Page 90 of Wrecked on the Mountain
Not because I'm having some kind of medical emergency, but because this isn't a hotel room. This is a fucking fantasy made real.
Enormous windows stretch across the entire far wall, showcasing endless mountain terrain that looks like it's been painted by someone with a serious case of perfectionism. Snow-dusted peaks roll toward the horizon in layers of purple and gold, and below us, Stone River spreads out with tiny twinkling lights.
But it's not just the view that makes my mouth fall open.
Jamie has arranged every detail with the kind of thought usually reserved for royal weddings or presidential visits.
A silver platter sits on the marble coffee table, overflowing with tiny chocolates, fresh berries, and bite-sized pastries thatChloe would swoon over. An ice bucket holds champagne,actualchampagne, with crystal glasses already prepared with strawberries in the flutes.
Rose petals have been scattered across the king-size bed in the shape of a perfect heart. Their sweet floral fragrance hits me like a love potion, completely intoxicating and rich. It's the kind of scent that makes you want to dive face-first into thorny bush, not caring how badly it hurts because the smell is so divine.
"Jamie..." I breathe, setting down my overnight bag like it might contaminate the perfection. "This is... how did you even..."
He's standing in the doorway watching my reaction like it's the most important workplace performance review of his life, and there's something almost vulnerable in his expression.
"I hope it's not too much," he says gruffly, his button down shirt tight around tense muscles.
I spin around to face him, taking in the marble bathroom visible through open French doors.Oh my god.Even the bathroom is complete with a soaking tub that could fit three people.
This man planned this down to the shape of the rose petals.
No one has ever done anything like this for me. Ever.
"Are you kidding?" I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him with enough force to make him stumble backward. "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Relief floods his face as his arms come around my waist, lifting me off the ground.
"The concierge said the strawberries were essential for proper champagne consumption," he admits with that grin that makes my stomach flip.
"The concierge was absolutely right." I'm laughing now, slightly breathless from the kiss and the sheer overwhelm ofluxury I didn't even know existed in this world. "This is perfect. This is..."
I trail off because there aren't words for what this is. For the way Jamie's watching me like my happiness is his entire purpose in life. For how it feels to be spoiled like this, cherished like this, loved like this.
"You deserve perfect," he says simply, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "You deserve all of this and more."
"Jamie, I just—" I shake my head in disbelief, looking around the penthouse. "When did I become someone who gets pampered like this?"
Jamie pulls me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me like he's trying to shield me from every harsh thing the world has ever thrown at me. This room is a pretty great way to do that.
His lips press against the top of my head, warm and reassuring.
"You've always been someone who deserves this." He murmurs the words into my hair, holding me so tightly I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek.
"It's just crazy, you know? I've spent the last fifteen years taking care of everyone else… Patients, colleagues, medical school classmates who needed help with their thesis." I let out a shaky laugh that doesn't quite hide the exhaustion in my voice. "Hell, I once spent my entire Christmas break rewriting someone's research proposal because they were having a 'creative crisis.'"
"I know you have, sweetheart."
I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing against my cheek, but still, he just lets me talk, listening to every word.
"The funny thing is, I was actually proud of it for the longest time. Like being indispensable was some kind of superpower."
I shake my head, recalling all the effort it took to end up feeling so... defeated.
Like I had failed at life, like I was losing one too many patients under my care, each one of them digging deeper into the wound of that little nine-year-old girl who lost her hero.
"Turns out there's a difference between being helpful and being a human doormat with a medical degree," I say.
Jamie's arms tighten around me. "What changed?"
