Chapter 4

He's the groom whose wedding I'm attending. He reserved the rooms for all the guests. That's why he mentions his name, but I assure you it's my room.

She looks at me apologetically. "I'm sorry, but if the names don't match, I can't give you a room card. You could call the name of the room and ask if they'll let you get a new one."

I look at him in exasperation. "Calling a man on his wedding night to ask him that? Yeah, that's what he wants to hear right now."

I pinch the bridge of my nose to look away from his dumb gaze. I know there's nothing else he can do, but it still bothers me. Especially since I know what option I have. Kamila and Jackson's room, or Ezekiel and Jeremiah's.

"Fuck," I curse through gritted teeth.

He clears his throat. “Excuse me, ma’am?”

"Can I book another room?" I ask instead of repeating my curse.

His apologetic smile reveals his answer before he speaks: "All rooms are booked."

Of course, because Law booked the entire resort for the wedding, both for the privacy and comfort of the guests. But I have a feeling that telling the man still smiling in front of me that I made those arrangements won't do me any good.

I take a deep breath before saying, "Thank you. Have a good night."

But then the curses flow from my lips again as I walk back to the elevator. I even punch the wall, knowing that whoever's watching the camera probably thinks I've lost my mind. As I reach the twelfth floor and approach my room, I seriously wonder if sleeping in the hallway would be so bad. But the aching feet, the growing headache, and the need for a bed make me turn to look at my room door.

I have to inhale and exhale deeply before raising my hand. Closing my fingers into a fist, I tap twice.

—Well, but it's Princess Laury.—

Jeremiah is standing in the open doorway, suitless, replaced by low-slung black sweatpants. There's no shirt in sight. And I should know, as hard as I am to look anywhere but at his chest. That tattoo I finally see on his chest. I'd only seen the top half, but I could never quite tell the jagged lines, the different lengths and angles. Now I see it's three puzzle pieces, fitting together perfectly. On the left is his name, on the right is Ezequiel's. The middle piece doesn't have a name, but its meaning is crystal clear.

Don't even think about it, I scold myself.

I close my eyes and shake my head to remind myself that I'm not here to stare at his muscles or his tattoos. And I'm definitely not here to let my mind create situations I shouldn't even imagine. I look back up at his face and find his signature smile as his eyes scan my body from top to bottom.

I was nervous about knocking on his door, even though I knew it was my only option at the moment. But here, facing Jeremiah's shirtless, knowing Ezequiel is somewhere in the room, I struggle to even breathe, let alone think clearly.

To what do I owe this honor? he asks.

My mouth opens and I feel like the words are shooting out.

I lost my room card. My phone isn't working. I went to the lobby and they won't give me a new card, and there are no other rooms available. My feet hurt, and these damn pins in my hair are giving me a terrible headache.

His eyebrows raise at my ramblings and I can see he's fighting back laughter.

"Well, do you want to come in?" He waves at me. "I mean, I feel like you're only here because you have no other option, but if he lets you in, I think I'm fine with it."

His words ease some of the tension and awkwardness of the moment, and for once, I'm grateful for it. But then I look past him, back into the room, and the nerves instantly return. I've done my best not to be alone with them for months, and now here I am, about to step into the lion's den, because that's exactly how I feel. As if once inside, nothing will ever be the same.

Jeremiah steps aside, beckoning me to come in. “Are you coming?”

I don't even let my mind wander to his words. Instead, I swallow and walk past him. The room smells just like them, because they always smell the same. Vanilla musk, masculine, and so tempting. I've had to stop myself from leaning in and inhaling his scent several times, like I'm doing right now.

"Where's Ezequiel?" I ask as I sit on the couch between his rooms.

—In the shower. He'll probably be out in a minute.—

I look at his room. It's almost identical to mine, just with a different color scheme. In fact, they're using the second room, while mine had just been my makeshift office.

"I hope I'm not. What are you doing?" I exclaimed as I felt his hand on my calf.

I look at him, alarmed, but he just smiles. "You said your feet hurt. I'm going to take your shoes off."

—Well… I… —He raises an eyebrow as his hand slides to my foot.

When I don't say anything else, he takes off my shoe. It hits the floor with a thud, and I can't hold back a moan. It feels so good not to have the shoe on. He licks his lips at the sound, and I look away. I can't be paying attention to these things in this room. It's too dangerous. He takes off his other shoe, and I wait for him to get up, to walk away, but he stays there, kneeling before me.

"Yes?" I ask.

Are you sure you didn't lose the key on purpose? Just to end up here?

I stand up, even though my feet protest, just to put some distance between us.

—The only thing I had planned to do tonight was crawl into bed and not open my eyes until ten minutes before we all meet at the pool tomorrow, so no.—

What a shame. Well, you can sleep in my room. I'm sure Zek won't mind if I take up three-quarters of his bed. It'll bring back lots of good childhood memories.

"Please tell me you're not here talking to yourself..." Ezekiel begins, entering the room, his head bowed as he towel-dries his hair. "Because I'd hate to tell Mom you're losing..." His words trail off as he looks up and our eyes meet.

I've had my fill of his body as I walk here. Only with him, I'm not noticing his tattoos, but his abs, his movements. My God, even this man's steps turn me on. And getting turned on is the last thing I need right now.

“This is an unexpected surprise,” he says slowly. “In the best way. I’m just not sure what made Queen Laury grace us with her presence.”

“You know, he called me princess,” I lifted my chin to Jeremiah. “But for some reason, you calling me queen is insulting, rather than overcoming it.”

—My goal is to be mysterious.—

I scoff. “Well, you’re terrible at that because I have you completely under control.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Tell me about it.”

"Kids, kids," Jeremiah interrupts. "Laury lost her room key and can't get a new one tonight, so I offered her a room to sleep in, and I'll share it with you."

"I'm surprised you came," Ezekiel chuckles. More like a snicker.

—And why is that?— I cross my arms and ask.

—Because you're so afraid of us.—

—I'm not afraid of you.—

It's not entirely a lie. I'm not afraid of him or Jeremiah. I'm afraid of how I feel when they're around. How self-conscious my body is. How emotional I get. How hard I have to fight not to feel more.

“Really?” He steps further into the room, leaning closer to me. “Because you seem to have something to say about everything, and you definitely have an opinion on almost everything. But when it comes to me and my brother, you run away as soon as you get the chance. And it’s really hard to believe you right now when you’ve barely looked at us since the party.”

"What party would that be?" Jeremiah asks, but his tone makes it clear he knows exactly which one he's referring to. He's just teasing his brother, and more importantly, me.

"The party where she told everyone her fantasy was having sex with two men," Ezequiel replies. "Morons!"

—Oh, that party.— Jeremiah smiles.

"My fantasy has nothing to do with any of you," I insist. "I don't remember mentioning Ezekiel or Jeremiah when I said what my fantasy was. So, remind me again, what does my fantasy have to do with you?"

"I think we've made it pretty clear that we like to share women," Jeremiah says. "And luckily for you, we want that woman to be you."

I look at him with a serious face. "Luckily for me? Don't flatter yourself."

He smirks. "Well, you don't let us flatter you, so..."

"Because he's afraid if we get too close, he'll let us fulfill that fantasy," Ezequiel adds.

"I'm more worried that you'll disappoint me and ruin it," I lie.

Not a single part of me, least of all the part between my thighs that's throbbing right now, thinks they would diminish that fantasy.

"I can assure you that would not be the case," Jeremiah says.

—Better yet, let us prove it to you, Ezequiel insists.

-That?-