The Unexpected Honeymoon. Barbara Wallace

      Never, in all her dreams, did she see herself sprawled on Spanish tiles with her head propped against a walk-in shower.

       Dammit, Tom.

      “Do you need anything?”

      Something to put her out of her misery might be nice. “I’m fine. I need a few minutes is all.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “Positive. There’s no need to for you to hang around. I’ll be fine.”

      She listened for sounds of his departure, but heard none. You’d think he’d take advantage of her locking herself in the bathroom to get as far away from her as possible. Was he that afraid she’d pass out and bang her head?

      Struggling to her feet, she wobbled to the sink. Shaky as her mind was, she was still able to appreciate her surroundings. The room was so large, you could fit three of her bathroom back home—one in the sunken tub alone. Needless to say, at the moment she could do without all the sunlight. What was it with this place and windows? Brightness poured in from all angles, bouncing off the glass accessories in near blinding proportion.

      Too bad she couldn’t keep her eyes closed forever. Crawl under the covers and start the day over. One look at her reflection, however, and she wondered if simply starting the day over would be enough. No wonder the room service guy looked at her askance. She looked like a rabid blue-eyed raccoon. Grabbing a tissue, she swiped at her eyes, succeeding only in spreading the smudges to her temple.

      “Señorita?”

      On top of everything, he wouldn’t leave. Señor Chavez. No way she’d forget his name again. Although she’d bet he’d like to forget hers. In less than a day she’d gotten drunk, flirted with him and gotten sick in the wastebasket.

      So much for being a VIP guest.

      Clearly he wasn’t going away until she showed her face, so she might as well drag herself outside. With a heavy sigh, she gave one last useless swipe at her mascara, and reached for the door.

      Señor Chavez stood looking out to the lagoon. Meaning his back was to the room, thank goodness. She needed to work her way up to looking him in the eye. As it was, his black-suited presence filled the room with an awkward tension.

      Interestingly, she could no longer smell the food. Her breakfast had disappeared.

      “I moved the service cart outside,” he said. “I know how overwhelming certain aromas can be when you’re feeling under the weather.”

      And yet, he’d made a production of serving her coffee. She’d been right; her little pretense didn’t fool him one bit. If she weren’t about to die, she’d be annoyed.

      “And the waste bucket?”

      “Outside as well. Housekeeping will bring you a fresh one later today.”

      “Thank you,” she said, annoyance taking a back seat to manners. Whether he’d been testing her or not, she had no one to blame but herself for her condition, and they both knew it.

      He glanced at her from over his shoulder. “Your bag rang while you were indisposed as well.”

      Took a moment to realize he meant her cell phone. “My friends checking in to make sure I arrived safely.” Had to be. Delilah and Chloe were the only two people in her life who cared. Grandma was gone and Tom...well, like he’d call.

      “The same people who paid for your upgrade?”

      “And the champagne.” The enablers. “I don’t normally drink so much,” she told him, figuring she should at least try and explain her sorry state. “Let alone on an empty stomach. It’s just that last night, I was sitting here...”

      When it struck her, she was on her honeymoon alone. What back in New York seemed like such a grand gesture of independence suddenly felt pathetic. And so she figured, why not indulge in a good old pity party?

      “I guess I was feeling vulnerable,” she told him. “Today was supposed to be my wedding day.”

      “I know. You told me last night.”

      “That’s right, I did.” She always did over share with strangers when she’d had a little too much to drink. Chloe used to tease her about how she practically shared her life story the day the two of them met, and that was after a few glasses of wine in a bar after their corporate orientation. Who knew what a bottle of Cristal made her babble? “Did I say anything else?”

      “You don’t remember?”

      “For the most part I do.” A small white lie. She remembered thinking the space didn’t feel quite so empty once he arrived, and the way his five o’clock shadow had felt rough against his fingers. “There are a couple blank spots, though. I didn’t do anything...embarrassing, did I?” Like come on to him? A flashing image of brown eyes looming dangerously close set her stomach to churning again.

      “I left the coffee in case you needed the caffeine,” he said. A neat change of subject that was answer enough. Inwardly, Larissa cringed.

      “Would you like me to pour you a fresh cup?”

      “No, thank you.” She couldn’t take the burnt smell for a second time. “I think I’m better off with something cold. Maybe one of those twenty-dollar colas from the mini-bar.” A few dozen pain relievers would be nice as well, she thought, combing her fingers through her hair. “I don’t suppose these rooms also come stocked with aspirin.”

      “Next to the coffeepot.”

      Sure enough, a bottle of pills sat on the desk, next to the thermos. They hadn’t been there before. “I suspected you might need them.”

      “Thank you.”

      “You’re most welcome. We strive for nothing less than one hundred percent satisfaction from all our guests. You said cola, correct?”

      “That’s not...” Before Larissa could utter a protest, she’d crossed the distance between terrace and cabinet. “Necessary.”

      “Of course it is. You’re my guest. It’s my job to make sure you’re happy.”

      Although Larissa knew she was but one of a thousand guests, his lilting tone made the comment sound far more personal. As though she were the only one getting such hands-on treatment. She blamed her condition for the nervous fluttering in her stomach. “Even the hungover ones?”

      “Especially the hungover ones,” he said, popping open the can.

      Larissa felt her cheeks flush. “My friends always did say I was high-maintenance.”

      “Are you?”

      Good question. It always struck her funny, how her New York circle gave her that reputation. Growing up, she’d perfected the art of staying out of the way. Expensive dresses and “sticky kid stuff” didn’t mix, according to her grandmother. If she was going to live there, Larissa had better learn to be careful.

      “I prefer the term particular,” she replied.

      Naturally, the universe decided to deflate her argument by tangling their fingers when Larissa reached for the soda can. The contact shocked her, so much so she jerked the can from his grip with a gasp. “I—um.” She looked up in time to catch something—a light but not quite a light—flashing in his brown eyes. One blink and it disappeared. Hidden behind a polite, distant shade. Didn’t matter. Even if she hadn’t seen anything, the way his body stiffened at the contact was message enough. She did them both a favor and stepped back. “Are you sure I didn’t do or say anything stupid last night?”

      “Nothing that bears repeating.”

      But something, nonetheless. Enough that her proximity made him uncomfortable. Great, she thought, cringing. Probably best that she not to press for details. “I’ll do my best to stay under the radar for the rest of my visit. In fact, you’ll