“Like I said, know thine enemy.” I nod, turning over hiswords thoughtfully. It wouldn’t have ever occurred to me that running over his prosthetic foot might have caused real pain. I feel like an idiot.
His face falls. “I’m not your enemy, Rhiannon. Though I can understand why you think I am.”
My phone vibrates with a boarding update, so we abandon our discussion and make our way to the gate. When we’re onboard, Robert listens to the safety briefing ahead of our three-and-a-half-hour flight.
“Given the number of times you’ve flown, I’d have thought you would be able to give the safety announcements by now.”
His lips twitch as though he’s amused that I know things about him from an internet search. “It’s still worth a listen—in case something changes.”
It seems my new fake boyfriend is a stickler for the rules. Interesting. I tuck that nugget of information away for future reference, lean my head on the window, and close my eyes.
When I wake up, we’re on the ground in Dubrovnik, my head is resting on Robert’s shoulder, and there’s a trail of drool from my mouth onto his shirt.
Perfect.
There’s no time to freak out, however, because he’s already up and ushering me out of my seat.
We deplane with our bags, and it’s a short trip to where we’re staying. As we pull up outside, Robert whistles. “Huh. That prick ex of yours likes the finer things in life, eh?”
“Yeah, the honeymoon was his choice. He had very strong opinions on where he wanted to go.” I shrug. “I just wanted to get away somewhere warm, just the two of us.” The words stab somewhere in my gut, reminding me of the betrayal of that piece of shit.
Robert picks up a flyer on the way into the hotel lobby. “Perched on the tip of the lush Lapad Peninsula in theneighborhood of Babin Kuk, the Aurelia Grand Resort is conveniently located close to the storied Old Town. This five-star hotel features elegant accommodations with dazzling vistas of the Adriatic.” He flashes a grin at me. “Consider me dazzled.”
“And all we’ve done is cross the threshold.” I return his smile. “I guess your bar is pretty low.”
“Most of my travel has been to war-torn nations, and I’ve never had the five-star treatment.” He’s almost bouncing as we approach the check-in desk. “I know it’s not really our honeymoon, but I’m excited to have a week by the sea in the sun. And you can bet your arse I’ll be destroying the hotel’s ‘award-winning buffet breakfast and fine cuisine at La Mar.’?” He reads off the leaflet again. “I love fine cuisine. I love all cuisine. I’ve rarely met a cuisine I didn’t like.”
Not that I’ll say this out loud because I’m standing firmly behind my “I hate his guts” peace wall that’s firmly and sturdily in place, but his excitement is adorable. When the receptionist hangs up the phone and turns her attention to us, instant love hearts appear in her eyes at the sight of Robert’s smile. I can’t blame her; it’s even more dazzling than the hotel. I won’t be telling him that, either.
“Checking in?”
“Yes, the surname is Wilson.” My insides cringe that I’m still associating with my ex, but it didn’t occur to me to change it when I called to change our room from the honeymoon suite to a room with two beds. I was so focused on not spooning Robert McAllister that I didn’t think about checking in under George’s name.
The receptionist clicks the keyboard. “Ah, yes. Two adults staying for one week in a king room.” She flashes a wide smile over the computer screen. “I believe congratulations are in order. It’s been prepaid, so I’ll just need a credit card for incidentals please.”
My face heats. “Actually, I called last week to request a change to a room with two beds.”
She purses her lips, two lines appearing between her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, but…” She taps more keys, the frown deepens. “It seems a change was made from our Presidential Suite to a king room.”
No. No, no, no. I don’t want to share a bed with this man. We’ve already slept together. We’re here in a romantic, luxury hotel for a week. I’m undoubtedly going to drink. And the last thing I need is to wake up pressed against deliciously hot, rugged temptation with morning wood.
We made rules for this very specific reason. While my self-control is iron clad, because he’s an arsehole journo, there’s no denying that he’s hot as hell.
“We’ll take adjoining rooms, if you don’t have a room with two beds.” I pull my purse out of my handbag. “I’m happy to pay the difference.” I’m actually not—this place wasn’t cheap to book, and this change to two rooms is going to sting me for a small fortune.
A pang of guilt strikes as I’m reminded that if I’d confronted that bastard before my wedding day, his mother wouldn’t have paid for this trip.
I’ll pay her back at some point, I have to. But for now, whatever it takes to have a bed of my own.
Her confusion is clear as to why we’d want separate rooms when we’re here on our honeymoon, but to her credit, she doesn’t say anything. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Wilson.”
My face contorts without conscious thought. For so long all I wanted was to be Mrs. George Wilson, and now someone thinks I am, and it makes me queasy. How quickly things change.
“But we don’t have anything else available. We’re fully booked.”
My stomach dips even lower. No. This kind of thingdoesn’t happen in real life, only in the movies, or those romance novels Clíodhna makes us all read for book club. “Surely you have some rooms you keep aside in case of emergency?”
I hear the desperation in my voice, but panic has my chest in a vise. If anyone gets wind of us staying in separate rooms on this romantic holiday away, they’ll know it’s fake. Shit. Shit. Double shit.
