“I will.”
“But—” I protested.
“Go,” Orion said.
“And I’ll have the gift shop bring up gowns for both of you to choose from,” Leo said.
“But in the closet?—”
“Tashi,” Orion said with a sigh. “You’re not getting it, are you? All three of us can provide you with anything, even without income from the hotel.”
“That’s right,” Ares agreed. “Orion made sure we banked enough money, so we never need to work.”
“Besides,” Leo added, “the Olympus Royale is our passion project, but you are our great love.”
Orion nodded. “And we intend to showcase you at the Gala.”
“Say,” Leo said, “just to make the experience easier for you, we’ll have the hotel photographer follow you and post your spa day online. Whip up excitement for the Gala. It’ll feel like you’re working.”
“I’m always working. But the Gala is by invitation only,” I said.
“Yes, but people will come to the hotel anyway,” Leo said.
“Is that wise? With everything going on?” I asked.
“Let’s save the spa day photos for tomorrow and post them before the gala pics,” said Orion.
“If we make it through the event,” Ares said darkly.
Orion smiled tightly. “I—we—are counting on you, brother. You haven’t failed us yet.”
Everyone agreed, but the nerves in my stomach fluttered like trapped wings. I tried to hide them under a smile for Marta’s sake, but every time the elevator chimed, or a staff member brushed past us, my breath hitched.
Still, Marta grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the spa floor like she’d been born for this. And I followed.
Salt scrubs. Oils. Hot stones. Steam rooms scented with eucalyptus. The Olympus Royale offered a kind of luxury I’d never experienced—pampering so elaborate it bordered on surreal, especially after spending the morning staring down a vent where a bomb might drop hours from now.
Through it all—every massage table, every treatment room, every fresh robe—I carried with me the knowledge that the men I loved were fighting to keep their world standing.
Marta and I had barely finished the last round of hair and makeup when one of the spa attendants arrived with a rolling wardrobe rack and a tablet listing each item. The gowns were all breathtaking—midnight blues dripping with crystals, white silk that looked poured onto mannequins, jewel-toned chiffon that seemed to float all on its own.
But one dress—one—made my pulse trip.
The gold sequin gown was backless, with a daring, liquid V neckline and a hem sculpted to brush my ankles like spilled champagne.
Pinned to the left strap was a note, folded once.
Marta saw it before I did. “Ohhh…someone left you love mail.”
My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled the pin free and unfolded the note.
I’d love to see you in this, and out of it later. — L
Heat rushed through me from neck to knees.
Marta let out a whistle. “Marketing boy has game.”
I laughed despite everything twisting inside me. “He really does.”
