Page 47 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

Van

I’ve never beena good chess player, thinking multiple moves ahead. I tend to go with the flow, living in the current moment. Choosing to live spontaneously, according to my changing moods or shifting circumstances.

All this lack of forward thinking has led me to this moment, where I’m actually starting to worry about the sleeping arrangements for this impromptu getaway.

Separate rooms, Coach said.

No problem, I agreed.

Only—itmight bea problem. Because the hotel is packed, and there is an issue with Amelia’s reservation. For now, I’m choosing not to panic, standing by the counter with a bunch of Walmart bags at my feet while Amelia argues with the woman at the desk.

It’s almost midnight, but the lobby is still lively. I wander away from the counter, sensing Amelia’s need to handle this herself. If she can.

Music spills out of a restaurant on one side, and on the other, a bar is playing several sports games at full volume. Leafy tropical plants and flowers in oversized pots ring the room, making it feel almost like we’re outside. The back of the building is a row of doors, all open, letting in a breeze and the faint sounds of a band outside. The ocean isn’t visible, but I can see couples swaying under hanging lights.

It’s a nice place.

Would be nicer if we could get a room.

Correction:tworooms.

I wander back to the counter, sliding a hand around Amelia’s waist. She tenses, then sighs and relaxes into my touch. I tug her closer.

“How’s it going?” I ask, not wanting to overstep but also itching to hand over my card, see if money and a charming smile can solve this problem, and move on.

“The suite isn’t available tonight,” Amelia says, gritting her teeth. “And the reservation isn’t in my name, so even tomorrow, I can’t check into it.”

I look down, noting the tiredness around her eyes. “How about we worry about tomorrow tomorrow. Will you let me take care of tonight?”

Amelia hesitates. I wait until she nods, then pull out my wallet and manage to extract my card with one hand, keeping Amelia close with the other. For her sake or for mine, I’m not sure.

“Two rooms, please.”

“Unfortunately, we’re almost completely booked.” The employee’s dark hair is pulled back in a tight knot, and I swear, the uptightness in her manner is rivaling the severity of her hairdo. Or maybe the hairdo is causing it? I wonder if she took it down and shook it out if it would ease the pinched expression onher face. “But you’re in luck. We do have one room with a king-sized bed. Not a beach view I’m afraid …”

She goes on about the room, but I stopped really hearing her when she said king-sized bed. It takes me a moment to realize she’s stopped speaking and is holding my card, poised to swipe it.

“Will that be okay?”

No. It will not be okay.

But Amelia smiles—a little bit of a wild look in her eyes—and says, “Sounds great.”

No. It does not sound great.

What if Coach calls? What will I say when the guys text?

How will I share a room—and a bed—with Amelia?

And isshereally okay with this?

I study her while signing my name to the receipt, agreeing to the hold charges, and whatever else the woman is saying. Standard hotel stuff. Amelia’s eyes scan the room a little too quickly, like she’s searching for an exit.

“Hey,” I say, leaning close. “If you want, we can?—”

But my suggestion about leaving this hotel and going back to the mainland where there were dozens of hotels dies when there’s a commotion at the back of the room.

A large group enters from the open patio doors, laughing and talking, the sounds echoing off the marble floors. The people at the front of the group part, revealing a man in a suit holding the hand of a woman in a white dress and veil.

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