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“Excuse me,” said a gruff voice from behind us
We turned around to find a man dressed up in a tux, who looked more like a bouncer than a doorman. He obviously wasn’t impressed by our little moment of fun, and his Russian accent made those two words sound a little harsher than necessary.
“Please collect yourselves,” he continued, turning a stern eye on Pierre. “Only those who have reservations are allowed in. Name?”
Pierre and I both froze, turning to share a look with each other. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the first voice I heard coming off the plane didn’t belong to a British accent.
But then I remembered what Felix had told me.
“Rosenburg,” I said, the name falling out of my mouth before I realized it. The man tensed up. So did Pierre. I didn’t have to look at him to feel it.
Because I could feel his eyes boring holes into mine.
“Rosenburg?” both the man and Pierre said at once, which probably made us look more suspicious than we needed to.
Letting out a mental sigh, I straightened myself up, and repeated, “Rosenburg, as in Felix Rosenburg.”
Furrowing his brows, the man scrutinized Pierre for what seemed like an eternity before he stepped past us to hold open the door.
“Follow me,” he said, shooing us into the hall like he was smuggling some castaways aboard a ship. We landed on the other side of the grand, red carpet tripping, and the man breezed past us toward an elevator with broad, bronze doors. He used a key, much like my own dorm key card, to swipe open the doors. Just as tantalizing aromas from the dining room floated into my nostrils, we were ushered into the tight, yet glamorous quarters of the elevator and swept up to God knows where.
“Does he actually think I’m Felix Rosenburg?” Pierre whispered into my ear. I slapped him on the shoulder.
“Shut up,” I muttered, wondering if didn’t care that the security guard or door holder or whoever he was could hear us. The answer was a hard no, of course—Felix looked like he was born and bred under Caribbean sunshine, freckled to perfection, while Pierre only got some sun over the past couple months. A seasonal tan that was obviously temporary.
At least he didn’t seem angry when I mentioned Felix’s name. Guess he was confused more than anything.
The elevator doors slid open to reveal another long, sparkling hallway. The security guy wasted no time and stepped ahead to guide us down to the last door, which looked more like a tall, metallic sculpture more than a door. He knocked on it three times in an even rhythm as if he’d practiced the motion in his head. A voice sounded from within, and the man pushed open the door.
The room was enormous, a clean mixture of sleek modern furniture and Victorian flourishes. Of all things my attention centered on, the large, ornamental fireplace took first prize. A wild orange blaze set the backdrop to a long glass desk where, sitting at it and facing us, was a man who looked like the grown-up version of Felix himself.
“Mr. Rosenburg,” the doorman said, and cleared his throat. I gulped as he looked up.
Fuck. I wasn’t expecting to come face to face with the old man himself.
The doorman walked over to the desk and leaned in toward Mr. Rosenburg, whispering something in his ear, probably explaining our somewhat sketchy situation. When he stepped back, Felix’s father let out an amused, good-natured laugh, and gestured to Pierre.
“Yes, that’s my son, Felix.” He winked at me. “Didn’t I tell you? He’s visiting for the weekend.”
Pierre’s mouth dropped open, and before he could say anything, I grabbed his hand and dragged him back toward the door.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Rosenburg!” I called over my shoulder.
We barreled back toward the elevator holding in our laughter with the strength of a diver holding its breath underwater. When the doors finally closed shut behind us, we collapsed against each other, shrieking in laughter.
“Oh my God,” Pierre gasped, clinging onto my shoulder like he’d drop dead if I weren’t there. “What the fuck just happened?”
Shaking my head, I tried to take in a few deep breaths to steady myself before we went public once again to one of the poshest places in the city. Didn’t work.
Just had to let it out.
I missed this.
“I’ll explain,” was all I could manage, pulling him in for a tight hug just as the doors opened. Clearing my throat, I stepped back out onto the carpet as if I owned the place, as if I’d just earned us the right to dine there. In a way, I had.
I’d earned my way into this world. I wasn’t going to not strut around as if I belonged, even if it was just for a few days.
“Sir?” I said, holding out my arm for Pierre to latch onto. He did as I implied.
