Page 67 of Britta & the Beach Boy
“What is this?” Britta asks, looking at the courtyard and Renaissance-inspired (according to the website—I never learned that stuff) hotel hidden in plain sight.
“The Mansion,” Rhys says, smiling for the first time. “Super-exclusive and super-private. The rooms are all villas with butler and menu service. Anything you want, just ask.”
“Well done, Rhys.” Stella’s voice is almost a whisper, and her gaze is glued to the building.
Archie says nothing, even though I’m sure he’s the one who pulled strings to get us rooms here. He’ll let everyone think it’s Rhys’s doing, when really, it’s for Rhys’s benefit. The more Rhys’s star rises, the more he values his privacy. I’m not the only one who’s aware of what Rhys is sacrificing by being here for my wedding instead of relaxing at home, alone, before his next show. We’re still his best mates, no matter how famous he gets, and I’m reminded of how much he needs us as his star continues to rise.
“Does my family know how to find this place? They booked rooms at the MGM.” Britta stares at the cool yellowish stone and the pink flowering plants that are a world away from the heat and bright lights of the Strip.
“They have rooms here, too. We’ll make sure they’re brought here when they check in,” Archie says.
“They can’t afford this!” Britta panics.
“They’re not paying for it,” Archie pulls his phone from his pocket and steps away before Britta can argue.
While Archie makes his phone call, we walk inside, where we’re met by a man in an understated, but obviously expensive suit.
“Welcome to the Mansion, Mr. James. I’m Marshall. We’re so pleased to have you and your guests with us.” Marshall stands stiff as a board and speaks so formally that I wish I’d worn something besides board shorts and thongs. “We’ve booked a one bedroom, two two-bedroom villas, and a four bedroom for your party.”
“Is that enough for all of us?” I try to do a quick calculation in my head, but I’m not sure who in Britta’s family is coming.
“I apologize. We don’t have anything else. We gave you the last and only rooms available.” Marshall leads us through a foyer with posh furniture and lots of deep red. He stops in the middle of the room and holds up a key card. “This is for the bride and groom.”
He scans our group, trying to pick out who fits the description since none of us are acting like we’re in love. Britta and I aren’t even standing by each other. Rhys coughs and elbows me forward.
“I guess that’s me.” I take the key and send Britta a nervous glance. “Ready… babe?”
Britta looks at me like I’ve lost my mind before remembering she’s the bride. “Oh, yeah.”
Marshall’s mouth curves into something resembling a smile. “Congratulations on your nuptials. Your entrance is down the hall, directly to the right.”
I hold out my hand to Britta, hoping this is an appropriate hand-holding moment. Her conditions weren’t specific on that point. I let out my breath when she slides her fingers through mine.
We walk down the hall to our room—ourroom—my palm growing clammier by the second. I wonder if the clamminess is only me or if Britta is just as nervous. We agreed to this marriage-of-convenience less than twenty-four hours ago, and already we’ve run into problems that her list of conditions didn’t anticipate. Like staying in the same room.
Our villa is probably big enough to have two beds. If not two separate beds, then at least a sofa.
But I can’t help hoping it doesn’t.
Chapter twenty-five
Britta
Dex and I both stare at the giant bed piled high with thick bedding and enough decorative pillows to supply my entire hometown. The room is bigger than both our apartments put together, and yet, the bed seems to take up most of it.
“I can take the couch,” Dex says, and we both turn toward the plush, velvet seating across the room.
The back is straight, and it has those cylinder pillows that look pretty but aren’t cushy. If it were the only piece of furniture in the room, we’d probably think it looked comfortable.
But… there is… The Bed.
“We can flip a coin.” My eyes drift back to the bed, which looks very comfortable and definitely roomy enough for a married couple with a strict, no-touching rule.
Ifthe person in that pair who insisted on the rule wasn’t already questioning how strictly it needs to be followed. I’ve got to put a stop to that right now.
Dex drops his bag, then takes mine from my shoulder and carries it to the fancy bench at the end of the bed. He sets it there, slips off his flip-flops and falls backwards. The white duvet catches him with an invitingwhooshthat reminds me of when I was a little girl and imagined what it would be like to sleep on a fluffy cloud.
“We’ll take turns.” Dex stretches his arms and laces his fingers before tucking them behind his head. “I get first go.”
