Because I can tell you right now, if I’m his first… I’ll also be his goddamn last.
* * *
“Bienvenue au Ritz. Quel est le nom de votre réservation?”
“Bonjour. Annabelle Hughes et Jackson Peters.”
She clicks away on her computer and glances up at us. “Alors, comment était votre vol?”
I give her a friendly smile. “Très bien, merci.”
“English would be nice, B,” Jackson mutters. It’s the first thing he’s said to me since the plane.
I shake my head, forgetting he doesn’t speak French. “She welcomed us to the Ritz, asked for our names on the reservation, and ensured our flight was okay.”
“Pardon me. I should have asked if you spoke French, Monsieur. Ah, yes, I see your reservation. One prestige suite.”
One?
“How many bedrooms does the suite have?” I quickly ask.
She narrows her eyes, probably wondering why I would ask after she surely assumed Jackson and I are together. “One bedroom, but the space in the common area is quite large. I can assure you of that.”
“Sorry, can you hold on one second?” I turn and face away from Jackson’s glaring eyes and dial Wills’s number.
“What’s wrong?” He answers my call quickly.
“Did you only book one room for us?”
“Yeah?” he drawls. “You’ve always shared rooms, plus they didn’t have any left besides what I booked. I figured you’d prefer to share a suite at The Ritz rather than having to switch hotels next weekend for the wedding.”
Of course, this makes sense. I’m the only one freaking out over here, worried that being so close to Jack will confuse me even further.
Not wanting to stress Wills out over this, I tell him it’s okay and hang up, but then open my booking app and, big surprise, there are no nice hotels in the area with rooms left for both of us.
“Are you being serious right now?” Jack growls from over my shoulder. “You can’t suck it up and stay with me for the week, so much so you’re over here in the corner, hiding, trying to book another hotel? Un-fucking-believable. I’m staying here, in one of the nicest hotels in Paris. You do what you want.” He marches back over to the front desk to finish checking in, and once again, I feel like shit, acting like a bloody drama queen.
“Is everything okay?” the receptionist asks.
I smile politely. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m ready to head to the room.”
Two men appear to take our bags and escort us to the room, and although I’ve been here many times before, the grand opulence never ceases to shock me with the wow-factor.
I take in the handcrafted molding, marble pillars, and blue velvet curtains that hang from the ornate windows.
Paris elegance at its finest.
I make a promise to myself to fix things with Jack and enjoy this time with him because we don’t usually get time away without it being work-related.
Stepping into the elevator, I take Jack’s hand in mine and don’t hold back my smile when he squeezes it instead of pulling away. I should have known that he’s most likely already forgiven me and I won’t have to fix anything.
“Oh, Jack, look, let’s do this cooking class. It says they do it every other day.” I show him the paper the receptionist handed me. “Oh, and they have a champagne brunch this Sunday.”
He kisses my forehead. “Whatever you want, sweetheart, you know that.”
My stomach sinks at his words, because he’s right. Jack would do anything and everything for me, no questions asked.
Have I been taking him for granted all this time without realizing it?
