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“Alright, let’s get to the hotel.”
“Wait, isn’t it early for check-in?” I asked.
“Usually, yeah.”
“Are you going to expand upon that?” I asked, ushering a reluctant Storm back into the car. The poor guy had been in a lot of less-than-ideal spaces the past day.
“The presidential suite was open, so they made an exception. Oh, he said, glancing over at me. “And don’t call me Silvano at the check-in. I’m using a different ID for obvious reasons.”
“Can I have a fake name too?” I asked, shooting him a playful smile.
“Yeah. You’re Mrs. Michael Allegro,” he said.
I knew it was just an easy alias.
But even the mention of being thought of as his wife had my belly doing a little flip-flop.
“Michael, huh?” I asked, trying to cover up the warm feelings moving through me. “Very normal for a man named Silvano.”
“Silvano isn’t even the craziest name in the family,” he said, shrugging.
“Cesare, Cosimo, Salvatore, Brio…”
“Good memory,” he said. Was that something like, I don’t know, approval in his eyes? Was I projecting my hopes onto him?
“Well, this looks like a place where I won’t have to worry about using hangers to lock the door,” I said as we pulled up to a three-story white stucco hotel that looked like it had been constructed recently.
“Yeah, it had good reviews,” Silvano agreed. “Kinda surprised to find this place in an area that really isn’t known for tourism, but I’m glad it exists.”
With that, we climbed out. And while I walked Storm again, Silvano shoved all the stuff he’d bought into duffel bags he’d purchased as well.
Finally, about twenty minutes later, we’d made it to the front desk, where I went ahead and leaned into the role of a lovesick Mrs. I wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned into him.
Then, after handing his ID to the desk clerk, he bent down to press a kiss to the top of my head.
“The dog bed and bowls should already be in the room,” the man at the desk said as he handed the key card to Silvano. “Can I give him a treat?” he asked.
“Sure,” I agreed, smiling as Storm immediately sat and offered his paw without being asked.
“Oh, this is nice,” I declared as we moved into the luxury suite.
The place was bigger than Silvano’s apartment with its own little kitchen, massive, sun-soaked living room, and two separate bedrooms.
Storm, finally free of his leash, rushed around the space, sniffing everything, but nothing quite as thoroughly as the giant round bed that he quickly started to fluff relentlessly while Silvano brought the bags into the primary room of the suite.
The space was dominated by a king-sized bed covered in white bedding. Across from that, a massive flatscreen television atop a dresser.
Nothing in this room was bolted down.
“What?” Silvano asked, head ducked to the side.
“I bet nothing is carved into these nightstands,” I said. Then, silently adding I won’t need to hover over this toilet seat.
“Alright. Come here,” Silvano demanded as he unzipped the duffel bag.
I moved toward him, then noticed the plastic wrap he was holding.
At my raised brows, he shrugged. “Figured you want a shower,” he said. “After that hellhole you were holed up in.”
