“And Ms. Reyes,” she turns to me with a welcoming smile, “welcome. We’re delighted to have you joining us for your first visit.” Her fingers move across the keyboard, perfectly manicured nails catching the light. “Let me get you checked in.”
I smile, still taking in the opulence around me. In my head, I run through our plan once more. We couldn’t get separaterooms without looking suspicious, so Jack arranged a suite with a separate living room. Jack would take the pull-out couch and I’d get the bedroom. All very practical, appropriate.
The receptionist looks at her screen again, her expression brightening. “Oh! I see there’s been a change to your reservation.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “Is there?”
“Yes, your manager called this morning. He requested our Oceanfront Romance Suite for your first trip together as a couple.” She smiles professionally. “It’s been arranged as a complimentary upgrade for you both.”
Jack shoots a quick glance at me, and I try to hide my panic, instead plastering on a smile that I hope looks pleased rather than alarmed.
“How thoughtful,” he says smoothly.
“Very generous,” I add, matching his calm tone while wondering what exactly aRomance Suiteentails.
“The suite is ourmostromantic,” the receptionist continues enthusiastically. “Thirty-fifth floor, ocean views, private hot tub on the balcony. We’ve included champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries.”
Just what I need right now. Romance suite. Hot tub. Champagne. With the guy I’m actively trying not to think about kissing. Perfect.
“Wonderful,” Jack says, accepting the key cards she hands over. “Thank you.”
A bellhop in a tailored uniform appears with our luggage on a gleaming brass cart. “I’ll bring these right up for you, Mr. Midnight,” he says with a polite nod.
We follow the bellhop to the elevator, a glass capsule that offers panoramic views of Miami as it rises. The city stretches out below us, a colorful tapestry of buildings, waterways, and greenery, all shimmering in the setting sun.
“The view is spectacular,” the bellhop says, noticing my awestruck expression as I press my face against the glass. “Wait until you see it from your suite. Best in the hotel.”
The elevator opens onto the thirty-fifth floor and we follow the bellhop down a hallway lined with plush carpet that muffles our footsteps. The corridor is minimalist and elegant—soft lighting, tasteful artwork, and a sense of hushed exclusivity.
He stops at a set of double doors at the end of the hall, swipes the key card, and opens them with a flourish. I step inside and my jaw goes slack.
The suite is stunning, modern luxury with floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase an endless stretch of turquoise ocean. Everything is crisp whites, soft blues, and natural wood tones, creating an atmosphere of sophisticated calm.
“Oh my god,” I breathe, frozen in the doorway.
In the center of the room sits a giant heart-shaped bed. Not figuratively heart-shaped, butliterallyshaped like a Valentine’s Day heart, with crisp sheets and rose petals scattered across it in an artful pattern. It’s so ridiculous that I feel my cheeks flush immediately.
A bottle of champagne chills in an ice bucket beside fancy chocolate-covered strawberries arranged on a silver platter. The bathroom visible through an open door is a temple to luxury, all marble and glass, with a tub that could fit a small swim team and a shower with more jets than a rocket ship.
The bellhop arranges our bags, then gives us a tour of the amenities with obvious pride. He demonstrates the hot tub controls, then moves to a discreet panel on the wall.
“And this is our ambient lighting system,” he says, flipping a switch that subtly changes the room’s lighting. “Ten different settings for various moods and occasions, from ‘Ocean Sunset’ to ‘Midnight Glow.’” He cycles through a few options, each one creating a different ambiance in the room.
I catch Jack’s eye as the bellhop enthusiastically shows us how to activate the “Romantic Evening” setting, which bathes the room in a soft, rosy glow. Jack’s expression remains neutral, but I can see the hint of amusement in his eyes. Meanwhile, I’m fighting the urge to crawl under that ridiculous bed and hide forever. This entire room is basically screaming “SEX! WE ARE HAVING SEX HERE!” in neon letters, and I’ve never been more mortified in my life.
“The champagne is complimentary, of course,” the bellhop continues, gesturing to the ice bucket.
I nod and smile as though this is all perfectly normal and not making me want to spontaneously combust. When the bellhop finally leaves with Jack’s tip, we both stand in the middle of the room, staring at the bed that seems to dominate the otherwise tasteful space.
“So, uh…” I gesture at the ridiculous bed as if words have completely failed me, which they temporarily have. “This is…”
“It’s…different,” Jack says, looking as uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen him.
I scan the room desperately for a couch, a daybed, anything else that might serve as a second sleeping option. Nothing. Just the giant heart-shaped bed and a couple of plush chairs that aren’t nearly big enough to sleep on unless you’re a contortionist or a very small child.
“I can sleep on the floor,” Jack offers, following my gaze. “I’ve crashed in worse places.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I say, not wanting to deal with the sleeping arrangements just yet. I glance back at the heart-shaped monstrosity and for a split second, my traitorous brain conjures an image of Jack and me tangled up in those sheets together. I feel my face heat up and quickly look away. “Let’s just enjoy the view for now. And the freechampagne. We might as well get something out of this awkward situation.”
