Then he leads us through a set of glass doors out onto a snow-dusted deck, where I stop short.
“There’s a heated pool?”
Steam rises off the water in soft white ribbons into the freezing air. Beyond it, the mountains stretch out in every direction, all blue shadows and white light.
Wade spreads his arms like he personally invented luxury. “There is.”
I look at him. “Do people actually get in that while it’s snowing?”
“All the time.”
“I should have brought a swimsuit.”
“We sell them.”
By the time Wade finally leads us upstairs toward the rooms, I am fully, hopelessly sold. I would like to be buried here someday, or at least left alone with a latte and a blanket and no responsibilities for twelve to eighteen years.
“This one is you two,” Wade says, stopping outside a room near the end of the hall.He opens the door and steps aside.
I go in first.
Oh.
Ohno.
The room is beautiful. Of course it is. Bigger than my room at Grayson's, with a fireplace, a seating area, a balcony door looking out toward the slopes, a sleek bathroom off to one side, and?—
One bed.
One enormous, plush, very unmistakable bed sitting dead center like a threat.
I go still.Behind me, I hear Grayson stop too.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Wade says.
I turn just enough to look at Grayson.He looks back at me, and unless I am wildly misreading that expression, he did not know this either.
That is both reassuring and worse.
“Looks great,” Grayson says finally, in the tone of a man trying very hard not to look directly at the problem in the middle of the room.
Wade nods once, either oblivious or pretending to be, which honestly might be more sinister. “Dinner’s at seven-thirty. Freshen up, settle in, whatever.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and silence drops over the room, and this time, it feels like it has a pulse.
I set my bag down by the armchair with what I hope looks like total composure and not the beginning of a nervous breakdown. “Well.”
“Mm.”
I glance at the bed and then immediately glance away like it might burst into flames if I look at it too directly.
This is fine.This is survivable.This is definitely not the universe mocking us.
For the next few minutes, we pretend not to be aware of it. He takes his toiletries bag into the bathroom and comes back out. I unzip my suitcase at the foot of the bed and then hate that location instantly and drag it over toward the couch. He hangs a jacket in the closet. I stand by the balcony doors for no reason whatsoever except that they are not near him.
The whole room feels too warm and too small.
I can feel him in it even when I’m not looking at him.
