Chapter 16: To My Room
Where was this place? It looked unreal. Like the private estate of a billionaire straight out of a movie. Cecelia glanced down at herself. Her dress was stained with dirt. She was barefoot. And one foot was wrapped in thick white bandages.
A wave of self-consciousness washed over her.
This place clearly wasn’t meant for someone like her. She had absolutely no intention of getting out of the car. Before she could say anything, however, a young valet in a crisp uniform hurried over. "Good evening, sir. Allow me to park your vehicle."
Damien handed him the keys. Then he opened the passenger door and picked Cecelia up.
Again.
Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Where are we?" she asked. "Is this where you work?" Her eyes widened as she looked around. "I really don’t need to stay here. I can find a cheap hotel for a couple of days and head home afterward." She hesitated. "Could you just help me leave this place?"
Her voice was soft. The warm brush of her breath against his ear made Damien’s shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly.
"This is the hotel."
Cecelia blinked. What? A hotel? A place like this was a hotel? Did hotels actually look like castles?
Growing up poor, she rarely traveled and had certainly never stayed anywhere remotely luxurious. The phrase money to burn belonged to a completely different world.
As they walked forward, another uniformed employee approached. "Good evening, sir. Would you like a wheelchair for the lady?"
The distance from the parking area to the main lobby was considerable. Damien could have carried her the entire way. But that would attract attention.
"Bring one."
The employee immediately hurried away. Moments later, a wheelchair appeared. Damien walked ahead while another staff member pushed Cecelia through the grand entrance.
The lobby took her breath away. Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors. Towering columns. Everything radiated understated luxury.
Cecelia’s eyes darted everywhere. Her horizons had truly expanded since meeting her husband.
Apparently, Damien was a regular here. The moment he approached the front desk, four employees stood up simultaneously. "Good evening, Mr. Vaughn."
Damien gave a brief nod. "Get me another room."
One of the receptionists immediately checked the system. "Of course, sir." Her fingers flew across the keyboard. "Unfortunately, all presidential suites are fully booked tonight." She offered an apologetic smile. "Would you like me to arrange another category instead?"
Presidential suite? Cecelia almost choked. She’d only ever heard that term on television. And she knew enough to understand that rooms like that cost a fortune.
"That’s not necessary," she said quickly. "A regular room is fine. I’ll be staying alone, so I don’t need anything large."
The receptionist finally understood. The room was for her. After a quick glance at Cecelia’s modest clothing, she smiled professionally. "In that case, we have a deluxe king room available. It’s one thousand dollars per night. Would that be acceptable?"
One thousand dollars? Per night? For a moment, Cecelia genuinely thought she’d misheard. If she weren’t worried about embarrassing Damien, she might have gasped out loud.
"No, thank you." She forced a smile. "A standard room is fine."
The receptionist had worked in luxury hospitality long enough to recognize the situation immediately.
The woman clearly wasn’t wealthy. Yet Mr. Vaughn was personally arranging accommodations for her. Perhaps she was an employee who had been injured and was receiving special treatment from her boss.
The receptionist smoothly adjusted. "Of course, ma’am. We also have a standard king room available. Six hundred dollars per night."
Cecelia nearly fainted. That was apparently the cheapest room in the entire hotel. And it still costs more than her monthly rent back in Veridia. An eighty-dollar motel room would have been more than enough for her.
"I..." She desperately searched for an excuse.
Unfortunately, Damien saw straight through her. "The first room."
The receptionist blinked. A flash of surprise—and perhaps envy—crossed her face. Then her professional smile returned. "Certainly, sir. Since we’re in peak summer season, that happens to be our last deluxe suite. I’ll just need identification to complete the registration."
Damien extended his hand toward Cecelia. She immediately grew defensive.
One thousand dollars a night. Two thousand dollars for two nights. Was this man completely disconnected from reality?
Before she could object again, Damien simply took her bag. There wasn’t much inside. A change of clothes. Some toiletries. Not even a spare pair of shoes.
"Enough." He looked at her. "Where’s your ID?"
"It should be in there."
Damien searched. Nothing. Frowning, he handed the bag back. Cecelia searched more thoroughly herself. Still nothing. Her heart sank. She distinctly remembered putting it back in her wallet after leaving the airport.
Then the realization hit.
Their eyes met. Both arrived at the same conclusion simultaneously.
Kevin.
That creep had probably stolen it. Not wanting to discuss him publicly, Damien spoke first, "Then you’ll stay in my suite for now. I’ll have someone retrieve it."
That settled the matter. Without identification, she couldn’t check into any hotel anyway.
Inside the elevator, silence filled the space. Cecelia stole a glance at the tall man beside her. Even after everything he’d done for her, Damien still carried an intimidating presence whenever he wasn’t speaking.
Especially now.
Knowing he was Claire Clark’s boyfriend made the situation feel even stranger. Walking into another woman’s boyfriend’s hotel suite felt suspiciously close to crossing a line.
"I’ll leave as soon as my ID is returned," she said quietly. "Then I’ll find another hotel."
The mirrored walls reflected their images. Damien caught sight of her slightly flushed face. Without commenting, he looked away.
The elevator doors opened. Moments later, they entered the suite.
And Cecelia froze.
Again.
The place was enormous. No wonder it was called a suite. The living room alone felt larger than her brother’s entire three-bedroom apartment back in Veridia.
She slowly turned in a circle, taking everything in. Mr. Male Model was richer than she’d ever imagined.
"This place is huge," she blurted out. Then she immediately felt like a country girl seeing civilization for the first time. "Do you live here by yourself?"
Damien loosened two buttons at his collar. Then he slipped into a pair of hotel slippers and removed his cufflinks. "I’m not in the habit of sharing accommodations."
Cecelia blinked. Was that because he didn’t like it? Or because it wasn’t convenient? Her gaze drifted around the luxurious suite. There are so many empty rooms. What a waste. Unable to stop herself, she asked, "How much does this suite cost per night?"
The standard rooms were already outrageously expensive. She couldn’t imagine what this one cost.
Damien poured himself a glass of water. Then he poured one for her. Setting it on the coffee table, he sat down on the sofa. He was beginning to realize that Cecelia possessed a certain innocence about money. "Why do you ask?"
"I’m just curious." She looked around. "I’ve never seen anything like this before."
That much was obvious.
So Damien answered honestly, "About two thousand dollars."
Cecelia nearly blacked out.
Two thousand dollars. For one night. What was the bed made of? Solid gold? Or perhaps the blankets were woven from diamonds.
She tried to remain polite. She really did. But in the end, she couldn’t stop herself.
"Mr. Damien," she said carefully, "I know we haven’t known each other very long. And maybe this isn’t my place." She hesitated. Then she looked at him sincerely. "But your money doesn’t grow on trees. Don’t you think spending it like this is a terrible waste?"