“I won’t be pretending,” he says quietly.
I laugh. Otherwise… I might cry. “Right.”
The elevator dings. The doors slide open and we both step out.
I immediately check my phone, grateful for something solid to focus on—but when I read it, I stop short in the middle of the hallway.
“Oh,” I say, scrolling, then scrolling again. “I think we’ve been upgraded.”
Garden Suite. Elite Retreat.
For one careless second, I forget myself and smile at him.
His brows lift behind his sunglasses.
“Nice,” he says.
“Yeah,” I breathe, the laugh slipping out before I can stop it. Then the smile fades, like it never belonged to me in the first place.
We slow as the corridor changes—doors farther apart, carpet thicker underfoot, lighting warmer.
I scroll to the message again, just to be sure. The number glows on my screen: 15264.
I look up at the plaque on the door.
“This is it,” I murmur, heart kicking up a little.
Be grateful for the good stuff.Step one of coping, according to everyone.
Beckett nods toward the luggage lined up neatly beside the door. “Well,” he says lightly, “looks like everything made it.”
Everything… and then some.
My suitcases are stacked in a tidy row against the wall—garment bag, my usual mid-size roller, and then the largest one in the set which I never thought I’d use. It’s filled with dresses for the parties. Luna’s veil. Backup shoes. Backup options for the backup options.
“And before you say anything,” I add, already defensive, “there are events. Multiple.”
His mouth quirks. A teasing look I’ve seen a hundred times. “I didn’t say a word.”
At the end of my collection sits Beckett’s lone suitcase.
One.
We still have matching luggage. Same brand. Same color.
I’ve probably seen the inside of it more times than my own.
Up until a month ago, I did his packing for him. I washed his laundry…
I swipe the keycard and push the door open. Inside, the room is impossibly polished—cream-colored walls, a king-sized bed dressed in crisp white with a navy runner. Across from that, a curved sofa facing some wooden shelves. A massive TV. Beyond that, an oversized balcony.
And then I notice it.
An open door to the side. A walk-in closet.
I blink, half-laughing. “They must have realized that I really did book two rooms and this is their way of apologizing.”
Beckett steps inside, somehow bringing all the luggage with him at once. “Must be.”
