Page 84 of Pretty Mess

The lift moves upwards smoothly. “I wish I did. It’s beautiful.” I eye him thoughtfully. “You don’t need to entertain me.”

“God forbid. I’d need a whip and a circus tent to do that.”

“And little dancing dogs in tutus. Don’teverforget that,” I say earnestly, and he laughs.

The lift stops, and I follow them out into a corridor. It’s panelled in light wood, and the lighting is bright and warm. Our footsteps make no sound at all on the checked carpet, and there’s only one door, which is carved and made of the same wood as the panelling.

The lady stops at the door. “This is yours,” she says, producing a keycard and letting us in. “There are two floors in the suite, so you have plenty of space.”

I step inside, and my mouth drops open. We’re in a huge room with polished wooden flooring and floor-to-ceiling windows that show Paris stretched out in front of us. The walls are painted in cream, and there’s more of the same abstract art as downstairs. A dining table with seating for ten people is set to one side on a big cream rug. On the other side of the room is alounge area with an oversized sectional and very comfy-looking chairs around a marble coffee table. On one wall is an enormous TV.

The lady smiles at us and then gestures to a wide entrance to the side of the room. We follow her and I tag along at their heels as she shows us a meeting room with a table big enough to chair a board meeting, and an office set up with seemingly everything a business tycoon would need. A big desk sits in front of a stunning view, but Mac gives Paris the same cursory glance as I’d do for my local Tesco car park.

“Perfect,” he says politely, but obviously keen to get the pleasantries over.

The woman smiles in acknowledgement. “I’ll show you the bedrooms and then leave you to it,” she says. “Your luggage is being brought up, and you have the same butler as before.”

Mac nods. “Thank you.”

“Butler?” I breathe.

She smiles. “You have access to service twenty-four hours a day, so please feel free to ring anytime for anything you need, Mr Archer.”

I have a vision of a butler sleeping standing up like a flamingo so he can answer requests for caviar hamburgers at four in the morning. I hastily clear my expression and assume an innocent face as Mac shoots me a look. His lip twitches, and he gestures to me to follow the lady who’s disappeared around the corner.

She shows us a bedroom and en suite, both of them just as fabulous and sumptuously furnished as the rest of the suite. I’m trying to hide my awe at the surroundings, but Mac just gives a cursory look at the beautiful room. “Lovely,” he says. He doesn’t sound at all excited.

A bell sounds, and the woman says, “That will be the luggage. I’ll go and let them in.”

She disappears, and Mac turns back to me. “You can take this bedroom, Wes.”

“What? I mean, pardon?”

He gestures at the sumptuous room. “This one has the best view of Paris, so you have it.”

“I’m willing to bet this hotel has no bad views.” I hesitate. “Aren’t we sharing a room?”

“No. I don’t share my bed when I sleep. There’s another bedroom in the suite. I’ll take that.”

He tips his head, scanning my features and I hope I don’t look disappointed. I guess being away from the London flat and traveling to this fabulous location had made me think… Well, I don’t know what it made me think. But it’s impossible not to imagine sleeping in that gorgeous bed with Mac and waking up together and walking out onto that balcony to take in that even more gorgeous view. Together.

“I did tell you that,” he says after a moment, a thread of insistence strengthening his voice.

“You certainly did,” I say, turning from the view of the room and the bed. “It’s fine. No worries.”

The concierge appears again. “The luggage is taken care of. Shall we go over the final details, Mr Reilly?”

Mac nods and shoots his cuffs. “Why don’t you explore upstairs, Wes, while we go over the arrangements for our stay?”

I’m not sure if it’s a suggestion or an order. His eyebrow rises, and I realise it’s definitely the latter.

“Of course,” I murmur.

They walk away, discussing arrangements for cabs and meals. “Fuck,” I breathe. I poke my head into a dressing room. It’s big enough to house the wardrobes of five people and smells of cedar.

I’ve never been anywhere so opulent. I roll that word around in my head. Yes, it’s the right one—opulent.

Ten minutes later, I hear Mac call my name.