The presidential suite is exactly what I paid for—sprawling and luxurious and decadent. Wall-to-wall windows overlooking the strip. Dark lush carpeting. Thick curtains. A living room the size of most apartments. A full bar. A grand piano I'll never play. And yes, two bedrooms.
With a connecting door.
Harper walks slowly through the space, taking it all in. “Did it look like this the last time?”
“The last time we were in another suite. This is the bigger one.”
She gasps. “Bigger?”
“Hey, what do you want. This is Vegas.”
“No, this is a down payment on a house."
"This is three nights in a hotel suite. Perspective, Harper."
She turns to glare at me. "You're very cavalier about money."
“No, I’m very cavalier about comfort.”
She's about to respond when she sees the view. She walks to the floor-to-ceiling windows and presses her hand against the glass.
"You can see the whole strip from here."
"That's why I booked it. It’s even better after the last time I was here.”
"When were you here last? Before our—" She stops. "Before Vegas."
"Two years ago. Investor meeting." I move to stand beside her. "Hated every minute of it."
"Why?"
"Because I was alone. And Vegas is designed for people who aren't alone."
She looks up at me, and I can see the question in her eyes.
"And this time?" she asks quietly.
"This time I'm not alone."
The words settle between us, heavy with tension.
Harper breaks eye contact first, turning back to the view. "So. Which bedroom is mine?"
"The one on the left. Master bedroom. Bigger bathroom."
"And you're in the one on the right?"
"Correct."
"With the connecting door."
"That can be locked from either side."
"That's very reassuring."
"I thought so."
She walks toward her designated bedroom, and I follow because I want to see her reaction.
