Page 10 of A Ruthless Arrangement
5
Amy
I’ve never been to New York City. My grandparents always talked about taking me on trips throughout the states, but it never happened, not when they only had a week with me per year. As rich as they are, they don’t travel outside of America. I suspect that it has something to do with avoiding men like my future husband. You don’t want to get caught in someone else’s territory.
My mom pretty much raised me as a single mom after my parents divorced. She struggled to even afford my braces, since my dad made a stink and wouldn’t pay for it, so she definitely didn’t take me on any trips. The one or two we went on certainly didn’t include incredibly fancy hotels like the one we’re at now.
This grand hotel, in the center of Manhattan, matches my grandparents’ mansion for opulence. I gawk at the grand chandeliers and painted ceilings as we stroll into the lobby, following my grandparents as they walk through it like it was an everyday occurrence to see such things.Probably because it is.I’ve shown more wonder in a Walmart parking lot than they’re currently showing. It’s kind of ridiculous.
Apparently, the Irish Demon—or whatever his real name is—will show up within the next week, and we’re to be here untilthen. Seems rude to leave something so important as meeting your future wife so open-ended for a wholeweek,but then again, maybe he’s doing it just because he can. It’s a display of power and control. I’m pretty sure my grandfather agrees with me and isn’t happy with this, but he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.
Which I’m pretty sure only pisses him off more.
My grandfather goes up to the front desk. “We have a reservation under Astero.” His voice is gruff and tense, and his tone is so demanding that it makes me get secondhand embarrassment. I can’t imagine being so standoffish with someone just trying to do their job.
The front desk worker’s eyes widen and her smile grows as she recognizes the name. Her shoulders straighten, as if she knows how important this interaction is. “Yes, sir, we’ve been expecting you. Two rooms, one a suite, yes?”
“Yes.” He waves her off. “We’re in a bit of a hurry if you don’t mind.”
We aren’t in a hurry. We are going to be here for, at least, the next week. We don’t even have so much as dinner plans as far as I know. So why is he being a jerk?
The young woman, in her pressed suit and tasteful makeup, looks tidy and professional. She nods hurriedly, getting our keys together and giving us welcome gifts, including glass bottles of sparkling water and a gift basket of assorted cookies. My grandfather hands them all to me without even saying a word as if I’m a servant to carry his shit and not his granddaughter who he’s forcing to marry to a mafia rival.
A bellhop comes to take our luggage, the woman behind the desk giving him our room numbers. He shuttles off with our bags, and it feels strange to trust a stranger with my things, even if that’s his job, but my grandparents don’t even bat an eye.
As we head to the elevators to go up to our rooms, my grandfather’s wiry eyebrows are furrowed. “We have a room on the top floor. Amy, your room is on the third floor.”
My eyes widen. “My room isn’t close to yours?”
“No,” my grandfather says gruffly. There’s no explanation as to why. It makes me nervous, being separated from them when there were apparently men following me and a rival mafia lord taking interest in me. What if he decided to forgo the marriage and just kidnap me to get access to the docks?
Okay, so that doesn’t make complete sense since he has to be part of our family to get access to them, but still. My grandparents giving me a lesser room on a different floor, separate from them, kind of feels like being thrown to the wolves.
My grandfather presses the button for the third floor, and then the top floor. I swallow thickly, clinging to the straps of my purse. We’re separating so soon.Did they just want to get rid of me as soon as possible?It shouldn’t be as shocking to me as it is. I should be used to it by now, not just by them, but by everyone. My parents, teachers, kids at school. Lily is the only one that feels like she’s more than just tolerating me.
The elevator dings on the third floor, the doors opening. My grandfather hands me my room key wordlessly. My grandmother forces that usual smile of hers. “We’ll text you about dinner. Have fun.”
I nod and try to smile, too, but my grandfather isn’t even looking at me. It’s like he’s already written me off, sold my soul to the devil and knows not to get attached, as if he neverwasattached.
It’s sick.
The hallway is quiet as I step out into it, the elevator doors closing behind me. Everything is lavishly decorated here, but in some ways, the differences between this place and a regularhotel doesn’t feel so different. The carpet is a little nicer, a cream with black swirl design. It’s plushier than a lot of the stripped-down old carpet I’ve seen in normal hotels. But otherwise, it’s the same. The similar type layout, the doors with electric locks on them, the directions in case of a fire hung up on the wall.
It’s a good reminder that, while things are crazy and I feel so out of my depth, reality is still present. The world I’m used to is still here, just underneath the surface. This lavishness that denotes my grandparents’ world is what’s abnormal, notme.I’mnot what’s odd here. You can dress things up in splendor, but the roots remain the same.
My grandparents can clothe me in silks and jewels, put me on display for this Irish dude. He can wear me on his arm like an accessory, if he even wants to do that, but they can’t change me. Not really. Not at the core of who I am. They can just make me wear a mask, something I’m already used to doing for the world. It’s a comforting thought.I can’t lose who I really am.
I find my room number, repeating it over and over in my head308. 308. 308.It helps soothe me as I open the door and step into the beautifully decorated room, even continuing to repeat the numbers once I’m safely within it and looking around. It wasn’t a suite, which I hadn’t expected it to be. The front desk associate said that only one of the rooms my grandparents reserved was a suite, and obviously they’re the ones to get it.
The first thing I noticed as I step in is the wooden floor. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a hotel room with anything but crappy carpet. The second thing I notice is the black chandelier that reigns over the center of the room. It’s stark in the otherwise white room.
There’s a queen-sized bed, with a fluffy white comforter. A massive royal blue plush headboard sits behind it, matching the plush rug of the same color that covers the floor under the bed. The room really has everything you could want—a desk, twohigh-back chairs, a massive chestnut dresser that matches the floors.
There’s no TV like you’d usually find in a hotel, which I find a tad strange, but what do I know? I step around my already-delivered suitcase to inspect things, and find a button on the dresser soon enough, which makes a TV rise out of it.
Of course. Couldn’t just have it sitting on top of the dresser like normal people.
With a little more poking around, I find out there’s a fridge in the dresser as well, and a nice closet. The bathroom is just as beautiful, with white marble pretty much everywhere, a dark quartz countertop, and a massive shower and bathtub.
