Page 80 of The Princess and the Fraud

“Yes, the luxury hotel.”

“Lovey, try to sit up, okay? No, sir, she’s not going to throw up?—”

“Lovey, don’t throw up.”

“Trisha, I don’t know what else to do with her.”

“No, she can’t sleep in a linen closet!”

The voices blurred together into an almost high-pitched ring. My body was tingling andwarm. Too warm. There was a loudclick, and my eyelids flew open as I sat up, sucking in a deep breath. The world was black and tipping from side to side—and then I realized everything was only dark because the lights were off. Slapping around a few times, I found a lamp.

I’m in a hotel room, I thought, a bolt of horror shooting through my drunken haze, before I realized it was Massey Hotel & Suites, and I was alone. There was a note on the nightstand, though, and it took me a few tries to read.

I didn’t know where else to leave you. I put the Do Not Disturb sign out, and Trisha will check on you when her shift is over in the morning. Don’t be mad I ditched you—my parents would kill me if I brought you home - Paige

In the morning, I’d be mortified that I made my younger coworker take care of me because I couldn’t handle my alcohol. Now, though, I pushed the blame onto her.Shewas the one who kept ordering drinks.

I slapped my palms to my face and scrubbed them up my cheeks, tearing my fingers through the knots in my hair. I still felt relatively okay—no headache, no body chills, or nausea. Did I miraculously dodge the hangover? Because I wasn’t still drunk. No way.

It occurred to me: If I was at the Massey hotel, that meant Aaron was here. And I could apologize for what happened this afternoon. He couldn’t avoid me this time.

So, with that completely sober realization, I slid out of bed and stumbled to the door.

I didn’t remember making it all the way to the elevator—not because I was drunk, but because I had my eyes closed for most of it—but I swayed in the box when it came rumbling to a stop. When the doors opened and no one stood there, I wondered, briefly, if someone had ding-dong-ditched the elevator. But, no—this was the eighth floor. I’d pushed this button. Aaron’s button.

I slipped through the doors as they slid closed, impressed with the catlike ability. Not drunk.

I stumbled down the carpeted hotel hallway, half cognizant that I was barefoot, which didn’t quite give off the sophisticated, clear-minded vibe I wanted. My posture had to make up for it, though—pin straight, no slouch in sight. And besides, I wore a sweatshirt and leggings, not pajamas or the Alderton-Du Ponte uniform. I meant business. And if Aaron couldn’t look past a few bare toes, that spoke to his maturity. Not mine.

I slammed into the wall with my palm barely shooting out in time to catch myself. Okay, fine. Maybe a little tipsy.

I counted the room numbers under my breath until I stopped at the end of the hall. 801.

Lifting my chin, I banged my fist on the door. Hard. I had the childish urge to cover the peephole with a finger, but held myself back. I was the mature one here. Not him. Me.

Ages seemed to pass, but the door didn’t open. So I banged again. And then once more for good measure. What, did it take five minutes to waltz his way to the door? Was he even inside? Or out entertaining?

Orinentertaining?

Sucking in a scandalized gasp, I lifted my fist to knock again when the door swung inward, revealing a rumpled Aaron Astor. Rumpled, indeed, in every sense of the word. His hair was tousled as if he’d been tossing in his sleep. His pants, which were loose cotton, seemed wrinkled. His shirt only had two buttons done, and he was working on sealing up the third when he wrenched open the door.

“Lovisa?” Aaron blinked at me. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

There was a strip of tanned skin visible between the separated buttons. It wasn’t my first time seeing a glimpse of his bare skin—in fact, I’d seenmoreof it before—but the sight caused my brain to skip like a record. I stared at it for a moment, marveling that it could be so tanned even in the wintertime. “No,” I said, snapping out of it. “But doyouhave any idea how stupid you are?”

Ookay, not as mature as I’d been going for. Andstupid? I was supposed to be apologizing, not adding more to my roster of insults.

Aaron arched an eyebrow. “Have you been drinking?”

Pfft. “No.”

“Then why does your breath smell like… God, what is that?”

“Irish whiskey.”

“I thought you said you haven’t been drinking.”

I narrowed my eyes. “We’re not talking about me.”

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