“It’ll do.” He shrugs.
I smile as we walk into the reception. The doormen all run to hold the door open.
“Good evening, Mr. Miles.” One nods.
Huh.
“How does he know your name?” I whisper.
“You know what these fancy places are like.”
“No, I don’t, actually.”
He gestures to an elegant-looking sitting area. “Sit here while I check us in.”
“No, I’ll come.”
He pushes me into the couch. “Sit.”
Jeez. “Fine.”
He goes to the front desk, and I look around at the concierge and all the staff, all wearing black suits and looking more distinguished than anyone I’ve seen so far in Spain.
Five minutes later we are riding in the elevator to our room. “What did you pack me?” I ask.
“Guess.” He smirks.
“My white dress.”
“Bingo.”
“Aren’t you sick of the sight of that old white dress?”
“Never. You can get married in it if you like.” His eyebrows shoot up, horrified by what’s just come out of his mouth. “That’s fucking weird that I said that . . . ignore me.” He begins to trip over his words again. “I mean, I don’t . . . fucking hell.”
“Relax, I know what you meant. You like the dress, I get it.” I roll my lips to stop my smile. He’s hilarious.
We get to our floor and walk up the corridor, and he opens the door. We walk in, and the air leaves my lungs. “What the hell?” I gasp. “That must be some coupon.”
It’s a full apartment, with beautiful art and luxurious furnishings. We walk through to the bedroom, and there’s a four-poster bed and huge spa bath sitting in the middle of the room. “Wow,” I gasp, wide eyed. “This is . . .”
Christopher narrows his eyes as he looks around. “Subtle, Elliot,” he murmurs.
“What does that mean?” I ask as I walk over to the window.
“Nothing. My brother is a fucking idiot, that’s all,” he snaps.
He’s still flustered about the wedding-dress comment.
“I want to shower; can you give me half an hour to get ready?” I ask him.
His eyes hold mine.
“Why don’t you go to the bar downstairs and book us a restaurant and have a drink while you wait for me? I’ll come down and meet you there.”
“Okay, a drink sounds good.” He pecks me on the lips and practically runs from the apartment. Poor bastard thinks he just proposed to me or something.
Right.
Operation hot chick.
I unzip my handbag and pull out the dress I bought today. It’s rolled into a tiny ball. Thank god it’s stretchy and doesn’t need ironing. After Christopher came into work today, I rushed out on my lunch break and bought a date dress. Even grabbed some sexy underwear. It wasn’t in my budget, but screw it—it is a special occasion.
I go through the bag of things he brought me and find my toiletries case. I quickly look through it, relieved to find a razor.
“Thank god.”
I glance at my watch in a panic . . . “Okay, let’s do this. I have twenty-eight minutes to make myself utterly irresistible.”
Thirty-two minutes later