AllFreeNovel
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Fresh, vibrant, and cringe-inducing.
I keep coming back to one fact.
I was a fangirl idiot. A Shipping Minion who fell for the Head Honcho on the fourth floor.
I was out of my league and too dumb to see it.
I flip to my side and get bombarded by a wall of puffy, rotund pillows. There are so many pillows on this bed, yet not one of them felt comfortable to me.
Early morning sunlight filters through royal-purple drapes that cover the double glass doors. Around the rooms, the paintings come to life with the morning light. Hat-adorned heads smile down at me, mocking my fatigue.
I flop like a fish and try the other side.
More faces peer down from framed canvases to watch my struggle. Starched collars, ornate jewelry, those same mocking smiles rendered in slick oil paints.
There is no way I’m staying holed up in this room until eleven o’clock.
I’ll check out early, I think as I flop to my back with a huff.
I spent my hard-earned money on this room in hopes it would fix my life.
Nope.
That’s not going to happen.
My life is totally unfixable.
I stuff my face into the pillow in an effort to block out the sunlight. It is Saturday morning, and that doesn’t even matter to me. I used to love weekends, but they’re not so special when you’re between jobs.
I want this day to be over.
I wish I didn’t come here.
Negative thoughts swirl through my head as the room gets brighter and brighter. When a gentle knock raps against the door, I figure it must be room service. I’ve been told I’ll be served tea and scones at nine o’clock.
I shuffle to the door, tightening my robe around me as I go.
I’ll cancel.
I’m not hungry.
I open the door.
“Your breakfast, ma’am.” The young woman in a castle-staff uniform of black slacks and prim white-collared shirt smiles kindly. She pushes her little cart forward. It’s a rolling table with ruffled curtains hanging on all four sides. The top is crowded with a covered plate, teapot, pitcher of cream, sugar bowl, and a dainty, flower-patterned China teacup.
The teacup rattles against the matching saucer beneath it as she rolls the cart toward the French doors.
I don’t deserve this.
“I’m sorry you came all the way here with all that,” I murmur as the young woman straightens the silverware and napkin on the tray. “I think I’m going to pass on breakfast.”
“Oh, you can’t pass!” she gasps. “Not on a breakfast this good. The scones are made with real cream, and the tea is the same kind Isabella herself used to order from England, with hand-picked leaves and the finest ingredients.”
When she pivots to face me, sunlight brightens her cheeks. She smiles as she looks around the room. “Isn’t it special in here?” she whispers. “I’ve always wanted to stay here, myself. You are really lucky.”
Hardly.
Brock tricked me.
