says, “Hey, leave a little space between you two for Jesus.”
“We’re united in holy matrimony, Liz,” Mia says. “It’s not only allowed, it’s expected.” Her arms go around Julian, the injured left arm gingerly. “Right?”
He kisses her as they dance. “More than expected,” he says. “It’s encouraged. The natural instincts and affections imparted to us by God are hallowed and directed aright in marriage.”
She smiles into his face. “Julian Cruz, do you have some natural affections that you might like to direct at me?”
“Direct at you aright,” he says. His hands tighten around her waist. “Perhaps we should go see if they have any rooms available.”
“Yes,” Mia says. “It would be a shame if they were all booked up.”
“Such a shame.”
“Duncan is looking forward to being upstairs,” she says. “And do you hear Wild over there, drunkenly trying to persuade Liz to give him her virtue because who knows what tomorrow will bring? I can’t believe him. He’s trying to seduce her!”
“Does he really need to try?” Julian says, and into her tut, adds, “Mia, Wild knows how Liz feels about him. He doesn’t need to say anything. He knows she will give it to him without any words.”
Mia steps back and studies Julian. “So why is he talking to her like that then? What kind of a farce is this?”
“Not a farce.” Julian pulls her back to him. “He does it because he knows that’s what she wants. He tells her what she wants to hear to please her. She wants to hear him want her with his words, even if they’re drunk words.”
“Hmm,” says Mia, shimmying against him. “If that’s the case, how come you’re not trying to seduce me?”
“Who says? What do you think all that Pink Gin was for? Are you dancing with me? Letting me maul you? Did you kiss me, go to the movies with me, fake marry me? What won’t you do with me?”
“Julian!”
“Yes, Mia?”
“Let’s go get that room.”
Julian pays the check, and the nine of them amble over to the pristine and elegant reception area. The only indication inside the marble and granite lobby that there’s a war on is the three men by the open doors sweeping glass and dust into bins, the glass and dust that’s been dragged into the reception hall from the Strand. One of the jobs of a grand hotel in a grand city is to shield its guests from the world outside its doors. And if ever there was a time to be shielded from that world, it’s today.
“We’d like a room, please,” Julian says to the tall, sharply attired front desk manager who scornfully scans their ragged inebriated ranks.
“Who is we?” he asks. “You and Mrs . . .”
“All of us,” says Julian.
“You can’t, sir. Maximum occupancy per room is four. It’s a fire hazard otherwise.” The officious man says this with a straight face, even as the fire brigade douses a flame on Waterloo Bridge just behind the hotel, even as another fire brigade douses a fire on Exeter Street, across the Strand.
“It’s okay, Swedish,” Wild says, pulling on his sleeve.
“No, it’s not,” says Julian. “How many rooms would we need?” he asks the clerk. “There are nine of us.”
“Well, then, you would need a minimum of three rooms, sir.” The man smirks.
“Very well,” Julian says. “We will take four rooms. Preferably adjoining. Any with connecting doors?”
“We don’t have four rooms tonight. The house is full. We have two rooms. We also have a two-bedroom suite.”
“We’ll take it,” says Julian.
“Uh-huh,” says the clerk. “That will be ten pounds per room, or twenty pounds for the suite, sir.” Self-satisfied, the smug man snaps closed the reservation book.
“We’ll take the rooms and the suite.”
“That would be forty pounds.”
From the jacket pocket, Julian takes out his cash. He counts off forty pounds, and another forty—and another forty.
“Here’s one hundred and twenty pounds,” he says. “Paid in full for the entire weekend.” He gives the stunned man another five. “Please bring extra robes, towels, pillows, blankets, extra soap and shampoo, toiletries for the ladies, and for the men razors and shaving foam.” He gives the man another ten. “And also ten bottles of champagne, a bottle of your finest gin, a small bottle of angostura bitters, and some tonic water. Oh, and a tray of light sandwiches and scones with jam, in case we get hungry. You know what, make it two trays.”
The clerk stands with his mouth open.
“The keys please,” Julian says, extending his hand.