Page 63 of Tangled Up In You
“Holy cow, Fitz.” Ren stepped closer, sliding her hand into his. “Are we staying here?”
“We are.”
“You really are rich.”
There was no edge in her words, only awe, but for the first time in years, it bothered him that someone thought Robert Fitzsimmons’s money was his, too. He’d let so many omissions and white lies linger between them. He should clarify right there, should tell her that the cash she got at the Screaming Eagle was the most cash he’d ever held in his life, that he was a scholarship kid, too, that everything was riding on his grades, and that’s why she found him in Audran’s office that night. But instead, he swallowed it all down, squeezed her hand, and led her to the reception desk.
Ren’s attention was behind them during check-in, watching all the bustle in the hotel lobby with rapt attention.
As soon as the woman stepped away to program the keys to their room, Ren tugged on his arm. “Fitz. Look.”
He followed her gaze to where a handful of people pushed carts loaded with boxes through the front lobby doors. Others were still checking in or chatting in the adjoining coffee shop, with brightly colored cowboy hats tucked under an arm or wearing flashing LED necklaces around their necks.
“Four hundred people checking in today alone,” the clerk said wearily. “You here for the festival, too?”
“Festival?” he asked.
“Beer, Bubbles, and Barbecue.”
Ren stepped forward. “Bubbles?”
“Champagne,” Fitz told her, and watched as the woman looked up from her monitor, her gaze doing a slow, fascinated sweep of Ren’s hair.
“It’s the biggest downtown festival of the year,” the clerk told them. “Two music stages. Vendors, food trucks, fireworks. Loads of these people are still setting up.”
“Then yes, we are absolutely here for the festival,” Ren said confidently.
Worried she was about to be disappointed, Fitz reached for her hand. “It’s probably sold out.”
“Actually, it is,” the clerk said. “But because we’re going to be in the middle of the whole thing, the hotel got an allotment for VIPs. I might have a couple left if you’re interested. Let me check.” She disappeared into a back room.
“She called us VIPs,” Ren whispered.
“In fact, I think her implication was that real VIPs didn’t want these tickets.”
“Well, we do!”
Fitz looked down at her. “You really want to go?” If this was his last day with Ren, he wanted her all to himself.
“Don’t you?”
“The title names three things, and two of them are booze,” he said. “If you want to hang out with a bunch of drunks, we can watch The Hangover in our room and order champagne.”
Ren chewed on her lip and stared up at him. “It’s just that I’ve never been to a festival before.”
“It might be crowded. You might hate it.”
“I assume it’s a lot like a fair, but with less manure. And it’s free.” Her eyes grew round and pleading.
“This is emotional manipulation,” he whispered, fighting a laugh.
Doubling down, she pushed out her full bottom lip. “Come on, Fitz. I just want to see it. Please.”
She clearly saw what that please did to him because her expression went from pleading to triumphant in a blink.
“Fine,” he said finally.
Grinning, she pushed up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. A strange feeling was carving out a space in his gut, like a door had been blown open in his torso. He didn’t have time to examine it because the clerk was back.