11. Sophie

eleven

Sophie

“Are you checking into your suite, Miss Summers?” the concierge calls out as soon as Axl and I cross the threshold in the vast hotel lobby. I home in on the unusual amount of people milling around the entrance area. They part to the sides, clearing a path for us, while many take out their phones for obvious reasons and whispers buzz through the whole room.

“Yes.” I stride to the desk as Axl guides my suitcase, and onlookers aren’t shy about taking photos.

“I have two adjoining suites for your comfort,” the concierge declares, and the crowd hushes as everyone appears to be eavesdropping. “And just to confirm, your couple’s massage is in one hour in the spa.”

“Couple’s massage?” I echo, jolting my head back before catching myself. The slew of people are still hanging onto every word of this conversation. “That sounds . . . great .” I can’t even look at Axl, because if he gives me any sort of confused look, I won’t be able to keep this fake grin on my face. The thing is, my manager, Bailey, booked my massage, and I made the point to tell her to add Axl but only as a friendly gesture. I didn’t think for a moment she’d book a couple’s massage. To ensure this weekend is a success, I haven’t told anyone but my mom that it isn't a real romantic getaway, and now I’m dealing with some of those repercussions.

Bailey thinks Axl and I are dating, and she set up our accommodations for a couple.

We take our keys and pivot together, while I make sure to walk as closely as possible to him, hoping to give off the illusion that we’re together. We’re all toothy smiles the entire way, even when we get upstairs to our hallway. I don’t trust that someone isn’t hiding in the shadows, ready to pop out to catch us out of character. I hold my breath as Axl swipes the room key, and we both enter the same room. As soon as the door clanks behind us, I let out a defeated sigh. “That was so much harder than I thought it would be. Did you see all the people staring at us?”

“I think Bill tipped off social media to where we are staying for a little extra PR, but I didn’t think it would be like that. Your fanfare is unreal.” He beams back at me, but I know the smile isn’t about me. He’s been starry eyed this whole trip as he lives my life with my private plane and crew of people who fawn over me.

“Trust me, this is unusual for me, too. Did you notice that most of the people taking photos were women? And they were clearly zoomed in on you with your week-old beard.” I smile, hoping he receives that as a compliment. His brows pin together in a serious manner, but he’s quiet. Hopefully, I didn’t offend him, and I rush to change the subject, “Hey, I do want to say, I’m sorry about the couple’s massage. I had my manager book it, but I totally forgot that she doesn’t know this is fake dating. I had no idea she’d do that. You can go, and I’ll stay here.”

“No, it’s not a big deal. You were more excited about it, and you should go.” He parks my suitcase against the wall and crosses the room to the adjoining suite door. Without even scanning the massive suite, he unlocks the door and walks through it, calling back, “You can have the main suite. I’ll stay here.”

I hadn’t for a second thought we’d share a room, but he looked almost uncomfortable even standing in my room. It was almost as if he couldn’t get away fast enough. He’s not upset about the couple’s massage, is he?

That was not my doing.

I would never put either one of us in that situation.

It would never happen either, because one of us can just skip it or even both of us.

It’s crazy to think we’d do something like that.

We barely know each other.

True to his word, Axl stays locked up in his room while I sneak down to have my massage, and it is a true “sneaking” situation. I case along the wall of the back staircase, and I still find several fans loitering with their phones handy. It’s worth it, though, because my massage is amazing, releasing so much shoulder tension that my whole body melts like a pad of butter.

When I sneak back upstairs to change into my gown, the hairstylist I use when I’m in New York is already waiting for me. Everything goes well, and before I know it, it’s time for us to head downstairs. For the first time since Axl disappeared into his room, he taps on the adjoining door.

“Come in,” I call out while I stare in the mirror and press my new lip liner to the top of my lip, trying to cheat my lip line. I love the natural makeup look my stylist gave me, but one thing I’m big on is full lips.

I hear the door push open and close, but I focus on the mirror as I diligently fill in the gap, careful not to smudge it. When it’s perfect and just the way I like it, I snap the cap back on my liner and casually pivot.

My breath hitches intensely, inflating my chest.

Axl’s wearing a cobalt suit, with the blue setting off his eyes, and the tailoring on his suit adds so much swagger.

And the freshly sprouted beard. Oh, Martha. He wears it so well.

I manage to keep my mouth closed. Resisting the urge to drool, I swallow it down.

Then swallow again for preventive measures.

And once more.

Why did I just pencil on my lips with so much detail?

“You look . . .” He lets out a sigh that borders a groan, and I’m not sure if that’s a happy sound or not. His gaze takes a sweep over me, before latching on to my eyes, and I swear it left a scorching trail on my skin. “Radiant,” he tacks on, all the hues of blue in his eyes spiraling back at me.

This moment doesn’t feel like a fake date.

This moment feels real.

Again, I have to swallow to protect my fake lip line at all costs. I smile with pinched lips, keeping the flood-gates closed, hoping it passes for a mysterious smirk instead of the more likely constipated smile.

“Are you ready for this?” he asks when I don’t reply to his compliment. I literally can’t speak. My throat feels like it’s been baked into hardened clay. The way he’s looking at me, and the way he’s looking in that suit, make speaking an impossibility.

The beard was a good call.

I do the next best thing to talking. I hum out a giant, “Mm-mum.” Then I hook my arm in his, and we head out.