Shit.
Knowing that check-out is at eleven o’clock, I throw myself out of bed and hurry to the bathroom to grab one of the complimentary robes off its hook. Scrambling into it on my way across the room, I rush into the living room on another round of knocks. Barely giving myself time to tie the belt before I’m reaching for the doorknob, I pull it open, an apology already starting to fumble its way out of my mouth because I’m sure it’s the hotel manager, asking me if everything is okay and if I plan on staying another day.
It’s not the hotel manager or even one of the Gilroys, telling me it’s time to leave.
It’s Gwen.
Standing here, staring at her, mouth open while I struggleto form words, my little sister doesn’t give me any time to ask her what she’s doing here.
“What’s going on between you and Dean Mercer?” she demands, hands on her hips while she glares at me like I’m a dirty, rotten traitor. “And don’t saynothing. Don’t—just don’t, okay—because we both know it’s something and—” Stopping, mid-rant, Gwen looks at me. Really looks at me. “Ohmygod—” Taking in my disheveled hair, what I’m sure is a ridiculous case of raccoon eyes, and lack of clothing, her eyes go round while her mouth drops open. The combination makes her look like a kid who’s just been told that Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy are all very much real and have invited her to tea. “Is he here?” Pushing up onto her tiptoes, Gwen cranes her neck to try to see into the suite behind me. “Is he here? Is Dean?—”
Reaching for her on a sigh, I close my hand around her arm and pull her into the suite before she can really start in because even though the Gilroys reserved the entire floor, that doesn’t mean there aren’t hotel staff lurking around. The Hawthorne is known for its discretion, but gossip has a way of traveling. Moving to close the door behind us both, I see another note. This one stuck to the front of it.
Millie ~
I let Nat know downstairs that you were in need of a late check out. No need to rush. Take all the time you need. It was nice to see you again.
Henley
Her husband is right. She does have nice penmanship. I guess if Conner Gilroy is Dean’s fairy godmother, then Henley Gilroy is mine.
“Hello?” Looking up from the note, I find Gwen standing in the sitting area, a few feet away, hands stacked on her hips again, glaring at me the way she used to when she was little and someone had the audacity to tell her no. “I’m dying here, Millie. I’mdyingbecause you told me there was nothing going on between you and Dean and that it wasno big dealand then I see the video and it’s obvious you’re a big, fat liar so I?—”
“Video?” Folding the note, I stuff it into the pocket of my robe. “What video?” There are plenty of them floating around. The video of Dean putting my anklet on in the resort lobby on Hawthorne Cay. Videos of us cuddling by the pool. Of us kissing on the beach. Someone even filmed the outside of the cabana the day Dean came after me—you can’t see anything and thankfully you can’t hear much more. But those are all videos Gwen has seen a million times and nothing that would drive her to fly all the way to Boston to confront me on a Saturday afternoon.
She looks at me for a moment like she’s trying to decide if I’m just playing dumb or if I actually am as clueless as I’m pretending to be. “Wow… okay.” Giving me a nod, she looks at the set of double doors that lead to the bedroom. “IsDean here?” she asks, dropping her voice like she’s just realized how crazy and loud she’s being. “Did he spend the night? Is he still sleeping?”
“No,” I answer her, choosing my words carefully. “Why would Dean be here?”
Giving me a long, heavy sigh, she rolls her eyes before she sits down. “Okay—I can’t take the lies by omission on an empty stomach. I’m going to order room service while you go get dressed. After that, you better be ready to spill.”
When I come out of the bedroom thirty minuteslater,dressed and as put together as I’m going to get with the toothbrush Dean left for me and the toiletries provided by the hotel, I find Gwen stuffing her face in front of a full spread brunch, spanning several room service carts.
“Jeez” I say, making my way across the room while I take in the obscene amount of food. “Are you sure you ordered enough?”
Looking up, my sister narrows her gaze on me while she watches me sit down across from her. “This?” Lifting her hand, she waves it at the caravan of room service carts we’re surrounded by. “I didn’t order this—Mr. Mercerdid.” Dropping her hand, she gives me anI knew it!kind of nod. “Yeah—when I called, the concierge told me there was no need to order anything. That everything had been taken care of byMr. Mercerand they were just waiting for me—I’m assumingyou—to wake up so they could deliver the order.”
Dropping my gaze to the coffee table between us, I see coffee and pastries. French scrambled eggs and croissants. Champagne and a frosted pitcher of orange juice. All the things I love. All the things I would’ve ordered for myself. Allister doesn’t even know how I take my coffee, let alone how I like my eggs.
Shit.
Chest going tight again, I look up to find my little sister staring at me. She doesn’t look mad or irritated anymore. She looks worried.
“Tell me what’s going on, Millie,” she says, her tone suddenly gentle. “I know this is still pretty new for us but I’m your sister and I love you. I promise you can trust me. I swear thatI?—”
“That’s just it…” Shaking my head, I look around the room and suddenly feel like I’m drowning. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t?—”
“Okay.” Seeing how close I am to a downward spiral, Gwen reaches across the table for my hand. “Okay…” Giving me a squeeze, she lets go. Reaching for a champagne flute, she fills it with a generous pour of Les Clos Pompadour 2003 before topping it off with OJ. Dropping a fresh strawberry into my glass, she offers it to me. “Then we’ll get drunk and eat ourselves sick while we figure it out together.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
Leaving was the last thing I wanted to do.When I woke up to the feel of Millie pressed against me, the only thing I wanted to do was dig myself in deeper. Figure out a way to keep her here, with me. Keep the rest of the world out. Talk her into staying with me for the weekend. Take her to meet my mom. Maybe take her to a Sox game. Take her to Davino’s for dinner.
But I know that’s not going to happen.
Just wishful thinking.
Her phone has been going on since 8AM.
