“No. This is it.” I gesture to my carry-on and Zoya’s luggage, now housed in a garbage bag. “This is all we have.”

The clerk hides her grimace well, but I don’t need to see it to know of its arrival.

Eager to leave before we get any more looks of pity, I slip the keycard envelope into my pocket before helming our walk to the elevators.

The further we walk, the more fraudulent I feel. This place is impressive, with vaulted ceilings, chandeliers, and the aroma of wealth.

I hope one day to match the level of sophistication in this room, but I don’t know if I will ever become accustomed to it. I didn’t lie when I hinted to Maksim that I want my heart to be my only greedy organ.

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath when a co-rider in the packed elevator asks what floor we need. She is closest to the panel, so she’s hogging it like it’s a slice of my grandmother’s famous ptichye moloko. “I didn’t check the room number the clerk wrote down.”

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