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"We did it," Tess says, tossing her shoes into the corner where they land with twin thuds. "We fucking survived."

"Was there ever any doubt?" I set the bags down and loosen my tie, which has been feeling like a noose since hour three of the reception. "I'm Charlie Astor. I can handle anything. Even my ex-fake girlfriend's ex marrying her ex-friend."

"Such confidence," Tess says, but there's a smile playing at her lips—the real one, not the polite society mask she's been wearing all day. "Especially from a man who nearly choked on his champagne when Hank's grandmother asked when we’re getting married."

"I was buying time for my brilliant response," I protest, wandering deeper into the suite. It's everything I requested—sleek and modern but with warmth, a sprawling king bed visible through double doors, and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Spokane's twinkling skyline.

“And your “brilliant response” had to include that I bought you at a charity event? Where did that even come from?”

She follows me, her dress—that glorious deep green number that's been distracting me all evening—swishing softly around her legs.

"I have been bought, actually. Three times." I wink at her, delighting in her rolled eyes. "Raised twelve thousand for childhood cancer research last time."

"Of course you did." Tess discovers the balcony doors and slides them open, letting in the evening air. "Oh my God, Charlie. You didn't tell me there was a hot tub."

I join her at the threshold, slipping an arm around her. "Must have slipped my mind."

Steam rises from the surface of the water and tiny embedded lights cast a blue glow across the rippling water.

"This is..." Tess's voice trails off as she takes in our accommodations. "This is incredible. You didn't have to go all out like this."

"Consider it a thank you for surviving the Wedding from Hell." I run a hand through my hair, looking forward to soaking in the hot water.

She laughs, the sound honest and warm. "I'm not sure I packed anything remotely suitable for hot tubbing."

"I'm sure we can figure something out," I say, aiming for casual.

I head for the minibar, examining its contents with exaggerated interest. "First, though, I think we deserve a nightcap."

The minibar is stocked with the ridiculous excess I specifically requested – top-shelf everything, including a bottle of Rémy Martin Louis XIII cognac. I pull it out with a flourish.

"Is that what I think it is?" Tess asks, eyebrow raised.

"If you think it's liquid celebration, then yes." I search for glasses and find a couple in a cabinet above the sink.

She chuckles and takes off her jewelry—earrings, bracelet, necklace—carefully placing them in a little pouch that she pulled out of her overnight bag.

"We made your ex look like he's the one who missed out. And—" I pause for dramatic effect, opening the bottle with practiced ease, "—we did it all without being rude, which frankly deserves an award given how many times I wanted to drown him in that ridiculous chocolate fountain."

This earns me another laugh as I pour generous measures into our glasses. She accepts hers and clicks her glass to mine. "To another wedding in the books."

"To the best fake girlfriend a guy could ask for," I counter, clinking my glass against hers.

The cognac burns smooth down my throat, warming me from the inside out. Tess takes a more cautious sip, her eyes widening at the flavor.

"Holy shit, that's good," she whispers.

"It should be, for three grand a bottle."

She nearly spits out her drink. "Are you serious? Three thousand dollars?"

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. "It’s just money. Besides—" I take another sip, savoring it "—after watching Kiley's father give that twenty-minute speech about true love while staring at the maid of honor's cleavage, I think we've earned the good stuff."

As the alcohol settles warm in my stomach, I feel the day's tension beginning to unravel. My shoulders drop a fraction. Tess looks more relaxed too, a slight flush coloring her cheeks.

"I'm starving," I announce suddenly. "Let's see what else this place has to offer."

I return to the minibar and yank open the snack drawer. It's a treasure trove of overpriced temptations – chocolate, nuts, chips, cookies. Without thinking too much about it, I grab five different bags of chips and tear them all open, arranging them in a semicircle on the coffee table.