Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“I was wondering if you have a room available,” he asks the woman at the front desk, proving what he said earlier, that he didn’t book anything and was planning to just wing it.
“We do,” she says, eyeing Declan in his suit and me in my wedding dress, which reminds me that I need to get out of this thing and into some regular clothes.
“We have the Presidential suite,” she explains. “It’s a two-bedroom, two-bathroom suite with an ocean view. It’s the most common for honeymooners.”
Declan’s brow furrows, and then he laughs when he looks at me. “I forgot you’re in your wedding dress,” he says softly. To her, he adds, “That room will be fine.”
“How many nights?”
“We’re not sure,” he says. “How many nights is this room available?”
She taps away on her keyboard. “At least for the next five nights, but—”
“Perfect. Book it for all five nights, and if we leave early, it’s no big deal.”
“We, um, if we do all five nights, you’ll be charged for all the nights.”
“Of course.” Declan hands her his credit card.
After she goes over the amenities and gives us our room keys, he has her point us in the direction of the resort shop, so I can purchase a bathing suit and cover-up.
I end up picking out a few different bikinis since their selection is good, along with a cute romper, a couple of cover-ups, a pair of sandals, some sunglasses, and a hat to help keep anyone from recognizing me. We also purchase a couple of fluffy towels since hotels—no matter how luxurious the hotel is—never have good towels.
Declan reserves the cabana by the pool for the next five days, and then we head up to the room to get settled in.
The moment we step into the room, the energy changes. Maybe it’s because of the bottle of champagne sitting on ice or the fact that we’re now alone, but suddenly, I’m nervous, unsure of what I was thinking when I hopped in the vehicle with him without having a plan.
“I’ll take this room,” he says, pointing at the room to the left and leaving the one on the other side for me. “Wanna get changed and hit the beach? I’m sure they have a bar down there where we can get some drinks and food.”
“Sure.”
Closing the door behind me, I take a deep breath as the heaviness of the morning drops onto my shoulders. I set the bags from the resort shop on the bed and pull my phone out to check my messages. My brother and sisters left several, telling me they love me, and if I need anything, they’ve got my back. One from my dad, asking that I let him know I’m okay once I get to where I’m going, one from my assistant, asking if I need anything, and a What the fuck, Kendall? from Kyle.
I text my siblings back, thanking them; let my parents know I’m okay and will stay in touch; tell my assistant that I appreciate it, but I’m good, and she’s off the clock—paid, of course—until I get back; and then text Kyle back two words: I’m sorry.
It’s a cop-out, but I don’t know what else to say. He deserves an explanation, and once I have one, I’m going to give it to him, but for right now, I’m doing as my dad said and following my heart.
After I hit send, I throw my phone onto the nightstand, wanting to check out for a little while, and pick out which suit I’m going to wear. I go with the two-piece burnt orange ombre number and the matching cover-up, but when I go to take off my dress, I realize I can’t. It’s formfitting up top with several dozen buttons down my back holding it together. I couldn’t even put it on myself this morning—my mom had to help me.
I try several times to get it off, but when it’s obvious it’s not happening, I head out to find Declan. He’s standing in the living room, staring out at the beach with his back to me. I stop in my place for a moment, taking him in. His hair is up in his usual bun, and he’s changed out of his suit and is sporting a pair of board shorts. But what has me staring, and maybe drooling, is his shirtless, muscular back. He’s tanned and fit from years of living in California and working out every day. I always assumed he didn’t have any tattoos, but in the center of his shoulder blades is a single tattoo. I can’t see what it is from here, so I step toward him, but before I can make out what it is, he turns around.
“I’m not sure that’s exactly pool attire.” He smirks playfully, and I roll my eyes.