Page 54 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

Board and batten circle the room, with a pretty pale yellow floral pattern from shoulder height up. It reminds me of one ofmy favorite designs. I worked with the designer for weeks to plan and perfect a compound for a visiting monarch.

There’s a soft knock on the wide double doors. Instantly, I freeze. There’s no reason for someone at my door.

The gentle knock comes again.

“Who is it?” I call hesitantly.

“Gerard, ma’am,” a wizened voice replies from the other side of the door. “The butler. When you’re ready, there’s breakfast in the main dining room.”

Breakfast in the main dining room? I must’ve really gone all out. Wick can’t be far behind. For my last day of freedom, I’m not surprised I’d have blown the last of my reserves.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I tell him.

“Very good, ma’am. If I can be of any assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you!”

I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m not staying. I should really be on my way.

But... I can see the bathroom from where I’m sitting and the shower alone is heavenly. The bathroom has a blend of green and yellow plants that love humidity, and the glass shower area is doorless and crisscrossed with a black enameled grid.

I’ll have a quick breakfast, enjoy a relaxing shower, and then run again. Maybe I’ll find Violet.

Violet!

I leap off the bed and streak across the room to snatch my purse. The contents scatter as I upend the entire thing onto the floor.

My phone is dead. Completely and utterly dead.Shit.Poor Violet. She’s probably worried sick. I plug it in and quickly dress.

The device still hasn’t flashed on by the time I’m ready to go down for food, so I figure I’ll bring my breakfast up.

When I crack the door, there’s nothing amiss on the other side. An understated hallway lined with plush, bone-hued carpets is fancier than any hotel I’ve ever been in. It doesn’t even look worn. They must have to replace them bi-monthly to keep them that pristine.

I briskly walk toward an open area at the end of the hall then down an opulent staircase. People in demure cream uniforms pass.

I follow the smell of bacon, coffee, and pastries to a room on the other side of the lobby, where I can see a large dining table at the center.

This must be some kind of boutique hotel. There can’t be more than a dozen rooms, so it makes sense that everyone eats together like some super-premium bed-and-breakfast.

A sideboard holds every manner of pastry, cheese, and breakfast protein imaginable. Fruits are cut into intricate flowers, and an entire boat is made from half a watermelon. I take one of the China plates and graze over the options.

The pastries remind me of Marni’s signature style, although I’ve never known them to put exotic fillings in the scones. I pluck one from the stack and make a mental note to tell them about this. Maybe they can start supplying the hotel.

There is no way I have any money left after this place. Go big,thengo home, I guess.

The smell of crisp, salty bacon and fresh coffee encourages me to savor my last meal instead of immediately running upstairs.

Another guest hasn’t moved from his seat at the head of the table. He’s reading the paper, but he never looks up at me. It’s just as well; I can’t be memorable.

I thankfully make it through my breakfast with only the sound of my thoughts and the periodic swish as the pages of the newspaper turn. Small talk with a stranger sounds like torture right now.

Mostly, I contemplate my next move.

I’ll need to message Wick.

For the second time this week, I feel like absolute garbage for running away.

I turn it over in my head a million times during breakfast.

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