Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 113617 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113617 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
She might be a drama queen, a personality trait she nurtured gleefully.
But she was still her mother’s daughter.
And in that, the lesson of, “People do things for a myriad of reasons, darling. Just because you don’t know what it is, or you do and you don’t like it, doesn’t mean it isn’t valid. But at the end of the day, you have the power to forgive and move on. It’s the most selfish thing you can do, letting go of that weight so you can move forward in life without carrying it. It just happens that it’s the most compassionate thing you can do too.”
Chloe had a feeling she was going to need to count on this.
“I’m Genny Swan’s daughter. And we need to talk,” she finished.
Instantly, he gave her precisely what she needed in order to know she was doing the right thing.
His middle swayed back like she’d delivered a gut punch.
And his handsome face went haggard.
He also did not move to hide this last.
And the kicker?
He drank in her features like he’d been a man straggling through the desert for days and she was his oasis.
And then he asked, “You drink beer?”
“I’d prefer a martini.”
“I’ll see what we got.”
He then moved to the side in invitation.
Chloe proceeded up the steps.
And she did this fighting a smile.
Chapter 3
The Hotel
Imogen
* * *
Shaken after the events at Duncan’s home, and because of that, and the necessity to box it up, set it aside, and move forward without falling apart (until I could do that alone), I was going through the motions as I walked into the hotel.
Since Trisha and Scott (my friends who lived in the condo next to mine but had moved up here permanently three years ago) had shared that this property had been purchased in order for an extensive renovation that would end in it being an exclusive boutique hotel, we’d wondered if the owner was a lunatic, or a visionary.
And I’d wanted to visit since it had its grand opening.
Thus, I decided to take that opportunity on this trip, as well as spend some time with Trish and Scott, not to mention Heddy.
Therefore, after I’d given Corey his final wish for me (and now, the fact I’d done it for that man infuriated me) I’d planned to stay the evening, booked a late facial in their spa, and after, intended to get room service, relax and read that night.
The next day was all about Heddy, shopping, tapas at El Gato Azul for lunch, and dinner with Trisha and Scott at Farm Provisions.
In fact, I always enjoyed a visit to Prescott, even knowing Duncan lived close.
It wasn’t exactly a remote, low-population town. It was relatively large in and of itself, and a favored destination for Phoenicians to go for a day, or a weekend, to avoid the heat in the summer. And others to buy properties up there, again to avoid the heat (something, once Trish and Scott moved up, Tom and I had considered…but then…Duncan).
But it wasn’t Flag. It didn’t have ski slopes to attract greater masses.
It had lakes. Hiking trails. The Dells. Shopping. Whiskey Row. And for a week in the summer, Frontier Days.
Mostly, it was pretty sleepy, and partly because it was beautiful, but undoubtedly because it was laidback, slower-paced and the people less harried and more friendly than in the city, it was enticing.
I should not have been enticed.
Not this time.
I should have headed home, to the condo, holed in, made myself a pitcher of gimlets, and contemplated how I’d gone so very wrong for so very long when it came to Corey.
Instead, I took in the interior of the lobby of the hotel, which was decidedly Victorian in a rather close, heavy, dark, fabulous way, with its green-and-gold scroll wallpaper. And the tall desk behind which stood a stylish young woman wearing a slim-fitting, dark-pink dress that had an attached scarf artistically tied at the side of her neck.
I unconsciously braced as her eyes fell on me, ready by rote to handle however this proceeded.
Fortunately, as I stopped in front of her, Rodney unnecessarily at my side, rolling my Tumi that I could roll myself, but also cutting me off from view of the bar that was also on this floor, she simply smiled before she spoke.
“Ms. Swan. We’re delighted you’re staying with us at The Queen. And I’m happy to report, your suite is ready for you.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
Her eyes shifted to Rodney, and back to me, and she asked, “Would you like us to help you upstairs with your bag, or—?”
Rodney butted in. “I have it.”
“Of course,” she said to him. But to me, “Your PA’s instructions for check-in have been understood.”
Translation: I was booked under the name Virginie Forbes.
Even now, semi-retired, precautions had to be taken.
“And the manager of the spa has been alerted to your appointment,” she went on. “Just so you’re aware, when you arrive at our facilities, a member of staff will escort you to the locker room, and make sure it’s cleared so you can change. And phones have been banned in the lounge, though we encourage that anyway. Regardless, you’ll be escorted straight to your treatment room, once your valuables have been secured.”