Page 27 of Vengeful Vows
“My cousin owns the resort. This suite is reserved for family and friends.”
Then my mind reels, and I recall Sir Percival asking if Signor Carrington should be notified of his arrival.
I don’t keep up with who owns what as far as commercial property goes, but I know that name. “Are you talking about Lorenzo Carrington?” I ask.
“One and the same.”
His response renders me speechless. Nothing has ever been proven, but there have been whispers that he’s associated with the mob.
But that kind of rumor is fiction.
The government has taken harsh steps to ensure organized crime no longer exists.
Hasn’t it?
He looks at the fancy watch on his wrist. “You have time to freshen up if you’d like. Twenty minutes? Half an hour?”
“I… Yes.” A few minutes alone is welcome.
“Our table will be held for us, so no need to rush.”
“A table needs to be held at a martini bar?”
“This isthemartini bar,” he corrects me.
“On the whole planet?” I ask.
“It is.”
I’ll believe it when I see it.
As I walk to the far end of the apartment, I’m aware that his heated gaze is still on me.
I close the door, as if that has any hope of keeping out a determined Marcello.
My room is sumptuous. I have a plate-glass window as well as a king-size bed dressed in linens I’ll never be able to afford.
Wondering where my luggage is, I find the walk-in closet. My suitcase is there, along with my tote, but my dresses are already hung up. My heels and tennis shoes are neatly lined up beneath them.
Shocked, I return to the main room to discover my lingerie and casual shirts in the set of dresser drawers.
This is decadent.
Wondering what other surprises await, I cross into the bathroom with its steam shower and soaker tub. Fluffy white robes with the hotel’s logo embroidered on the front hang from hooks. There are cozy slippers and every amenity imaginable, including bubble bath. My personal items have been neatly organized, and they seamlessly fit into the surroundings as if I’ve been here for weeks.
So this is how the other half lives…
As I trail my fingers over the marble vanity, taking in the tasteful, high-end finishes, I decide I’m never leaving. Well, of course, except for necessities, like cupcakes or maybe some boba tea.
But there’s no doubt that even they could be delivered.
Then because I’ve promised Amelia that I’ll keep her updated, I shoot her a message, telling her about the plane and that we’ve landed safely in Vegas. Not that she doesn’t already know.
Her reply comes within seconds.I should have squeezed myself into your suitcase.
You won’t believe where I’m staying.
For several seconds, there’s no reply, and I guess that she’s checking our shared-location app. I’m grinning as I wait for her next text.