Page 55 of Knot Just A Fan

“So, just suck it up for now?” I say hoarsely. I turn to check out that guy who was staring at me. I don’t want to bone arandom stranger. But I can’t help what my body is doing. I don’t like being out of control.

Increasingly all I can think about is someone filling every corner of my body, showing me I’m someone they know is worth that. Because if nothing else, that is the gift my mother gave me before she died: making me believe I deserved love. I deserved better than she ever received. She deserved it, too.

I latch on to anger as the luxury beach hotel looms up before us, its steel-and-glass sail-shape making it an eye-catching architectural wonder—though nothing compared to the train station we arrived in. Estacio de Franca was huge, and I loved the Art Deco feel and flower motifs.

But this hotel, it screams luxury. This is what I fear Ronan thinks I’m after. Free stays in places like this. Poolside drinks. Armani sunglasses. Manolos on my feet.

I just want answers. A conclusion. A chance to say what’s inside me. Any of that other stuff is just dressing.

And anyhow, Ash invited me.

We approach the doors and hotel staff open them. Inside we’re greeted by air-conditioning that calms my nerves and my pre-heat. The reception area is mostly empty, as I imagine most people are out exploring or in their rooms preparing for dinner, as it’s just gone 5 p.m. It is January after all, and the sun will set sooner than the temperature seems to say. Normally I’d love a heat wave, but right now it’s pretty much the worst.

I follow behind Cami, pulling both our suitcases as I insisted on doing since she was in charge of delivering me here without fainting or jumping anyone.

“Two to check in, please. Under the name of Briella Phillips. It was booked by Ash Knightley.” She hands over a credit card. “Por favor,” she adds.

I can tell the receptionist scents my pre-heat. Probably the BO, too. The corner of his lip tugs but he’s professional, and nothing else shows.

After his fingers click the keyboard with admirable speed, he hands the card back to Cami without looking up. “That won’t be necessary, just an ID from Ms. Phillips and you’ll be all set. Your room is on the same floor as Mr. Knightley, and he’s left a message here for you.”

“Oooh, that’s all very old-school of him,” says Cami with a false note of intrigue. She waggles her eyebrows as I hand the receptionist my UK passport.

I can tell he’s readOmegain the bottom-right corner to confirm his suspicion.

He slides two key cards across the desk as well as Wi-Fi information. He rattles off details about the hotel’s amenities, then wishes us a lovely stay.

Cami raises an eyebrow. “And the message?”

He stares back at me instead of her, then nods. “Ah, yes. So sorry. Mr. Knightley requests you meet him at the beachside entrance at 7 p.m.”

Cami and I exchange a glance. That’s it?

I shrug. “Flair for the dramatic.”

Cami gives a small smile. “I like that in a man.” As we head for the lifts and she takes her suitcase, an inkling grows in me.

Two hours later, I feel like new. A new heat, hitting any minute now.

“It could be the best timing ever if he apologizes.”

“But if he doesn’t—if he feels cornered and tricked,again, by Ash going behind his back with me—he might just say he sideswith Ronan and doesn’t want any more drama. Face it! That’s all I’ve been since New Year’s Eve.”

Even if it’s not my fault, and was never my intention.

We’re sitting in reception. Cami’s hair is twisted in its usual intricate buns, with a slouchy knit top and cut-off three-quarter-length jeans, and strappy sandals. She is the epitome of effortlessly chic, trying to impress no one but also look hot while she’s doing it. And she succeeds.

I’m wearing a short, lavender pleated skirt and a black short-sleeved top with a cardigan wrapped on my shoulders. Most people headed out to the beach party—which is loud as hell andKerosene Mixtapehasn’t even started yet—are wearing light jackets. The ones who’ll be dancing won’t need those, but I imagine when the sun goes down, if you’re not moving about you’ll get chilly quickly.

My core, on the other hand, is a furnace. My pulse is way up, and my lips and fingertips and cheeks feel electrified, buzzing with anticipation and possibility.

Ash appears.

“Here we go,” says Cami lightly.

Ash is dressed in army-green trousers and a button down, short-sleeved black collared shirt. He’s got sunglasses on despite being inside, which is a habit that’s always irked me though I can’t say why.

We stand and he approaches and takes them off, propping them on his forehead. His chiseled cheekbones are on display, and seem more prominent than ever. And then I realize why.

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