Page 8 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

Then Tessa called his name from across the lobby.

Grant stepped back.

“There you are,” she said, carrying Henry and beaming. “Mom wants a picture outside before everyone gets sweaty.”

“Of course.” Grant’s smile returned at full wattage. “Coming.”

He brushed past me and his fingers grazed the inside of my wrist, just a small touch. A threat disguised as an accident.

I didn’t flinch and that was important to me. I waited until he was gone before I let my hand close around the key card.

Mara watched me.

“Ms. Morgan,” she said quietly, “please let the staff know if any member of the wedding party causes you discomfort.”

I laughed once. “That’s a generous offer, but I don’t think your staff is trained for my family.”

“You might be surprised.”

There was something beneath her voice. Not exactly sympathy. Something more practical.

Then it passed.

A bellhop led me toward the west wing. The corridor was long and cool, lined with mirrors and white flowers. Through the glass along one side, the gardens opened in tiers. The wedding lawn below. The terrace where we would all pretend to enjoy dinner tonight. The clipped green paths curving toward the locked east gate.

Henry barked somewhere behind me in the lobby.

The bellhop paused, his fingers tightened around the handle of my suitcase.

“Problem?” I asked.

“No, ma’am.”

There was that ma’am again.

I looked at him in the mirror. “You people say no with your whole bodies.”

His eyes met mine for a second.

Then he smiled, polite and empty. “The dog dislikes the island.”

“Smart dog.”

He said nothing.

My room was beautiful in the irritating way expensive rooms always were. Cream walls, blue bedding, a balcony, fresh flowers, a basket of fruit I would be charged for if I breathed near it wrong. The bathroom had a soaking tub large enough for poor decisions.

The bellhop placed my suitcase on a stand and hung the blush garment bag in the closet.

The dress inside gave a faint, tragic rustle.

“I’ll have a steamer sent up,” he said.

“Can it steam away shame?”

His professional face almost cracked. “I believe housekeeping has limits.”

“Disappointing.”