I let myself sigh.
It feels so good.
Slowly, I let my fingers rove.
Lower.
Touching the place.
Gently, gently.
His hands.
Another lush orgasm rolls through me.
Oh god, oh god.
The pleasure rushes are deep and brimming. I can do nothing but allow the hot beauty to surge through my body and soul.
Will I see him again. Will he come back?
Probably not. There’s every chance he’s long gone.
Then again, he might be in town for a few days, at a conference or something. Maybe he’ll stop in one more time.
When the bliss finally subsides, I feel different. It’s a releaseand it’s relief. I’m wildly relaxed for the first time in … well, as long as I can remember. My body is sated and my brain has taken on a technicolored brightness. My thoughts feel crystallized and electric.
It’s the first time in over a year that I’m not fully consumed by loss.
Live a little, Amelie. See how good life can feel? It’s time to pick yourself up and brush yourself off and get on with it. So what if Theo III and this fucking hotel broke your heart. Those things don’t have to define you.
I get out of bed and pull on my worn uniform. I have two identical black uniforms. Both are threadbare and very close to one size too small, but it can’t be helped. New uniforms aren’t in the budget right now, Ellen said. The billionaire has more important things to spend his money on, apparently.
Pulling my hair back, I tie it with the only hair tie I haven’t lost yet. I brush my teeth in the tiny sink. And I grab my ring of room keys.
Letting myself out, I carefully lock the door with the only existing key and slip it into the buttoned back pocket of my pants.
I stop by the laundry room. I load some cleaning supplies into a bucket and I grab some linens and some pink rubber gloves.
I start with room 22, which is the one at the back on the third floor with its own little wrought iron balcony.
It’s one of Hotel Thibodeaux’s quirks. We’re a four-story hotel and we have 27 rentable rooms. It used to be 26 until the hotel got sold and then the two-bedroom suite I was born andraised in became another guest room. So the rooms aren’t numbered according to the floor they’re on. No one really knows why, maybe great grandpa was drunk at the time he numbered the rooms, which wouldn’t surprise me at all.
We hand guests the brochure with the map that explains the “unique” and “fun” idiosyncrasy when they check in, but there’s always the odd guest who forgets or ends up getting lost.
Room 22 had a leak in the ceiling that needed repairing. The contractors finished yesterday, so I need to get it ready for guests to check into this afternoon.
Locking the door behind me, I strip off and take a showerasI’m cleaning the shower—something I’ve been doing every day—or most days—for the past year. I get dressed again and quickly dry my hair.Damn it, where did I put that hair tie?I’ve lost another one. My last one.
I’m making the beds when the doorknob rattles. “Amelie?”
There’s the sound of a key having trouble opening the lock. I go open the door.
“Miss Ellen.” I’m a little shocked that my boss has tracked me down out of the blue like this. My hair is still barely damp.Can she tell I just got out of the shower?
“These locks need replacing,” she announces. “The keys barely work. Amelie, it’s really becoming a problem that you don’t answer your phone. I don’t want to have to constantly be chasing you down whenever I need you for something.”
“Oh. Sorry. My phone’s charge only lasts around twenty minutes so I usually turn it off when I’m working.” My phone is ancient and has a cracked screen. I haven’t had the money to buy a new one. I pull it out of my pocket and Ellen watches meturn my phone back on. I do it more because I remember that Sadie wanted to keep in touch since she’s leaving soon than for Ellen’s benefit.
