Page 16 of Love Unscripted
Chris—the man with the rolling cart stacks the last piece of luggage. “Right this way.”
We follow him to a bank of elevators. I expect it to be crowded with the three of us plus the luggage, but there’s plenty of room. Room Trina uses to her advantage.
She presses her back to the wall and folds her arms over her stomach.
“Your dress was beautiful.” I attempt to ease her apparent discomfort. If anything, I’ve made it worse if her sudden blanching is any indication.
She shoots a look at Chris, then meets my gaze. “Thanks.” She rubs her hands up and down the goosebumps on her arms.
I grab my jacket from the stack of luggage and swing it around her shoulders.
The doors whoosh open. Chris walks out ahead of us. Seconds later, a door clicks open and he motions us inside ahead of him. “Welcome to the honeymoon suite.”
Trina groans and holds her stomach. “I think I might be sick.”
She’s not the only one. There’s a sudden churning in my gut when our eyes meet or I think about the room we’re supposed to share. I make the first move, brushing past Chris and stepping into the room. Holy mackerel. My grandfather’s favorite phrase helps ground me, but I still stare like I’ve never seen anything like this place. Because I haven’t. Opulent doesn’t begin to describe the lush bedding or the thick carpet muffling my steps.
Trina follows me inside, her steps hesitant. She stops near the balcony doors and pulls back the curtains. Ocean fills the windows from side to side.
Trina’s shoulders lift and lower in rapid breaths.
I want to comfort her. I reach for her shoulders at the same time she turns. Her elbow catches me in the stomach. My breath rushes out in a grunt.
She tosses her hair and starts grabbing her luggage from the floor where Chris left it. The man slipped out without another word and without my notice. I’d been too distracted by Trina. Not good. I shouldn’t be this in tune with her. I shouldn’t be this worried about her. None of that was in my plans.
The overhead lights flicker. I pause on my way toward the kitchen area. This place is almost ridiculously luxurious. There’s a full bedroom, a full bath, a kitchen, dining area, balcony, and a living room bigger than my own back at home.
Trina glances up and frowns. “Bad wiring?”
“In a place this expensive?” The fine hairs on the back of my neck lift. I trek to the door and pull it open. Dead silence. “We must be the only people on this floor.” I glance left, then right.
The lights flicker in the hallway, then go out. I draw an unsteady breath and wait for panic and chaos to spill out from the other suites. When nothing happens, I retreat to our room to find Trina.
The fire alarm blares. Trina and I both jump. The lights beat a steady rhythm. A red glow emanates from the alarm tucked high in the wall over the kitchen. Red and white lights strobe around the room as the siren continues to wail.
Trina claps her hands over her ears. “What do we do?”
“Let’s go.” I grab her elbow and steer her into the hallway. I rush toward the elevator and jab the button. A frustrated sound leaves my throat when I remember the elevators won’t work. “Stairs.”
“What?” Trina shouts over the alarm.
I point and head toward the white door at the end of the hallway. We’re on the top floor. Seventeen flights of stairs stand between us and safety.
Trina rushes down the steps. The sound of our pounding feet is lost in the screeching bells and the pounding in my heart. She stumbles and almost falls.
I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her flush against my chest. She grips my arm, her nails digging in. Her ragged breaths puff against my forearm. She’s panicking.
Heck, I’m panicking. One of us needs to keep their head.
I sweep her into my arms and take off. I’m taller, with longer legs. I can move fast enough for both of us.
If Trina protests, I don’t hear it. The weight of her settles in my arms. She grabs onto my shoulder with one hand, the other resting over my heart where she grips my shirt in a tight fist.
We reach a landing and Trina wiggles in my hold.
Her cheeks are flushed and there’s more than panic in her eyes. They’re almost—almost—warm. “I can walk.”
I see her mouth move but the alarm is too loud for me to hear her actual words. I tighten my grip and barrel down another flight. Trina isn’t heavy, but it’s still a workout. Running seventeen flights of stairs by myself would have me doubled over by the end.