“You look miserable,” she responds. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me. I know you’re tough.” She rattles the bottle to entice me.
I hold up my uninjured arm, and Lourdes shakes a pill onto my palm. It’s tiny, and I examine it for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what it is.
“Flexeril,” she says, reading the label. “But really, it’s a mental thing. If you think it’s helping, then it will. Here”—she hands me the entire bottle—“in case you need another dose.”
I examine the bottle myself, seeing it’s over five years old. Still, I’m not sure how much fun I’ll be later if this pain gets worse. I shove the bottle into my pocket. “Well,” I say. “Hope this doesn’t kill me.” I toss the pill into my mouth, and Lourdes hands me the water to wash it down. The minute I pull the glass from my mouth, I feel slightly better. A placebo effect.
“Thank you,” I say, giving her back the glass. She sets it on the floor, off to the side, and then walks with me back down the hall. “I’ll put you in the regular elevator this time,” she says with a smile. “I know you’re not a fan of the other one.” She pushes the button when we get there, and while we wait, she laughs suddenly and leans against the wall.
“God,” she says. “I’ve had too much to drink. You must think I’m a crazy person, talking about ghosts and pills. Please disregard everything I’ve said tonight. Wait,” she says, holding up her finger. “There was one other thing—is Daniel staying on the thirteenth floor with you?”
“No. Both he and my dad are on the sixth. Why?”
“Just curious,” she says. When I continue to stare at her questioningly, she lifts one shoulder. “I’m in housekeeping. I wanted to know where to send the best stuff. You ruined the surprise.”
“Hope I still get some chocolates.” The elevator doors open and I step inside. Lourdes touches her forehead like maybe she really did have too much to drink.
“I have an early day tomorrow,” she says. “But I’m glad you came out with me tonight. You forgive me for scaring you, right?” She scrunches up her nose, not sure of the answer.
“Totally,” I say sincerely. “It was fun. Even though I hate being scared.”
“We only did it because we like you.” She smiles, looking relieved. “Promise. And if you stay awake for Eli, the party in the ballroom can go on until three or four. I doubt he’ll leave before then. He’ll find you when he’s done socializing.”
The doors start to close, but I put out my hand to stop them. “Does Elias like the parties?” I ask Lourdes. “He doesn’t seem to.”
“Maybe once upon a time,” she says. “But nothing lasts forever. Except the Ruby.”
Lourdes turns to walk back to her room. I lower my arm and the elevator doors close, but rather than push the button for the thirteenth floor, I press for the lobby. If Elias used to enjoy the parties, what changed his mind? I can’t help but think it has to do with Catherine. And again there’s that spike of jealousy.
When the doors open to the lobby, it hits me how bizarre the night has been. I cross the expansive room toward the front desk, reflecting on my conversation with Lourdes. The story of the Ruby itself. The terror I felt at the fountain. A cold sensation drifts over me, and I lift my head to find Kenneth behind the desk, smiling as I approach.
“How may I help you this evening, Miss Casella?” he asks pleasantly. I look for a hint of the sinister man the staff described, but Kenneth is all business. His uniform is tidy, his eyes curious and helpful. I don’t buy his bullshit, though.
“Good evening,” I say, trying to sound mature. In reality the muscle relaxer has slowed me slightly. “I was wondering if you could help me.” I lean my elbows on the counter, steadying myself. “How exactly does one get invited to the party in the ballroom?” I ask. “Is there a way I can go?”
Kenneth doesn’t flinch, only stands there motionless, waiting to see if I’ll go on. When I don’t, he tilts his head apologetically. “I’m sorry,” he says. “The party is invite only.”
“I know,” I respond. “But I was wondering if I could have one of those invitations.”
The concierge turns to his computer, tapping quickly on the keys. He looks at me and smiles. “I’m very sorry, Miss Casella. You’re not on the list.”
“But my father and brother have both gotten one.” My adrenaline starts to pump, and my politeness is beginning to fade away. “We came here together.”
“Very sorry,” he says again, folding his small hands in front of him.
That’s all he’s going to say? I’m starting to feel light headed, but I don’t want to leave here without some answers. Why would both my father and Daniel get an invitation and not me? “Is there someone else I can talk to?” I ask the concierge. “Who makes the list?” My voice has taken on a hint of panic at the thought of being left out of my family.
Kenneth’s face tightens with concern. “You don’t look well, Miss Casella,” he says kindly. “Perhaps you should return to your room and get some rest.” He pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket and holds it out. I don’t take it, and he winces apologetically. “You have a little . . .” He motions to the side of his forehead and then stretches the cloth out to me again. Hesitantly, I press it to the side of my head where he indicated and feel a sudden sting.
“Ow.” When I pull away the handkerchief, I see a small splotch of blood on the cloth. My stomach lurches, and I press the fabric to my head once again. “What happened?” I ask, although I don’t see how he would know the answer.
“You must have hit your head,” he says. “Nasty little gash. Get some rest, Miss Casella. If I see your brother or your father, I’ll let them know you were here looking for them.”
I’m shaken by the blood, trying to remember when I could have hit my head. On the roof? At the fountain? Maybe I accidentally scratched myself while the concierge was refusing me an invite. My body suddenly sways, and I catch myself by grabbing on to the counter. I want to lie down, even as I toss a longing glance at the closed doors of the ballroom party.
Why can’t I go? Without a word of thanks I keep the handkerchief to my forehead and start toward the elevator. Every step is like walking through deep sand—my legs are tired and heavy, my muscles burn with exertion. For a moment I entertain the thought that Lourdes inadvertently poisoned me, but when I get to the elevator, I’m slightly better.
The doors close, and once I’m alone, my heart calms and the ache fades. I turn toward the mirrored wall and slowly lower the handkerchief to inspect my wound. Only there is none. There is no gash, no blood. There is nothing there at all.
I fall back a step, confused and a bit scared. But I saw blood on the handkerchief—felt the sting of the cut. When I go to check the cloth, it’s no longer in my hand. I spin, checking to see if I dropped it, but there is only the burgundy patterned carpet.
“What the hell?” I murmur, checking my reflection once more. I even turn around and look over my shoulder to make sure the handkerchief hasn’t stuck to my shirt. It’s gone.
The elevator doors suddenly open and I jump. I didn’t hear the signal for the thirteenth floor. Wait, did I even push the button for my floor? My breathing quickens, and the emptiness of the elevator, the silence, sends a streak of fear through me. My throat clicks when I swallow, and I take a tentative step out of the elevator. I glance down the hall one way and then the other.
Empty. Quiet.
I sway on my feet and reach out to put my hand on the wall. The elevator leaves for another floor, and I decide that I’m being ridiculous. See—this is why I shouldn’t drink. And why I shouldn’t take a muscle relaxer after ingesting alcohol. What was I thinking? Oh, right. I wasn’t.
Annoyed with myself, I head toward my room, my steps slow but steady. When I get to my door, I hear the faint sound of music. It’s the song. The same one I can’t place. I’m about to search it out when the music disappears entirely. “At least I’m not the only person on this floor,” I mur
mur with a bit of relief, and slide my key into the door.
Chapter 8
I’m jolted awake by the shrill ring of the phone. I sit up, and the room tilts one way and then the other. I’m still in my clothes, the lights on. I don’t remember lying down. I vaguely remember talking to the concierge, asking for an invite, but everything goes blurry after that. The bottle of muscle relaxers is on my nightstand, and I groan at how stupid I was to take one. The phone rings again, and I move quickly to answer it.
“Hello?” I say, clearing the sleep from my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” a voice says. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” At first I don’t recognize it, but then Elias laughs. “Hello?” he asks, like I might have fallen back asleep.
I smile instinctively, that goofy sort of smile that I’m glad he can’t see. “I’m here,” I respond. “How was your party?”
He hums out his discontent, sounding tired—which makes me imagine him lying in bed just a few floors from where I am now. “Same party every night. But I’d rather not talk about my evening,” he says. “How did you enjoy the rooftop?” His mouth must be close to the receiver; his voice is muffled and scratchy. So damn sexy.
“It was fun,” I say. “Although it got a little weird toward the end.”
“That sounds about right.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, and I wonder if he’s changed his mind about meeting up. Sure, it’s probably 4 a.m., but it’s not like I have anywhere to be in the morning. “Elias—” I start to say, but he cuts me off.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “We can raid the kitchen. Hang out for a while.” I think I hear him smile. “See the sunrise.”
“I’m starving,” I say, unable to hide how thrilled I am. “But will I end up getting kicked out? It seems like every time I see you, one of us is being asked to leave.”
“Not tonight. I’ll sneak you around, completely undetected. We’ll grab what we want and then go eat it in the garden. Avoid the lobby altogether.” I glance toward the window, remembering how dark it was outside. Remembering the memorial.
“It’s dark out there,” I say.
“Then we’ll eat in my room.” He laughs. “And I promise that’s not meant to sound at all lecherous. I’ll be a complete gentleman.”
“Your room, huh?” I hope he realizes how attracted I am to him. And I hope his idea of being a gentleman includes a good-night kiss. I reach to grab my cell phone to check the time, but the screen is blank. Dead. Did I check it earlier? “What time is it?” I ask Elias.
“Not sure,” he says. “But if you’d rather, we can do this another night.” His tone softens to an apology, but there’s no way I can sleep now.
“I’m not tired anymore,” I say. “Actually, I wasn’t tired at all. But Lourdes gave me a muscle relaxer earlier and I—”
“Wait, what?” Elias asks, sounding concerned. “Why would she do that? Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m . . . fine.” I rotate my shoulder, testing my arm, and the pain is completely gone. Like it was never there at all. I swing my legs off the bed. I get up and straighten my clothes, heading toward the bathroom to clean up a bit. I check my reflection; my cheeks are rosy with sleep, my hair tamed and smooth. I smile. “Now,” I say, hoping he hasn’t changed his mind, “what floor is the kitchen on?”
Elias lives on the seventh floor, facing the gardens. The minute he holds open the door of his suite, I can see the breathtaking view out the oversize leaded windows. The trees and shrubs are silhouettes against the dark blue sky, light blue on the horizon. I think it’s almost morning.
If we shut off all the lamps, we could watch the sunrise together. I glance back at Elias as he balances a plate on his glass, closing the door slowly so it won’t slam shut. We have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, glasses of milk. Who needs champagne and caviar? This is much more romantic to me.
“Your place is nicer than mine,” I say, setting my dish and glass on his dresser. I take a bite of my sandwich, nodding my appreciation at his fantastic suggestion involving food. I start to wander the suite, admiring all of the finer details. Elias sits on the sofa and immediately takes two bites of his sandwich.
“You didn’t eat at the party?” I ask, trying to remember if I’d seen a buffet table the night before.
“I don’t like their food.” Elias takes another bite before settling back on the couch and crossing his ankle over his leg. “It all tastes stale to me.”
On the corner desk is a watch, stopped at midnight. The metal is heavy, and I slip it on my wrist and clasp it. I turn to Elias and show him how it dangles and slides up to my elbow. He smiles, looking content as I sort through his things. Looking comfortable with me in his bedroom.
“How do you afford to live here?” I ask, setting down the watch before going back to finish my sandwich. “Your parents?”
“Sort of. My mother paid a lot for this room initially. But because of a family tragedy,” he says, “I’m grandfathered in. They can never kick me out. Even if I don’t pay.”
“The fire,” I say, earning a surprised look from him. Before I can explain, he nods.
“Ah, Lourdes spun her tale about the Ruby,” he says. “She likes to embellish. Did she scare you at the fountain? She tries to make it more terrifying each time.”
I take a bite of food, thinking it over. It wasn’t exactly scary. “I thought the story was sad,” I state, looking at Elias. “It’s sickening what happened to those people.”
“And yet life goes on,” he says quietly, drinking the last of his milk like he’s taking a shot of alcohol. “Now what about you, Audrey?” he asks, setting down his glass with a clink. “How did you end up at the Ruby?”
“What about the house rules?”
Elias tosses his head back and laughs. “Wow, you fit in amazingly well here.” When he looks at me again, his dimples flash. “I hate that rule,” he says. “We should break it. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Our secret?” I ask playfully. “Does that mean you’ll tell me your secrets too?”
“If you want.” He pulls the knot on his tie until it loosens, and then yanks it over his head to toss it over the arm of the sofa. Again I’m drawn in by the sight of him, casual yet still elegant.
My pulse races with desire, a little bit of fear. It’s hard to catch my breath, and I walk to the window. There’s a golden glow on the horizon; a new day. A fresh start.
“I came here with my father and brother,” I say. Moisture has collected on the outside of the window, and I trace a heart on the cool glass. “My mother died,” I say quietly. “She died three months ago, and I didn’t know how to handle it, other than badly. I got in trouble and now my dad is sending us to live with our grandmother. This is just a pit stop before my shiny new life starts. A life I don’t even want.”
Elias is quiet long enough for me to turn back to him. His warm eyes have softened, but he doesn’t lower his gaze. He looks right at me—sees me. I wait for him to say he’s sorry, to offer his condolences, but he doesn’t. He seems to know that that’s the last thing I want to hear anymore.
“My turn,” I say after the quiet stretches on. “If your family has the money for you to live at the Ruby on a permanent basis, why aren’t you in college? Or working the family business?”
Elias smiles nostalgically, flashing his dimples. “I went to college for a bit,” he says. “But my family needed me here. The Ruby thrives on tourism, ghost sightings and extravagance, and I’m a connection to the original anniversary tragedy. Attending parties has become my job. Could be worse, I suppose.”
“You can’t do that forever,” I say. “And the good thing with college is that you can always go back. Hell, you can even get a degree online. That’s what my brother plans to do. I mean, what’s the alternative?”
“The Ruby isn’t so bad,” Elias says with a shrug. “Like most things, it’s what you make of it.”
“That’s very glass-half-full of you.” I shoot him a smil
e and slowly make my way over to where he sits on the couch. We could have met anywhere—a college campus, some coffee shop in Tempe. But I met him here, and this place suits him, fits around him rather than him to it.
“You know,” I say, pausing next to the arm of the sofa. “My ex-boyfriend’s cousin ran a hotel. His name was Marco and he was kind of a tool, but he said the job was great. He got discounts at other hotels, even in Hawaii. Maybe you can take this place over. The staff would probably love if Kenneth was fired.”
“We all would,” Elias says. He grabs a tin box of mints from the coffee table and clicks open the top. After he places one on his tongue, he holds out the box to me. I thank him and put a mint in my mouth and then drop down next to him on the couch.
I bite down on the candy, and a powdery explosion of cinnamon kills off any residual effects of the peanut butter. Elias is staring toward the window now, lost. For a wild moment I consider reaching for him and kissing him. Deep and passionate. But one thought stops me.
“Sooo . . . ,” I say, drawing his attention. “You and Catherine, huh?” I wait to see how he’ll react, but Elias’s expression is perfectly unreadable.
“It was a long time ago.”
Well, that was the most frustratingly vague response ever. I tilt my head, looking him over. “She was the girl you were talking about in the sauna,” I say, thinking back on our earlier conversation.
Elias readjusts his position to lay his arm over the back of the sofa, fully facing me. “Yes,” he confirms. “But Catherine and I were never a good match. Our parents wanted us to date; they had a lot of expectations. The feelings just weren’t there between us—although we did hate each other quite passionately for a time. She can be possessive.”
“I gathered that from last night’s party. For what it’s worth,” I say, “I’m glad it’s over between you two.” Elias chuckles like that should be obvious at this point. “But it’s not because I don’t want to compete with a beautiful, yet vicious, blonde.”
“She is quite a force,” Elias concedes.