After the Climb (River Rain #1) - Kristen Ashley Page 0,11

suspected two more in the bathroom). Black-backed wallpaper adorned with gold and blue and cream with purple-edges flowers. Camelback settee with scrolled arms covered in an ivory brocade damask. Tufted armchairs angled across from it in brown velvet. Heavily carved, oval coffee table in between that held an attractive urn stuffed full of fresh peonies, dahlias and trailing greenery that looked tipped with berries.

The king bed up against the wall to the right was high, huge, dizzyingly carved, padded and radically covered with pillows.

There was a writing desk at an angle beside one of the two fireplaces, facing the room. It had delicately swooping legs and was accompanied by a Belvedere oval-backed chair.

There was also a small bistro table with two chairs in front of one of the windows, the better to enjoy morning coffee and a croissant with a view to the bustle of the square.

And oddly, since it was situated all the way across from the bed, double doors opened to an extravagant Victorian bathroom with gold wallpaper, marble-edged copper basins, a sunken tub, intricately carved wainscoting painted coin-gray, all of this topped with an opulent chandelier.

Last, there was a silver bucket containing a bottle of champagne, a napkin precisely folded and draped over it. And beside the floral arrangement was a plate of what looked like homemade chocolate chip cookies under a glass dome.

It was extraordinary.

I loved every inch.

So much, I could stay in that space for weeks.

But honestly, they had me with the cookies.

My son called me the Cookie Monster.

And there was reason.

Rodney’s voice took me out of my admiration of the room and thoughts of my second born.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?”

I turned to him to see him at the door, but on my way, I noted he’d erected the luggage stand, and laid my suitcase on it. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

I licked my lips and felt my face soften.

Even the best of actresses could not pull one over on the kindest of souls.

He knew nothing, and yet, having sat often behind the wheel with me in the back, or me in the back with one or both of my daughters and/or my son, he sensed everything.

“Truly, I’ll be all right,” I lied.

He knew I was lying and did not hide that fact.

Even so, he said, “I’ll be back tomorrow at eight to take you home.”

I nodded.

He moved to the door.

He then gave me a long last look, dipped his chin, and left the room.

I stared at the closed door and my eyes started stinging.

“No, no, no, after the facial,” I said to myself, and then got busy.

Unpack first, since I hated living out of suitcases, even only for a day, and hated more not having my toiletries and toothbrush at hand when I needed them.

Check.

Go to the floral arrangement and read the note sticking out. Heavy stock. Folded once. And at the front, an embossed Sienna Sinclair.

Handwritten inside,

Ms. Swan,

We’re honored you selected The Queen.

If there’s anything my staff or I can do to make your visit more enjoyable, please do not hesitate to ask.

Yours,

Sienna

Nice.

Classy.

Read.

Check.

Peruse room service menu and call down to order, giving them a time to deliver, so it’d be ready when I was. Then ask them to refresh the ice in my champagne bucket so I could enjoy it with dinner.

Check.

Change from fancy outfit I never should have worn when confronting Duncan into dove-gray pleated joggers and slightly see-through, V-necked, long-sleeve tee and pull out gray Valentino slides to wear down to the spa.

Check.

Text Chloe and share I was good, and I’d call her later.

Check.

Text Mary and share that I’d arrived, the hotel was fabulous, and I was going dark for a bit so I could enjoy my facial and some downtime.

Check.

Turn off phone.

Check.

Slip on the slides, grab keycard, lock my purse and valuables in the in-room safe, and head to the spa.

Check.

*****

“Hey, Mom.”

Hearing Chloe’s voice, all was well in the world.

At least for now.

“Hey, honey,” I replied, stretching out my legs and leaning back in bed with my champagne.

The room service tray was in the hall.

The cookies were up next after I talked with my girl.

And now, I’d just turned on my phone and called my Chloe.

Unsurprisingly, it had immediately binged with a text from Mary.

I ignored that to focus on my daughter, who I knew would be worried about me.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“It went,” I answered, just as my phone binged with text two, also from Mary, and it started with nothing but