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Aknock on the door wakes me up, so of course the first thing I do is look for Enzo. But the other side of the bed is empty, and for a moment, the sight of it sends a jolt of something through me. Then my better sense kicks in, and I remember he told me he’d be gone before I woke up.
Another knock.
I jump out of bed and fish a sweatshirt out of my bag, pulling it over my head. Fixing my hair in a topknot, I walk to the door, opening it.
“Good morning, Ms. Atwood.”
Room service.
“May I bring this into your room?”
“Of course,” I mutter, stepping to the side. Watching as he unloads platter after platter onto the table, I wonder how much Enzo thinks I eat. Three separate dishes of food. An individual coffee pot and . . . flowers? Is that normal?
“Mr. DeLuca asked that I give you this”—he hands me a notecard—“and mention that my tip has already been arranged.”
With a quick bow, he bids me a good day and leaves.
I wasn’t even thinking of a tip. Thank goodness Enzo took care of it. My brain is barely functioning yet. I put the card on the table, looking forward to reading it with coffee, and brush my teeth. I still haven’t gotten over how big the bathroom is—it’s larger than my kitchen at home. Everything about this hotel is luxurious, even the name: Victoria Le Montreux.
Deciding I’m too impatient to wait, I snatch up the card and open it, thinking of the previous day. Everything about it was absolutely perfect. Aside from Enzo working during a lot of the flight, which was fine because I had plenty to read and watch, he could not have been more attentive. And kind. And sexy.
Every time he looked at me—on the plane, during the car ride from Zurich to Berne, at the restaurant where we met the launch team—everything else faded away. At dinner, I stayed mostly quiet, enjoying the opportunity to see Enzo in his element, wining and dining his business associates. After that, we rode here, to Montreux.
The official launch is tomorrow, but after his meetings this morning, Enzo will be mine for the rest of the day. A good thing too because he was totally serious when he said we’d be exhausted by the time we checked into the hotel. We didn’t get here until midnight—five a.m. for us considering the time difference. Given my interrupted sleep the night before and the fact that we’d been traveling all day . . . I didn’t have the energy to test Enzo’s willpower. I barely managed to change, brush my teeth, and lie down before I zonked out.
I woke once, when Enzo did, my limbs wrapped around his. In a haze, I felt him kiss my forehead, but sleep pulled me back under.
I pull the notecard out from its envelope.
Chari,
Good morning, tiger. I hope you like breakfast. I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I ordered one of each. Enjoy your morning exploring the town. See you by 1:00.
Enzo
P.S. Before you eat, make sure to open all the curtains.
He could have texted me, but the handwritten note is a nice touch. I wander over to the first set of curtains and open them, gasping. They are everywhere, so I open the ones in front of me and to my left. We’re in a corner room, and the view surrounding me is breathtaking.
I hurry onto the balcony, not caring for once whether it’s cold. But like the day before, no blast of February air hits me. Instead, a fresh, balmy breeze envelops me as I stare in front of me in awe. I’m no stranger to lakefront properties, or even mountains. But those pancakes in Pennsylvania are nothing compared to this.
On the drive yesterday, I was surprised to see more fields than mountain peaks. I’d always thought of Switzerland and the Swiss Alps as one and the same. But apparently we were just traveling through the valley regions while it was still light.
Not anymore.
Rising high into the sky all around me are snowcapped mountains, taller than any I’ve ever seen. And as if the mountains weren’t stunning enough, there’s a sun-touched lake in front of me.
I look down on a promenade filled with people. Some walking, others running. None bundled up like I would be back home, which makes sense. It was almost sixty degrees yesterday, and it feels like today will be the same. Why did I think Switzerland would be colder than PA? I mean, I saw the forecast but . . .
My stomach reminds me to go back inside, but I keep the balcony door open. Pouring a coffee and selecting a little something from each of the dishes—a croissant from one plate, ham from another—I eat, staring out at the most beautiful view I’ve ever seen.
Finished, I look at my phone. It’s two in the afternoon back home. I video call my mom, sipping my coffee while I wait for her to answer. Wondering if I died and went to heaven.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie. What’s going on over there?”
