Chapter 13

13

ELLA

I wake up snuggled in the middle of a bed that’s somehow larger than the king in the Ruby Room. Last night, I fell asleep to the credits of a fairytale film where dreams the main character didn’t even know she had come true.

I’m having my Cinderella moment.

Even though I’ve covered nearly every inch of the resort, I somehow never encountered the Jewel Suite. There should be another name for it because it’s bigger than a villa with a luxurious collection of rooms on steroids. Seriously, it’s larger than every house I’ve ever lived in. It could have its own postal code.

I went exploring last night and discovered a fully stocked closet with designer clothing and accessories, a popcorn pantry with every flavor imaginable along with a mini movie theater and a private library.

From what Jack said, his father must’ve had it custom-built for his wife because it’s every woman’s dream with a dressing table, a bath big enough to swim in, and a jewelry box studded with diamonds and gold.

I’m afraid to touch anything .

You break it. You buy it.

Allain Bouchelle must be a wonderful man.

Speaking of men, I now fully understand the concept of a true love’s kiss. I’m not saying I’m in love with Jack, but I could see how a gal could fall head over heels for him.

Part of me wants to be annoyed that he didn’t reveal his hockey player status right away, but would it have mattered? Sure, it’s his job and likely how he spends a lot of his time, but from what I gathered, he has the inconvenient habit of encountering flirty women wherever he goes.

He should write a book called, The Challenges of Being Handsome, Awesome, and Rich .

Then again, I also would want to stave off the Yvonnes of the world. Working here, I’ve come to identify couples who are truly in love and others who’re with each other for the money. The desire for it can do strange things to people.

Slater, a case in point.

But Jack is another story.

He’s flirty and flashy and doesn’t seem to have the word moderation in his vocabulary, but is that because everything has been handed to him on a silver platter complete with a full set of cutlery?

At first, I was impressed, it all seemed so glamorous and attractive. Now, it’s not like I’m unphased, but see that beneath all the designer labels and expense, we’re all just people. And character trumps a person’s wallet every time.

However, Jack has a magnetic quality with his strong, handsome features and those piercing blue eyes that roam all over me, accompanied by a lazy smile. His cut jawline, stubble, and broad shoulders complete the attractive package, but am I just blinded by his good looks?

He’s also cocky and has a bend in his nose like it was broken. The man isn’t perfect. I realize that, but it’s like I cannot resist. If I’m under a spell, I’d like it to be broken, please.

Or not. I could get used to this luxe life.

I fling my arms and legs out, making a snow angel in the big bed—it’s an acre at least. Then the notion that I’ll soon have to resume taking shelter in the odd nooks and crannies of the resort rushes toward me like a steam locomotive.

That’s my reality. Not this. I shouldn’t get too comfortable because that’ll only make it harder to go back to the way things were.

But in the meantime, I may as well enjoy it and recharge my bathing batteries because grooming in a place like this is better than braving the ocean in the dark. I do not recommend trying to shave in salt water with seaweed and sand.

I roll to the edge of the bed and use the remote to open some of the blinds. I check the buttons in case there’s one to cue the little warbling bluebirds along with Gus, Jaq, and the other fairytale friends that’ll help me greet the day.

Unlike yesterday, I don’t have to worry about a hotel guest busting out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel while I illegally occupy his bed. That sounds bad, but seeing Jack again, with his chiseled muscles, freshly washed hair, and smirky smile was good. So good when I ignore the little matter of my morning hair situation. Which is on fleak this morning.

Another button on the remote makes the television rise out of a hidden panel and a selection of options appear, including room service.

After browsing for a few moments, not only can I order food, including crepes— délicieux —if I were so inclined, I could also have a personal chef, stylist, or translator brought to my room. I have fallen behind on my reading, so I browse the best sellers arrayed in the library and land on a hockey romance.

It’s not my usual fare, but it’s fitting .

Donning a fluffy robe, I have breakfast in bed. Only a couple of chapters into my book, love, romance, and relationships occupy my mind. I’m not in a position to fall or be caught—not with my responsibilities and lack of gainful housing. But a girl can dream about a prince or knight in shining armor appearing in her life and waving his hockey stick, melting away all her problems.

A sigh escapes and I contemplate ordering another plate of strawberry and whipped cream crepes smothered in warm melted hazelnut chocolate spread.

It might be the last time I have anything that delicious in a while.

There’s also a distinct possibility that I won’t sleep in a bed for a bit.

Or ever kiss a man again with lips that are powerful yet soft, demanding yet giving.

I recount the kiss shared with Jack in vivid detail and decide to take a cool shower before pulling on yesterday’s clothes.

Only, when I reach the dressing room, I discover a note along with a selection of brand-new clothing from one of the many boutiques on the property. I recognize the tags because they have mini safety pins instead of those stabby little plastic fasteners that I inevitably find stuck in the carpets while cleaning rooms.

There is also an assortment of hair and beauty products with moisturizers for everything from my face to my cuticles. I look at my nails, ragged at the edges. Until now, it never occurred to me to take care of them.

Jack’s note reads: I hope you don’t mind that I made sure you had some options for today, including an appointment at the spa for whatever treatments you’d like. If there’s anything else you want or need from anywhere on the property, charge it to the room. Please. If you don’t, I’ll know, then you and I will go on a shopping spree later. Dinner reservations are at seven. -JB

This means I’ll also need to have an answer to his peculiar request for me to wear his jersey to a game. I flip through the hockey romance novel, scanning the pages, hoping that I’ll glean some insight, but I don’t want to be late for work, er, the spa, which I do not have to clean for once. Lucky me, I have today off.

I opt to keep things simple—a relative statement when I know this wardrobe collectively costs more than I make in a year. I slide into a cream-colored Chanel bathing suit with gold detail and a colorful Pucci wrap. I’m not sure what the spa treatments will entail, but I’m not going to be caught in my underwear in front of a coworker.

When I exit the suite, tension rushes through me. I involuntarily slip back into employee-who-wants-to-go-unnoticed mode. The fabric’s loud print is not helping, but the Armani strappy sandals don’t flip or flop on my feet, making my walk down the hall on the plush carpet as quiet as a whisper.

On the upside, I probably don’t have to worry about Slater anymore and no one seems to recognize me without my wig. Jack didn’t even realize it was Jasmin—the girl who rescued him from the dunes—when I was lying on the floor next to his bed, staring him in the face. All the same, the nerves duplicate themselves.

On the downside, am I really that invisible? I disappeared from my life as I knew it, but am I fading completely into a workaholic just to make ends meet? This isn’t my first choice, but what other option is there? I can’t very well abandon my father.

Before Slater, I had a boyfriend during my senior year of high school. The frog. We did all the cute things young couples do, including prom … where he dumped me. After having a bl ast going out to dinner, dancing afterward, and taking goofy and adorable photos in the prop booth, he said we had to talk. That we were going in different directions. Me to UPenn, only a few towns over, and him several hours away in Pittsburg. It’s not like we would’ve been in different countries. But perhaps we already each had one foot planted in different worlds. He had his sights on being in finance and I was going to study hospitality.

The irony of my current situation isn’t lost on me.

What made him a jerk was that a week later, he was dating a girl from my AP calculus class, meaning he either wanted to ditch me for her or just wanted an excuse to break up and move on.

My entire life could use a self-help book. The relationships section would be highlighted and annotated.