“Your hair is so soft. Do you want to have a wash and blow-dry too?”
“No.” He sounds offended.
“Your loss.”
“Leave the poor guy alone,” Zara says.
I smile at her. “What? He does have nice hair.”
Zara’s lips press together as she smothers a smile. “He takes his role seriously.”
I quirk a brow. “Watching us get manicures and pedicures? What do the men think, we’re going to get waterboarded while a woman washes our hair for us at my family’s establishment?”
There are cackles of laughter. The men remind me of my father’s overprotectiveness. When we were children, we needed a security guard with us… well, especially me. Even now, in my twenties, he added extra security cameras outside my apartment in New York and a button to press if I’m in distress inside. He even hired a full-time chauffeur to ensure my safety, so I don’t need to worry about public transportation.
We pull into the Crown Resort parking lot. The white building has large windows and majestic arches.
“Where do I park?” Rage asks.
“The valet will take your keys, so pull up by the front doors.”
He pauses. “Nah. Where else can I park?”
I squint at him. “Why can’t you give the valet the keys?”
“No one is getting access to the MC’s vehicle.”
Fair enough. “Up ahead, past the reception building, you’ll see private parking spaces, which are for my family. Park in any one of them.”
Rage parks next to Dad’s Rolls-Royce and my brother’s red Ferrari.
We all get out and meet at the back of the truck and walk toward the entrance. “Nice cars,” Elena points out. “Axle would love them. I can’t wait to tell him.”
Rage is scanning the perimeter while we walk. The glass doors open wide as we walk through. A familiar security guard is by the door, and a woman is at reception, behind the counter. She smiles up at us. I give her a nod in greeting. “We’re booked in for the spa today.”
“I’ll let them know you’re here, Sophie,” she says through a smile and picks up the phone.
Ava’s and Elena’s eyes are wide as they look around the resort. It has a high ceiling with marble floors and a chandelier hanging from the roof. It screams five-star luxury. The room is a mixture of primarily white with touches of gold.
I walk to the elevator and press the button as the others follow me, and when the doors slide open, we all get inside.
“I’ve seen nothing quite like this here,” Ava says, amazed.
“My family doesn’t half-ass anything,” I reply.
When the elevator doors open, a woman meets us. She’s wearing the white spa uniform, her hair is in a bun, her makeup is perfect, and she has the customer service smile. Once we’re all out, she says, “My name’s Samantha. I’ll be one of the therapists assisting you today.” She looks between all of us, her smile never wavering. “What service would you like to get done first?”
“Nails and pedicures, please.”
She bobs her head. “Follow me.”
We walk down a corridor and she opens a door to a room with four curtained cubicles on one side and lockers on the other. “There’s a gown in each cubicle to get changed into and”—she points at the lockers—“these are to put your belongings in. When you’re finished, join me outside, and I’ll escort you to the salon.” She peers at Rage, whose eyes are wide. He looks completely out of his element. “Would you like me to get you a gown?”
“No.” His voice is stern, and it makes me laugh. Poor Rage.
After getting changed, Ava is the last one to meet us outside. She’s patting the white fluffy gown at the shoulder. “It’s so soft.”
We follow the woman past more doors. “What’s in these?” Elena asks.
