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Tristan groans and shakes his head. “We can go home afterward.” He looks at me with a frown.
“Is it one bed or two?” I ask the woman.
“It’s a queen-size bed. It does have a small sofa.” She attempts to smile, but it’s forced and concerned.
I look at Tristan and shrug. “I can sleep on the sofa.”
“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head adamantly. “Are you sure there’s no other room?” He leans forward on the counter.
“I’m positive. It’s been a while since we’ve been fully booked, but thanks to the wedding, we have no other rooms available.”
“It’s okay, Tristan.” I feel bad for the woman, and I’d hate to take this business away from her unexpectedly. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” His eyes burn into mine.
“I’m positive. I trust you.” I smile.
“Okay, I’ll take the sofa, though.” I nod to appease him, knowing I’ll fight him on it later.
“We’ll keep it,” he tells the woman, who visibly relaxes.
“Thank you, and I do apologize.”
“Don’t worry. Things like this happen.” I try to ease her worries.
After another apology, we walk up to our room. My heart is beating fast, but I know Tristan won’t be a creep about this. Hopefully, he sleeps in more than his underwear.
“Here we are.” He swings the door open, and I step in, looking around. The room is a decent size. The small sofa is against the wall, though it’s more of a loveseat, which will definitely be too small for Tristan to sleep on. I may be able to curl my body and fit.
“Don’t worry about it now,” I tell him when I see his crinkled brow as he stares at the sofa. “Let’s leave our things and go.”
“If you say so.” He shakes his head. “Come on.”
He locks up the room.
“I’ll put the key in my purse.” I reach for it.
“Thanks.”
We walk away from the room, the heaviness of tonight settling in my stomach. Things have taken a turn for the awkward, and I’m not sure how this is going to play out.
One bed, one room, two people who are supposed to be in a relationship but aren’t. To anyone on the outside, it will seem normal that we’re sharing a room. To us, it’s going to be another thing that blurs the lines.
21
Sage
We turn right up a hill, and the estate opens up like a beacon in the middle of nowhere, absolutely stunning with its stone façade and manicured lawn.
Tristan pulls around, following another car, and parks in the designated area.
“This place is beautiful.”
“Yeah,” he nods before swinging his door open.
I step out of the car before he can come around and help me, earning me a glare. I shrug and neatly fold my shawl over my arm. When Tristan places his hand on the small of my back to guide us around to the front of the venue, my belly flip-flops like a happy puppy getting scratched behind the ears.
It’s the same sensation I get reading a swoony romance novel—that giddy feeling of being a person’s everything.
