“Mr. Wright,” the woman at the front desk greets him warmly. “Welcome to the Grand Hotel. We have you in the Lilac Suite.”
“Perfect,” Logan says.
She hands him two old-fashioned brass keys—actual keys, not key cards—and directs us toward the elevator.
Our room is on the third floor, and when Logan unlocks the door and pushes it open, I actually gasp.
The Lilac Suite is enormous. The walls are papered in a delicate floral pattern with soft purple accents, and the furniture is all antique—a four-poster bed with white linens, a velvet loveseat by the window, and a writing desk that looks like it’s from the 1800s. French doors open onto a private balcony overlooking the straits, with two rocking chairs positioned perfectly to watch the water.
“Logan,” I breathe. “This is incredible.”
“You like it?” He steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
“I love it.” I turn in his arms to face him. “This whole thing. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He kisses me softly. “Now go get ready for dinner. We have reservations in the Main Dining Room at seven.”
“The Main Dining Room?”
“It’s formal,” he says with a grin. “Which means I get to see you in that dress you packed.”
“I didn’t pack a fancy dress.” I frown, looking over at our bags that have already been delivered.
“You might want to check your bag again.” He winks.
I laugh and shake my head. “How?”
He shrugs. “I had Iris order a couple of dresses for me. She assured me that you’d love them.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will.”
An hour later, I’m standing in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom, barely recognizing myself. The dress is beautiful—a deep emerald green that brings out my eyes, with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that hits just above my knees. Iris clearly has excellent taste.
I hear Logan moving around in the bedroom, and when I step out, he’s standing by the window in a crisp white dress shirt and dark slacks, and he looks so damn handsome it makes my chest ache.
He turns when he hears me, and his expression shifts immediately—eyes darkening and lips parting slightly.
“Wow,” he says.
I smooth my hands down the dress self-consciously. “It’s okay?”
“Okay?” He crosses the room in three strides and takes my hands in his. “Tessa, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “You’re biased.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees. “And I’m still right.”
He kisses me, slow and deep, and I have to pull away before we get too distracted and miss our reservation entirely.
The Main Dining Room is breathtaking. The ceilings are even higher than in the lobby, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the straits and the Mackinac Bridge in the distance, now lit up as the sun sets. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room, and each table is set with white linens, fine china, and fresh flowers.
A tuxedoed server leads us to a table by the window, and I feel like I’ve stepped into another world—one where I belong in fancy dresses and historic hotels, where my past doesn’t matter and the future is full of possibility.
“This is unreal,” I whisper as we sit down.
“It’s pretty great,” Logan agrees, reaching across the table to take my hand.
Dinner is a five-course meal—starting with lobster bisque, followed by Caesar salad, then a palate cleanser of champagne sorbet, then the main course of filet mignon with roasted vegetables, and finally a dessert of Grand Pecan Ball, which the server explains is an island specialty: vanilla ice cream rolled in pecans and topped with hot fudge.
