I open my mouth to speak, but Rand beats me to the punch.
“Kestrel,” he hands over an American Express Black card. “We have a reservation for the Gulfside penthouse.”
My eyes go wide as I turn to the crazy man standing next to me. When in the hell did he have time to make a hotel reservation for a penthouse?
The clerk types in his name, swipes his card, then gestures to the bellhop over our shoulders. “Ah, yes. Mr. and Mrs. Kestrel. I have your reservation right here. And we have a complimentary couple’s massage booked for you this afternoon if that works for your schedule. All of the information is right here in your welcome packet, along with the details for the reunion.”
Rand wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Isn’t that nice, puffin? A couple’s massage. Doesn’t that sound relaxing?”
I nod. Because what else can you do when you’ve officially fallen down the rabbit hole and are attending a high school reunion with the Mad Hatter?
“Enjoy your stay!”
The bellhop motions for us to follow him to a private elevator, and it’s not until we’re ensconced in the luxury penthouse suite that I lose my shit.
“What the actual fuck, Rand!”
Chapter 21
Rule #1: Don’t piss her off.
-Rand’s Imaginary Fiancée Handbook
It seems my fake fiancée is mad at me.
It might be because I went from imaginary boyfriend to imaginary fiancé before we set foot inside the hotel, but I improvised.
When those mean girls set their sights on Carolina, I lost my shit. I wanted to knock them all down. Or chop off their hair while they slept. Or freeze their bras. Or write terrible things on their faces with permanent markers.
Damn. Living with a teenage girl is starting to affect my revenge fantasies.
“What the shit, Rand?” Carolina stamps her foot.
I decide not to tell her how adorable she looks, stamping her foot as a puffin does. Instead, I take a step back and gesture down the hall. “Look at this place! Isn’t it nice?”
She gives a cursory glance. It is nice. We’re standing in the main floor living area. Just outside the doors is a wraparound balcony with an unobstructed view of the Gulf of Mexico.
Carolina rolls her eyes, folds her arms across her chest, and opens her mouth to no doubt knock me down a peg when there’s a knock at the door.
I use the peephole. A petite Hispanic woman wearing a sundress is holding two gift bags in her hands. I open the door. “May I help you?”
“I’m looking for Carolina Saber? The front desk said she was in here,” the woman pushes past me into the penthouse.
“Now, wait just a minute.”
“Oh, this is a nice room,” the woman turns in a circle with her mouth hanging open, then she realizes Carolina is standing right next to her. “Hey, Carolina.”
“Mara.”
Mara, thebutter-inner person- yeah, that’s her title. Shebutted inon the conversation I was having with Carolina.
Mara moves a gift bag to her left hand, then thrusts her right hand toward me. “Mara Thrasher, head of the reunion committee.”
I shake her hand. She won’t look me in the eye. And it seems she has a blooming bruise on her cheek. “Rand Kestrel. Is everything okay?”
“Carolina’s fiancé!” Mara ignores my question. “Yes, I heard the great news! Congratulations!”
Carolina rolls her eyes but doesn’t dispel the fake news. She doesn’t say anything about the bruise, so maybe Mara is just clumsy?
