“What the hell is this?!”
After lugging our bags up the stairs because the elevator was temporarily down for maintenance, and weaving through a maze of hallways to get to a hotel room, I opened the door to…this.
Pink carpeting and heavy red drapes over the windows. An ice bucket with a bottle of champagne on the entryway table. Rose petals create a path from the door to the massive four-poster bed. And thepièce de résistance: a heart-shaped hot tub in the middle of the room.
“It’s our hotel room for the next two nights,” Cupid says with a puff of his chest. “See, told you I’d take care of it.”
“It’s a nightmare!”
“No, it’s a honeymoon suite.”
“So your big plan to get me a hotel room was to lie and tell the front desk staff that we’re newlyweds,” I say.
“Bullseye.” Cupid points two fingers at me, thumbs in the air. “And this isn’t justyourroom. In case you didn’t notice, I like to travel in style.”
My face and my palm connect. “Why does it have to bethisstyle, though?” I ask, aggrieved.
“Aw, come on,” Cupid says. “Cheer up! I got us these digs for a bargain.” He picks up the champagne bottle and hands it to me. “And look, they even threw this in for free!”
I read the message attached to the bottle’s neck: Congratulations on your happy day! “Oh my god.” I press the cool bottle to my hot cheek. “This feels wrong, Cupid. I don’t like that we’re lying.”
Cupid shrugs out of his jacket and jumps on the bed face-first. Through the muffle of sheets, I hear him say: “There’s a little chapel right down the street, Love. I could make an honest woman of you.” He looks back at me.
I frown, annoyed, and Cupid seems to sense I’m not in a joking mood. “Look, this is the nicest room they had available,” he says. “And I wanted you to have that.”
The admission is so surprisingly sweet that it causes me to soften. Realistically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to share a room with Cupid, even if it is the most hideous room I’ve ever seen.
“Fine,” I concede with a heavy sigh. I’m quickly learning I can’t say no to him when he looks at me with those big, brown eyes, even though I don’t want Cupid to take notice. I can’t have him thinking he’s making headway with me—except…
No.Nope. I’m staying cool, calm, and detached. True to the version of Felicity I’ve been honing for the past ten years.
“Huh,” Cupid says. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight. Complain a little, shout at me. Maybe tell me I have to sleep on the floor.”
“Do you want to sleep on the floor?”
“Not particularly.”
“Okay,” I toss a bag on the chair by the bed.Whyis there always just one random chair in the corner of every hotel room?“Then don’t. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”
Cupid wiggles his eyebrows at me. “You’re welcome to handle me, too, if you want.”
I pick up a decorative heart-shaped pillow and throw it at him. The pillow hits its mark with athwumpbefore sliding downhis face to the floor.
12
Felicity
You know what? As much as I pushed back on staying in this hideous honeymoon suite, the—what did Cupid call them?—digs are pretty nice. It’s bigger than my one-bedroom apartment, and way fancier. I’m even starting to get used to the ugly carpeting…but that could be the champagne talking.
While unpacking my bags, Cupid noticed that I was, quite literally, shaking with nerves. I couldn’t hold in the anxiety any longer—tomorrow I have to stand in front of a room of my peers and talk about my work. Even though I know it by heart and I’m confident in my work and experience, it doesn’t make the stage fright any easier. I know it’ll be even more taxing because I’ll be one of just a few women in the room.
I personally know plenty of badass women software engineers in San Francisco who build brilliant products—but this world is still a boys’ club. I have to know my shit backwards and forwards, no mistakes, or risk some asshat immediately discounting my expertise and calling my experience into question. So, yeah. I’m a little tense.
Usually, when I’m alone and stressing out, I grab my yoga mat and lose myself in a flow. But here, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to get into downward-facing dog in front of Cupid. And I don’t know if that’s because of how I think he’ll react…or because it might give me ideas.
Instead, I rambled, and Cupid listened intently to my word vomit, nodding along and making sympathetichmmsandahhhsin all the right places.Then he popped the complimentary bottle of champagne and handed me a full glass.
Since then, we have spent the rest of the evening splayed out on the bed covers with our room service order (because I’m too high-strung to be around the general public), plus another bottle of champagne: “On the house for the newlyweds”.
