Page 11 of All the Gossip from Paris
Sophie soon noted Liam’s obvious discomfort. From what Camille had told her about the Collins brothers, it didn’t take much to assume he’d never been inside a fancy hotel suite before. And if she hadn’t already figured that much out, then the way Liam sat stiff and upright in the plush armchair would have been a dead giveaway.
The chatty, amiable Liam of the Korean chicken shop was nowhere to be seen. Right now he looked like he’d been sent to the office of the head of school and was expecting to be expelled.
I have to get him to relax. Make him feel at home.
“Would you like a drink?” she offered. A glass or two of something might bring Liam out of the shell into which he’d retreated.
“Sure. Um,” he stammered.
Urgh. This was like pulling teeth.
Maybe we should have gone to a nightclub.
A couple of hours of hot, sweaty dancing, and a few drinks might have loosened Liam up enough not to be overwhelmed by the luxury of the Royal Suite.
She stood and considered her guest. His hands were resting stiffly on his knees. The furrow in his brows was so deep, all Sophie wanted to do was rub her thumb over it and whisper softly, “It’s alright. You are safe.”
If the night wasn’t going to end up as a dull disaster, she was going to have to do something.
She slipped out of her Louis Vuitton black and gold slide sandals. The second her bare feet touched the plush woolen carpet, Sophie sighed with relief. “Oh, that’s much better. Those sandals might look amazing, but they are murder on your toes.”
Liam looked at her feet. When he nervously said, “I like the color of your nail polish,” Sophie sensed she had to act quickly to save the night.
Picking up the in-house phone from the nearby side table, Sophie hit the button marked Butler. Her call was answered immediately. “Good evening, Ms. Royal, how may I be of service to you?”
“Hi, I was wondering if you could send up some leisure wear for my gentleman guest. We are hoping to watch a movie, then spend some time looking out at the city lights. And for that, I’m sorry but jeans simply won’t cut it.”
She knew enough about Americans from her cousins to know they had a thing for sweatpants and hoodies. It was a growth part of the market for some of the major designers these days. Even the high priced haute couture end of the fashion world was now dabbling in leisurewear.
But not her father. The House of Royal would never stoop so low as to offer its well-heeled clients sweatshirts or heaven forbid the casual elegance of a t-shirt.
“Of course. You wish your guest to be comfortable. We keep a range of clothing here at the hotel for guests. I can have some items sent up to your room shortly. Would you happen to know what size in garments the gentleman is?”
Sophie shifted the phone away from her ear, and focused her attention on Liam. She’d spent a lifetime measuring and cutting fabric. Sizing people for clothing was second nature to her.
“He’s one hundred and eight eighty centimeters tall, and I would say weighs approximately eighty five kilograms. I’ll let you figure that out in your American system. Could you also get some other clothes, like t-shirts etc. sent up tonight, please? My friend didn’t bring any luggage with him.”
“Of course, Ms. Royal. I shall send one of the team out to procure some suitable garments, and have them brought up as soon as possible.”
“Thank you.” She hung up the phone.
Ok. Time to work some magic.
Crossing the floor to where Liam still sat stiffly in the chair, Sophie bent and rested her hands on his thighs. When he lifted his head and met her gaze, she offered him her best reassuring smile. “How about you slip out of those shoes and socks. And while you are doing that, I’ll make us both a drink.”
He blinked up at her. To Sophie’s deep relief, he matched her smile. “That would be good. Sorry. I think I kinda checked out for a minute. I’ve never been in a place like this before.”
“I gathered you were a little luxury struck, but just remember it’s only a hotel room. What really makes it special is the person you get to share it with.”
His and Ryan’s place in East Orange would easily fit inside the lounge and one of the bedrooms of the Royal Suite. Not that he could really compare the two. The eighties era apartment he and his brother lived in was where hope went to die. This hotel suite was where life had its big glow up.
He hadn’t realized he’d spaced out that badly until Sophie came and lay her hands on his lap. The shock of her touch had roused Liam from his stupor. Now he just felt stupid and embarrassed.
Everywhere he looked he could swear the hotel suite whispered, ‘You don’t belong here. Peasant.’
Liam swallowed deep as Sophie released her hands from his thighs. But as she righted herself, she bent and brushed her fingers on the bare skin of his arm. Right over the intricate compass tattoo.
“I love your ink, Liam.”
