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It was us. Me and my brothers. We couldn’t hide our pain from the staff. Everyone here knew intimately what we were going through, even sort of went through it with us. They sympathized with us. Many here had grown fond of Sophia already and ached for her loss of her mother while they ached for us losing our partner.
Yes, it’s a strange arrangement, but no one here would ever be judgmental. Hotel personnel are always selected for their sense of loyalty and discretion. They’re entrusted with people’s belongings every day. People’s secrets. People’s habits and purchases. In a way, they are almost like family also.
And no one has said an unkind word about Bunny so far. Everyone has been enthusiastic and charming and doing exactly what they should. Some are excited at the possibility that we haven’t given up. Others are perhaps a bit more guarded.
The driver slows the Rolls-Royce in front of the door, then pops out to open a back door for Bunny. She claps her hands under her chin and gasps in delight.
“Oh, really? For me… okay! Thank you!” she chatters as she climbs inside.
I climb in after her, trying to dampen my enthusiasm. It really is difficult to be around her and remain in the foul mood that greeted me this morning. She’s bright. Sunshiny.
I don’t want to be bright and sunshiny right now. I want to be analytical and cautious.
But she sits on the edge of her seat, staring out the window as we make the drive to Burnham Harbor. I can see her fingers gripping the leather as she leans forward, drinking everything in.
“I take it you’re not from a big city?” I ask her.
“Oh, I like to go all over,” she sighs. “I’ve been to New York and DC… Annapolis… It’s just I’ve never been here. I love to go new places. Trey says you have hotels in fifty countries?”
“Well… just thirty,” I explain. “Maybe fifty. Eventually.”
“Have you been to all of them?”
I nod. When I do the math in my head, it’s kind of a lot. “Yeah, they usually send me to do the negotiations. Spencer is our attorney so he gets to stay here and do everything by email. Trey and Brock like to use the jets to go snowboarding and check out whatever concert strikes their fancy. And Royce likes to stay here. This location is the one our father built, the one that’s dearest to his heart.”
She smiles broadly. I notice how straight her teeth are.
“Oh, that all makes sense. It’s cool that you guys all have different roles. You work together and all that.”
“Do you have a big family too?”
“I’d like to have a big family,” she answers shyly. “We don’t really have all the advantages you guys have. Everybody’s always stressed out. Working more than one job. Trying to make ends meet. I guess you probably never had to think about that, did you?”
Her little hand is on the seat, and I want to hold it. I want her hand in my hand. Such a strange feeling. I can’t explain it.
We swing into Burnham Harbor, stopping just before the slips. A light breeze comes up the lake and swirls her skirt around her thighs as we walk down the pier to our boat. The captain and chef wave from the upper deck. I wave back.
“Wait a second… is that where we are going? That looks like that cruise ship!”
“Oh, don’t exaggerate,” I smile, feeling quite proud of myself anyway. “It’s just a yacht. It’s a nice place to have breakfast.”
Bunny practically skips ahead of me, walking up the ramp and onto the boat. The captain takes her hand to steady her and smiles at her like a grandpa.
As I climb on board, he gives me a wink of approval. Great. Looks like everybody is on Team Bunny.
The chef appears to lead the way, looking quite smart in his whites and cloche.
“Miss Bunny? Would you like to have a seat on the deck?”
“Oh, thank you!” she singsongs. “This is so amazing!”
He pulls out her chair for her, tucking it neatly under her bottom as she settles in, then opening her napkin and draping it across her lap. She holds her hands up as though surprised how close he is. He doesn’t have to go all the way to maître d’ service, but I suppose he’s enjoying himself.
“Coffee here, espresso here,” he instructs her, tapping the different vessels. “Cream and sugar, of course. Then we have blood-orange juice and I’ve made some English-style biscuits. Clotted cream and strawberry preserves. Crêpes will be available in just a moment!”
I settle across from her, watching her delight as she surveys the table. It’s laden with a little bit of everything, all in crystal and silver. Chef did a marvelous job putting this together on the fly. When Spencer called him, I heard he was not pleased about the emergency appointment.
But you really couldn’t tell now. He’s absolutely bubbling, bouncing between the crêpe iron and relish table. He prepares a cheese plate and sets it on the edge of our table, then returns to his batter.
