But not P-I-V sex.
I’d had my period two weeks before. I’d been on the pill for three months, getting in the habit of taking it regularly and letting my body get used to it before my wedding. There wasno wayI could be pregnant.
And I’d never,ever,screwed around on him.
I’d never evenkissedanyone else in my whole life.
What could I have said? What could I have implied that he’d inferred and we’d miscommunicated, and thus he’d thought I was pregnant?
I slammed into the hotel’s tall reservation desk and caught myself with the sharp edge across my palms. “I need a room key to the Prince’s Palace Bridal Suite, Room 832.”
The woman behind the counter looked over her reading glasses at me. Flashing casino lights reflected in the half-circle lenses. “Name, please?”
My throat was choking. “Lexi Byrne.”
The woman—”Martinique” was engraved on her polished brass name tag—pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry, but that’s not the name the suite is booked under.”
It had been a rough day, and I breathed hard, trying to hold it together. “The suite is booked under Jimmy and Lexi Johnson.”
“I would need to see identification showing one of the names on the reservation to issue a new keycard,” Martinique said.
I dug around in my purse, fishing for my wallet that slipped between my fingers. “My driver’s license still says my name is Byrne.”
“Then that’s not the correct name. I could accept thatanda signed marriage license with your oldandnewnames on it.”
My cheeks heated until my skin stung. The marriage license we’d bought at city hall two days before wasn’t signed by us or the minister because the signing is doneafterthe ceremony. “We didn’tgetmarried.”
“Then I would need to see some identification in one of the names on the reservation.”
“Butwe didn’t get married.”
Martinique wasn’t smiling anymore. “Are you a registered guest here?”
“I checked out of my single room this morning because I was moving into the bridal suite after we got married this afternoon. My luggage was taken to the bridal suite from my other hotel room.”
Her tone lowered. “If you aren’t a registered guest of the hotel, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Can you just call Jimmy and tell him to come down here and talk to me about this?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t disturb our guests, especially not those checked into the bridal suites.”
I scraped my palms on the sharp edge of the desk like I was trying to squeegee the sweat off. “Look,mycredit card is the one on the reservation, in mycurrentname.”
“That’s not sufficient to issue you a keycard.”
“How much is the bill so far?”
Martinique recited a number that was higher than what I had left in my wedding savings account after paying for the aborted ceremony, money that I’d scrimped and saved for four years, and I gasped like she’d gut-punched me.
Yeah, well, maybe I couldmakeJimmy come down and talk to me.“Fine,then I want to takemycredit cardoff the room.”
“You can remove the credit card for future charges, but the room charges for the two weeks were applied as soon as the first guest checked in. And the room service meals since. And the bottle of Dom Perignon that was sent up fifteen minutes ago.”
Thoseassholes.“I’ll dispute the bill with my credit card company!”
“You’re welcome to try, but the room charges and incidentals were part of the Terms of Service you agreed to when you booked the room. There was a checkbox.”
Everything was stacked against me.“I need to talk to Jimmy.”
