Page 10
“I can’t do that! I was just engaged less than eight hours ago. I’m pretty sure there’s some kind of waiting period.”
“Just as in no longer, nada, not anymore. Nope! Plus, let’s be honest… when was the last time you actually got some? Because if I’m not mistaken, you haven’t seen Henry since after Easter.”
She’s not wrong. It’s been so long. “It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s actually really simple. You’re a grown-ass woman with needs. He wasn’t meeting any of them. You know it. I know it. Your lady bits even know it. You deserve a night of careless fun. What better place than a luxurious hotel where you don’t know anyone?”
“Or… I could get some work done and catch up on my beauty sleep,” I answer, just to mess with her, but the steamy, sweet floral scent filling the bathroom makes me think a quick nap isn’t the worst idea.
“I would slap you if I was there. No work. Definitely no lists. Don’t make me call Briar,” she threatens, knowing Briar would be here with strippers in half an hour tops.
“I mean, I could just go down for one drink… what could it hurt?”
“You know what? Never mind. You probably have cobwebs anyway. Save the panties—I’m sure Mattie would love to see them on me.”
“Ha-ha. He probably would! But you’re right, I’ll find something to do. No lists. I promise. But only if you promise not to call Briar?”
“Cross my heart,” she singsongs.
“Okay, this FaceTime is about to get NSFW.” I blow her a kiss, feeling better already, and prop my phone on the counter.
“Well, I’m here. If you need to talk… or bail money.” Emma smiles. “Or new panties. Love you, bye.”
“Love you, too,” I murmur at the phone before ending the call.
I look down at my hand and slide the engagement ring off my finger like it burned me, the weight a painful reminder of shattered dreams. I toss it on the marble counter next to my phone. Just another thing I have no freaking clue what to do with. I pull up my sad and lonely playlist because what’s a good cry without a soundtrack?
Bubbles and champagne, the perfect accessories to drown my sorrows, I think to myself as I step into the hot, soapy water and sink beneath the frothy surface. But as soon as I’m submerged, I realize that I have no tears left to cry.
Chapter 3
Lucy
The familiar strains of “Moon River” echo as the ending credits roll on my favorite movie. Snapping my laptop shut, I flop back over into the cloudlike bed and contemplate going back down to the hotel bar.
Nah.
After my relaxing bath, I pulled myself together—and pulled on my sexy black lace panties—deciding to take Emma’s questionable advice. I went downstairs to the hotel bar but happy hour wasn’t so happy—it was more like pathetic, party of one.
Let’s be honest—I was secretly hoping to run into Mr. Penthouse, but it’s probably best that I didn’t.
However, I don’t regret the Chatham Artillery Punch. It had been ages since I last had the famous drink. I’d forgotten just how potent they were… all the different spirits, citrus and sweet, hit harder than I remember. Instead of dining alone, I came back to the room for my own little room service buffet.
Pity parties, potent punch, and penthouse strangers seem like a lethal combination, and I can’t afford to take any more hits.
Glancing at my phone, I see that it’s no even 8:00 p.m.—too early for bed but not too late to explore the rooftop terrace and maybe catch the tail end of the sunset. More importantly, scout out the best place to watch the sunrise, which are my favorite. Dragging myself from the bed, I pull on my robe, instantly enveloped in the soft, fluffy fabric that smells fresh and earthy, like laundry that’s been hanging to dry in the southern sun. This place has thought of everything. I just might stay here forever.
It takes everything in me not to grab my phone. But if I’m going to try living in the moment, I’m going to do it right. Instead, I bring the chilled bottle of champagne.
Key card!
Can’t forget that. That’s the last thing I need—to get locked out of my room wearing only a robe and lingerie. Which, not going to lie isn’t probably the classiest thing to wander around in, but it’s not like I’m going to the lobby. It’s the pool, plenty of people will be in bathing suits. I just didn’t bring one—didn’t think I would need it. But obviously my lingerie is equally as useless.
Leaving my room, I reach the elevator and insert the key card just as Mr. Penthouse showed me. I press the button for the rooftop terrace and wait for the familiar groan of the elevator ascending as it climbs the three floors to the top.
Stepping off the elevator, I wander through a set of heavy glass doors, feeling a slight resistance before they swing open to reveal the rooftop terrace the concierge told me about. The salty air outside is a welcome relief, a gentle breeze brushing against my skin, carrying the faint scents of the city mingled with the night-blooming flowers scattered around the terrace. The stone beneath my feet feels warm from the fading sun as I gravitate to the balcony.
The last rays of sunlight are just leaving the sky, painting everything in a warm glow. My eyes are immediately drawn to the reflection on the top of Savannah City Hall, its dome glinting gold in the dwindling light, a beacon in the heart of the city.
