“Who the fuck are you?” I repeat.
“I am Nicholas Randolph, the manager of the Eaton,” he says in a clipped tone as he takes a walkie-talkie from his pocket and flips it on. “Have security meet me at Suite 600.”
Fuck!
“There’s been a mistake,” I say in a rush. “We’re friends of the Eaton family.”
“I wasn’t informed the family had placed guests in the suite. We’ll have to sort this out with the police.”
“What? No? I’m Cyrus Eaton’s roommate. He gave me the keys. You can check.” This is spinning out of control so quickly, I feel dizzy. “Don’t call the police.”
“It is hotel policy, and furthermore, it is not up to Mr. Cyrus to give the keys to strangers. It has to be cleared with his father. We’ll need to contact him, but in the meantime…”
Cyrus and his family are off at some private resort on an equally private island. It could take hours to reach them. Long enough, I’m certain, for me to get thrown in jail.
“What is going on?” Francie appears in a bathrobe, tightening the belt.
I stare helplessly as security guards arrive behind her and grab her arm. That snaps me out of it. I jump up. “Let go of her. This is a misunderstanding.”
“You are trespassing,” Randolph says, as though this settles the matter.
A guard grabs me, but before they can drag me off, Adair shouts, “Wait!”
She pushes out of bed, holding her head up with more dignity than her clothing choice should allow. “We can move to my family’s suite if there’s a problem.”
Randolph pauses mid-order and turns a careful eye on her. “And you are?”
“Adair MacLaine,” she says. “My family’s suite is down the hall. We would have stayed there, but since there’s only one bedroom and my boyfriend’s family was in town, Cyrus wanted us to have more space.” She picks up the phone on the nightstand. “You won’t be able to reach the Eatons. They always spend Thanksgiving in Saint John. We can call my father. He’s home entertaining his future in-laws. I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Of course, I could text Cyrus as well. He can have his father call. I’m certain they aren’t busy as this time of night.”
“My apologies, Miss MacLaine. Of course, there must be a mix-up. We wouldn’t dream of asking you to change suites, but we’re happy to open your family suite if you’d like the additional space.” Randolph backtracks so quickly he’s practically out of the room. He snaps his fingers at the guards and hisses, “Let the guests go.”
Francie glares at the guard who grabbed her. “Shame on you.”
“I am so terribly sorry for the mistake,” Randolph says, but he’s not speaking to me. He’s talking to Adair.
“I’m not the one you should apologize too,” she says.
“Yes, of course. Mr….” It looks like it physically pains him to look at me.
Is it that obvious that I don’t fit in here?
“Ford,” Adair prompts smugly.
“Our apologies, Mr. Ford. May we have breakfast sent up tomorrow morning to show how sorry we are for our mistake?” he asks.
“No need,” I say through gritted teeth, daring a glance at Francie. “I think after your mistake, we’ll go elsewhere for the rest of our stay.”
He tries to argue with me, but my mind is made up. He continues bowing and scraping until he’s out the door along with the hotel security team. I slam the door after them.
“I need to pack,” I say, stalking back toward the bedroom.
“We don’t need to go,” Adair says in a confused voice.
I can’t bring myself to look at her. Instead, I continue back to the bedroom. I hear Adair heading my way, but Francie stops her in the hall.
“Let him be,” Francie says. “We don’t want to take advantage of anybody’s hospitality.”
“But you aren’t,” Adair says. “You have every right to be here.”
“Part of that is having the right to walk away when someone treats you badly,” Francie tells her. “We’ll be more comfortable somewhere else. Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll figure out where to go next?”
Adair is quiet as she comes back into the room. She disappears into the bathroom, while I shove my things in my duffel bag. I pull on my clothes, sit down on the end of the bed, and wait for her. My brain plays the last few minutes in a loop. Not the good bit with Adair in bed, but everything after. Adair’s terrified shriek when the door flew open. The pinched disapproval on the manager’s face. Francie appearing in the hall. But the images aren’t the worst bit—it’s the cycle of shame that accompanies them.
It hadn’t mattered that it was a mistake—not until Adair stepped in and used her family name to prove it. I might as well have been speaking in Latin. Nothing I said mattered, because I was nobody.
I am nobody.
“Hey,” Adair says softly. She’s in her huge dress again.
“We should go.” I don’t trust myself to say more. It’s not her fault that this happened. I shouldn’t have been so stupid as to think I could fit in enough not to raise questions.
“I’m sorry that happened,” she says. “They had no right to treat you like that.”
“Don’t they? I don’t belong in a fancy suite at the Eaton. I don’t belong in Valmont. I certainly don’t belong with you.”
“Don’t,” she orders me. Adair strides to me and grabs my chin. “You don’t get to decide who belongs with me. I do! And I choose you. The rest of them can have their vapid cocktail parties and keep score of how important they are. They have to, because they have nothing else to offer the world.”
“And I do?”
“Yes, you do,” she says. “You’re smart and kind and better than all of them combined, and I would trade all of this to be with you.”
“You say that now, but wait until you’re stuck in a studio apartment in
