Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
“I am aware of the Beauty and the Beast-inspired sanctuary you created, Noel. Don’t forget, I had a hand in this place as much as you did,” he bites out, his face blank for the first time tonight. “Your room, or my own.”
“It’s okay, the family is very sweet,” Dina attempts to settle the issue. “They’re honestly happy we said they could wait out the storm inside in our lobby. They will be grateful for any given space regardless.”
“There are no decorations in there. No red and white. No tree.”
“The entire vibe of this place screams, ‘Winter Wonderland,’ Noel.” Dina smiles assuredly. “It’s okay.”
But the lights and the music, the nutcrackers and tinsel, and reindeer pajamas—all things encompassing the room Roman can offer them.
My heart begins to beat wildly, a little out of control.
I can’t.
He can’t…
There’s just no way.
I’m prepared to say so, but then my gaze is pulled down the hall where a little girl with blonde hair runs, dragging a stuffed snowman behind her. A second child, this one a few years older on her tail, a Santa hat hanging half off her head, falling to the floor.
She stops then, picking it up and slipping it over her curls, and then she looks up. I expect sadness, disappointment—they’re stuck in a hotel, and I imagine her to think what if Santa can’t come...
But the little girl smiles, her two front teeth missing, and she waves. “Merry Christmas!”
Tears prick my eyes, my chin wobbling, and I look to Dina.
She wears a sympathetic smile and nods.
“Be sure to get their sizes and bring some of the PJs down for them.”
“Of course,” she whispers softly.
I can’t bring myself to look at Roman, and just barely manage to say, “I’m in room four-twenty-three.” And then I walk away while my muscles still work.
But Roman wouldn’t be Roman if he didn’t stop me with a firm yet soft grip. His heavy knuckles press beneath my chin, lifting my gaze to his, searching for something beyond the surface. His shoulders fall, and he whispers for only me to hear.
“If having me in your room hurts you this badly, I will stay in the library.” He shifts closer, his other hand gripping on to my hip as if the need to touch me, to hold me consumes him. “I’ll sleep in the fucking snow if it takes this broken look off your face.”
My eyes well with tears, my hands flying up to grip his wrists.
I’m not sure what I intended to do, but he releases me before I’m forced to decide whether I needed the contact just as much.
“Room four-twenty-three.”
His frown deepens, but he nods, and this time, when I walk away, he lets me.
Thank fuck for that, because I need a damn minute alone.
Of all the possible mishaps I ran through my mind prior to this weekend, this is the last thing I ever expected.
It’s absolute worst-case scenario.
Why?
Why did there have to be a storm?
Why did we slay opening weekend by filling every single room this place offers?
Because this place was meant to be magic, but you weren’t supposed to become a casualty of it…
I scan my phone over the slot and push the door open, glaring at the sight.
Why did you insist on tormenting yourself?
My plan was to stay away until my body demanded I retreat to my room for the night, where I would allow myself my one day a year to remember, to smile and miss and retrace every detail, and then I’d permit myself to break. To get angry.
To scream without screaming.
To cry without someone around to try and soothe me.
That was all everyone did when the literal man of my dreams left.
Only Dina knew the absolute truth of it all, but no one wanted to let me break or wallow, and eventually, sooner than I was ready for, I pretended it didn’t matter. That he didn’t matter, and my life wasn’t over when all I felt was a dark, deafening emptiness.
Thank God there was work to be done, and if it weren’t for the job opportunity waiting for me in Los Angeles, there’s a good chance I’d still be living in my pity party.
I step inside my memory and prepare to give myself a mental pep talk before the patchy wall job around my heart is punched through by the very man who forced me to build it.
CHAPTER 8
Roman
The door to Noel’s room is open when I reach it. Not fully, and you can’t see an inch inside, but open nonetheless, a small bath towel preventing the latch from clicking.
“I would have preferred to wait outside while…” My words fail me as the room reveals itself, my luggage falling to the blush carpet with a soft thud.
I swallow, my eyes bouncing from one tiny detail to the next, the blood in my veins turning to ice as my muscles heat, my brain perplexed, confusing my body with its crossed signals.