“What is happening right now?”
“Your second surprise! I told you this was going to be fun.”
The door swings open. The air carries the scent of gardenias under the sun, or is that how old money smells?
A valet extends his hand. I take it and step out. Instantly, someone is unloading our luggage from the trunk with choreographed efficiency.
“Ma’am, welcome,” the valet says, dipping his head.
I blink. “Did he just call me ma’am like I’m some sort of duchess?” I whisper to my sister.
Ami strides alongside me, sunglasses perched on her head, like she owns the whole hotel. “Clearly,” she leans over to mutter in my ear. “We’re royalty now. Adjust your crown.”
I stifle a giggle. Another attendant whisks our bags onto a gleaming brass cart while we’re led through the revolving doors.
The lobby makes me stop in my tracks. Marble floors polished enough to catch our reflections. Chandeliers glitter with trapped stars. Fresh flowers and plush seating everywhere my eyes land.
“Are we even allowed in here,Ate?” I whisper.
Ami loops her arm through mine, steering me forward. “If anyone asks, we’re undercover billionaires. Keep walking.”
Bubbles of excitement build up inside me, only partially made of gas. The staff treat us as though they’ve been waiting all day for our arrival. Before I know it, a sleek key card rests in my hand.
“This way, ladies,” a bellhop says, already pushing our luggage cart toward the elevators.
The ride upward feels surreal. I’m battling the conflicting pulls of anticipation on one end and impostor syndrome on the other. I scramble in my bag for a cash tip worthy of this posh treatment.
“I’ve got it,” Ami says, her hand on my wrist to stop me from scrambling.
When the elevator doors slide open, we follow down a hushed corridor lined with thick carpet muffling our steps. At the end are double doors that lead to a suite. A freakingsuite?
Upon entering, I inhale sharply. Sunlight pours in through sweeping windows that frame the Dallas skyline. There’s a living room larger than the one I have at home with lavish furnishings that cost more than my whole house. It’s like strolling into a palace of a fairy tale, twenty-first century edition.
Ami lets out a low whistle.
“Forget vacation. Let’s just move in,” she says while giving the attendant a tip.
We dart around like kids on a scavenger hunt, peeking into the bedrooms. King-sized beds dressed in pristine linens, walk-in closets, bathrooms with soaking tubs the size of the Jacuzzis at the community center back home. My pulse won’t slow. The luxury is intoxicating. I glance at my sister who has her phone out.
“Smile!”
She captures another one of my surprised expressions.
“This is ridiculous,” I murmur, but my grin stretches so wide my cheeks ache.
“Ridiculous? I think not.” She tosses herself onto the bed, sinking into a cloud of down pillows. “The word you’re looking for is ‘amazing.’”
I kick off my shoes and ease myself beside her. The cushions fluff around me like I’m lathered in cool whipped cream.
“Oh my god. I might not leave this bed ever.” I groan in bliss.
She wiggles to bury herself into the sheets. “That’s what room service is for.”
I roll onto my side, propping my head on my hand. “Why would Tristan do this for us?”
“He’s doing this foryou. Isn’t it obvious? He wants to take care of you. I just happened to be the one who took time off from work. I’m the lucky plus-one!”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, that uneasy mix of flattered and nervous. “What if he thinks I’m taking advantage of him?”
