The Penthouse Suite

“Hi!” I pulled my suitcase up to the immaculate marble front desk and smiled, trying to ignore the sweat that dripped down my temples. “I’m here for check-in, Tara Knight.”

“Welcome, Ms Knight. Do you have your booking information and some ID?” the concierge was pleasant enough. He seemed to be made from the same marble as the front desk – he clearly didn’t feel the sticky humidity that clung to me. I handed over my booking reference and my passport, which pleased him enough that he grinned at me. “Excellent! My name is Jacob, I’m at your service for any needs to might have between eight in the morning and six in the evening. I can see you’ve chosen the full-board option. I’d strongly recommend avoiding breakfast between eight and nine – we have a lot of families staying, and it gets loud and busy.” Dreamy. He even knew I didn’t want to be bothered by screaming children so early in the morning. “Dinner, much the same – avoid coming down between five and six. After seven tends to be adults-only.” He presented a room key-card on a platter, along with a second key-card.

“Thanks,” I grinned.

“You’re very welcome, Ms Knight. Now, this is your room key – you're in room 222a, up in the penthouse, on the ocean side. This card is for access to the spa, inclusive of any treatments you pre-book the day before. You’ll need to use your room key-card to pay for your food, too. If you forget it, you’ll need to pay for it.” I nodded. “Alright, if I can get you to sign this for me, please.” He handed a form over, and I scanned it quickly. I was shattered; the six-hour flight had crippled me up, so much so that I didn’t read the form in any real depth. I signed at the bottom, dated it, and then picked up my card.

“Great, thanks so much,” I smiled. Jacob directed me to the lifts, and called a bellboy over to handle my suitcase, even though I said it wasn’t necessary.

“Penthouse, huh?” the bellboy smiled, eyeing the button I pressed in the lift.

“Yeah!” I beamed.

“How did you wrangle that? No offence, but you don’t look like our usual penthouse type. Usually, they’re dripping in gold and diamonds and refuse to even acknowledge bellboys and concierges...”

“Oh? I booked it through this bargain website thing. Secret Skies, it’s called. It basically gives you last-minute rates, I presume when someone cancels or something. I don’t know, really...” For the ten minutes it took us to get to the penthouse, I spoke with Sam, the bellboy, and he was actually really interesting. A family not too far away, three sisters who he loved dearly, a keen interest in painting and ballet – although he never really admitted that to anyone because he was tall and thin and everyone expected him to follow suit with distance running – and he loved his job when he got to meet new people. He tapped a couple of the paintings hanging along the walls of the hotel corridor and told me he’d done them. I thought they were beautiful - he was indeed skilled and talented. I also discovered that his name wasn’t even Sam, but a name he didn’t want me to even try to pronounce. I made a mental note to find out what it was. I made another mental note that perhaps he preferred Sam… still, he was an interesting person, and I fully intended to make a friend on this holiday.

“Here’s your room, Ms Knight.” Sam gave a deep bow and refused me when I rifled through my bag for some money to tip him. “No, thank you, Ms Knight, your company and interest in my paintings was payment enough!”

“Well, if you’re sure,” I muttered, smiling at him. “I hope you’ll tell me more about them? I’m here for two weeks!”

“Certainly!” Sam grinned from ear to ear, turned and left. I opened the door to my suite and let out what I can only describe as a cackle-giggle-laugh. The living room was huge, immense, with a floor-to-ceiling window spanning the entire wall, looking out over the sea. A TV hung on the wall, the furnishing soft and light coloured – greys, beiges, whites. The space was giant, even more giant was the massive super-king bed through the door to my left. The bathroom was mammoth, too – a huge bath sunk into the ground, against another huge window overlooking the bay. And no-one could see in! There was a rainfall shower with a glass surround, and an inconspicuous toilet just behind me. I did a happy dance. No way was I missing out on room service and a hot bath watching the stars…

I decided to take a quick shower, washing the sweat from my travelling from my gritty body. There was something special about that shower, when your body’s weak and weary from travelling, the heat’s intense, and you can’t wait to slide into a firm bed with cold cotton sheets around you, caressing your hot, tired skin… heavenly! A quick hour later, I was on my way downstairs to find something to eat, and then see how far away the beach was, beach bag and book in hand.

The sunsets in that place were absolutely spectacular. I’d spent the rest of the day on the beach, under the shade of a thick, fat-leaved palm tree. It turned out that, because I had the penthouse suite, I also got to have someone hand me drinks and food while on the beach or by the poor. The beach I was allowed on was private to the penthouse suites alone, which was another little perk. I felt blissful, sipping rum cocktails as the sun disappeared in a gentle orange fire past the horizon.

While I had dinner, I had an equally as nice view, only this time, it was a rather handsome gentleman, evidently very tall, with very deep brown eyes, and a crop of shaggy black hair that was styled just so. He was alone too, a book in his hand, just like me. I thought about making contact, but then I thought better of it; I was almost at the end of my book, and he hadn’t really smiled when we’d made eye contact…

Returning to my rooms, I put on a bit of music and had a little dance while I prepared myself for a shower. I was nicely tired, ready for a good, deep sleep. The shower this time was quick, just to rinse off the sand and sweat. I moisturised, put on my underwear, and trudged through to my heavenly, luxurious bed…

I don’t remember falling to sleep. Not really. I woke up gently to someone kissing my bare shoulder, and then my neck. For a moment, I thought it might have been my ex, but as I came to my senses, I remembered that I wasn’t in Wigan any more, I was in Mauritius in a penthouse suite I’d secured for a tenth of the cost.

And I was completely single.

I turned as the lips met my throat a second time.

I screamed.

“GET OFF ME! GET OUT! WHAT DO YOU WANT!?” It all came out in the wrong order, but it was there. Panic. Terror.

“YOU’RE NOT JESSICA!” The guy’s American accent was harsh and loud.

“NO! I’M NOT! GET OUT!”

“WHO ARE YOU?!”

I shot from the bed, grabbing the blanket from the chair beside the window. I threw it around myself and stared at him, terrified. “Who am I?! Who are you?!”

“Adam! Darcy!”

“Well, is it Adam, or is it Darcy?!” I growled. I realised what he meant as soon as he burst out laughing. “Stop! Why are you here?! Please don’t hurt me! Don’t kill me!”

“I’m not going to kill you!” this Adam laughed, shaking his head. He stood, putting his hands up submissively. I realised then it was the same man I’d seen at dinner, only his smile and deep voice made him even more alluring – provided one didn’t have sixteen litres of adrenaline coursing around the body in place of blood. “I’m sorry. I booked this room for the next two weeks. I thought you were my ex. We were supposed to try to get our marriage back together…” he looked down. “Sorry. I’m not usually that open.”

“Ha,” I scoffed half-heartedly. “Well, you are in a stranger’s bed…” I yawned and shivered. “Look. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. I mean, I did mean to shout. It’s not every day I get woken up by a six-foot-tall demigod, but there we go.” I shrugged. “Wait – you booked this room?”

“Yeah.” He looked up at me. Breath-taking. “Wait – demigod?! Not a full god?!”

“Shut up. I booked this room. I got it on a last-minute thing.”

“I’ve had this room booked for three weeks.” Adam folded his arms across his chest. I saw he’d at least had the decency to wear boxer shorts. Didn’t hide much, though.

“A week. For me. There’s obviously been a cock up – er, a mix up.” I blushed.

“Obviously. So, am I to call you not-Jessica?”

“Oh. No. Sorry. My name’s Tara.” I smiled at him. “Knight,” I added, remembering he’d given me his surname.

“Well, is it Tara? Or is it Knight?” he asked with a wry smile. I scowled at him.

“Hilarious. How about we put some clothes on and go downstairs to see what’s happened with the booking?”

“It’s not every day I get asked to put clothes on by a goddess.” I blushed again.

“It’s not every day I have to ask someone to put clothes on, either.” I darted into the bathroom, and then it occurred to me that there was no way he could have got into the rooms… than through the door… on the other side… of the bathroom. I stood there, staring at the open door on the other side of the bathroom, right through to what was clearly apartment 222B. There was a light knock, and I was broken from my stunned state. I opened the door and Adam was stood there, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Sorry. I need to get back through here.” He squeezed past me, purposefully touching my entire body. I realised then that I barely reached his shoulder, as he closed the door to his room on me. I sighed. Maybe I could share a bathroom with him… that wouldn’t be so bad… would it? I pulled on my clothes and debated knocking to go out his way with him, but thought better when I heard his front door go. I left, yawning again.

“Tired?” Adam asked. I scowled up at him.

“I was rudely awoken.”

“So the rumours are true, then? British people are cranky when they’re woken up until they have a cup of tea?”

“Totally true. And I suppose the rumours about American men being obnoxiously self-assured are true too? Especially men built like red oaks? Giraffes? Telegraph poles?”

“I’m sure you’re trying to make some smart comment about my height, there, shorty.” He ruffled my hair. I don’t know why, but I felt myself warming to him.

“Glad you picked up what I put down.”

We reached the lifts, and went down in companionable silence. Adam filled the entire lift, he was just large. I felt dwarfed. I loved it.

A discussion with the front desk determined that we had indeed been double booked, but that we’d both been told the bathroom would be shared, because the original bookers had cancelled last-minute. Hence why we’d only had the option of booking either room 222A, or 222B – not both. I rolled my eyes and yawned again. There was no possibility of swapping rooms, as I’d have to pay an extortionate fee, and in any case the hotel was fully booked up for another three weeks. No change was possible, unless either of us wanted to check out, and therefore pay the equally extortionate early check out fee of several thousand dollars. I groaned.

“Looks like we’re sharing a bathroom then, doesn’t it?” Adam gave me a grin, and I was too tired to really argue. So I didn’t. We made our way back upstairs, and came to some muttered agreement that we’d both knock first before using the bathroom, and that we’d keep our stuff in there rather than carrying it out the entire time.

The next morning, it transpired that Adam literally had a bedroom. I had the living room. And that also meant he had no kitchenette, because I had that, too. So when I was sitting with my coffee, reading the news on my phone, there was a timid knocking on the bathroom door.

“Hey, Tara?”

“Come in.”

“Hi… good morning…” God, he was gorgeous now that I wasn’t stonily angry with tired.

“Good morning.”

“So… sorry about last night…” he leaned against the doorframe. He filled the freaking doorframe.

“It’s alright. Sorry for freaking out.” I smiled at him. “Coffee?”

“Er… yeah, sure, thanks.” He yawned.

“Come in, sit down.” I gestured to the sofa, pouring him a cup. “So… Adam.” I handed him the cup. “I guess we might as well get to know each other while we’re sharing a room.”

“I actually only came in here because I could smell the coffee…” he sipped, and the glint in his eyes told me he was definitely a joker. I rolled my eyes. “Nah. I realised I have nowhere to keep water or anything, and the faucets apparently aren’t drinkable. Not the bathroom ones, anyway. You got lucky, getting here first.”

“Oh… shit…” I pressed my lips together.

“It’s alright. I was wondering if maybe you’d be alright with us sharing this, too?” he gestured around. “It’s alright if not. I’ll just have them bring up some water or something.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” I smiled. I didn’t want to be a dick. “It’s fine. Sure, we can share it. I mean, it’s not our fault we’ve been flung together, is it?” I finished my coffee. “Just stay out of my stuff. No trying on my dresses.”

“Damn it!” Adam groaned, shaking his head. “You got me.”

“Knew it.” I put my cup in the tiny dishwasher. “I’m heading down for breakfast, anyway. And then the beach and three books await. Coming?”

“Sure.” I made my way into the bathroom, heart apparently pounding.

Adam and I spent the day on the beach, laughing and talking, getting to know each other more and more. We ate our way through sandwiches and fruit for lunch, and then had dinner together in the main hotel before a little walk around the complex. He told me everything, about his marriage breaking down to the point of no return because his wife didn’t take any interest in his life any more, and didn’t seem to care about him at all. He’d found out she’d cheated, too, and he wanted to end it, but she didn’t want to. I listened, and told him about how I’d just wanted to get away on a break to escape everything I hated about my hometown, and to figure out whether I was going to sell everything and move away somewhere I could make a complete fresh start, away from the trauma and the horrors I’d grew up with. Adam sympathised.

The end of the week was a new beginning. Adam kissed me on the beach after soaking me in the warm ocean. Adam told me I should move to America, the land of hopes and dreams. I kissed him and told him he should move to the UK, the land of scones and tea. He laughed. I laughed. And I realised I probably would actually move to America, just as he told me he probably would move to the UK.

And yes, my darling, the story has a happy ending. It’s been six months since that holiday, and Adam and I reached a compromise. We both moved. Albeit to California, but we’re both living the dream and I couldn’t be happier.