Page 122 of Mexico Can Choke On It
I’m gliding down a marble hallway in the fluffiest white robe I’ve ever worn, spa slippers squishing softly underfoot like tiny clouds hired to love me. The floor is heated—heated—because billionaire’s feet should never be subjected to chilly floors. But you know what? In my current blissed out state, I get it. I fully, shamefully get it.
Crystals on my ass? Bring ’em on.
Holy shit, my skin.I keep touching my arms like I’m molesting myself in public. Massive PDA. They’re so smooth and silky.What the hell was in that mud?
Against all odds, I feel surprisingly… zen. Like maybe I could keep it together for more than six consecutive minutes.
Except for one minor issue. My vagina is holding a grudge. Not angry anymore, just… buzzing. She’s a well-tuned engine rumbling at a red light. The throbbing is definitely a spa rush. NOT for the person we refuse to think about.
That’s my story. I’m sticking to it.
My mind wanders as I walk toward the Crystal Healing Wing.
I wonder why the ultra-rich have gemstones rubbed all over their bodies. Are they trying to absorb wealth through their pores? I’ll have to ask Hana.
That thought triggers a memory—me on the balcony, Bryce’s ruby ring on my finger. The same band that flew off mid-imagined proposal while I stood there daydreaming like a lovesick teenager.Why did I ever think him picking that ring meant something?
Oh shit, I still need to find that.
For a hot second, I consider leaving it. Some groundskeeper will stumble across it and be able to retire to a nice cottage in Tuscany. But then reality puts me in a headlock—it’s probably on loan,because that’s what high society does. Theyborrowfrom designers, then return everything like it’s a damn library.
I’m assuming after this trip, all the jewelry and clothes will be returned to Sebastian in some kind of highbrow fairy godmother situation. Midnight will strike, and then Cinderella will be back in her rags.
If that’s the case, Mr. Bellini can expect a few strategic crumbs in the designer pockets. Or better yet, I’ll hide a sardine sandwich in that ridiculous beaded clutch. Let him explain that aroma to his next privileged princess.
I snort out loud picturing his mortified expression.
“This is simply unacceptable!” Fiona’s voice is a chainsaw slicing through the peaceful aura of the spa.
I spot a service door ajar, and my eye catches a blur of platinum blonde. My fluffy slippers don’t make a sound as I tiptoe closer. From this angle, I’m able to see through the gap.
Jackpot.
Fiona’s inside, wearing a spa robe and waving her arms so wildly she might actually achieve lift-off. Across from her—praise be to the spa gods—Nigel is back in his tux, not a glittery chest hair in sight.
“Why am I just hearing about this now? You said everything was approved,” she hisses.
Nigel straightens his tie. “Miss Whitfield, I understand your frustration, but the payment authorization has been declined. The account seems to be… temporarily inaccessible.”
“Declined? That’s impossible! My father owns half of California! There must be some kind of error. Run it again, or call someone… or, I don’t know, do whatever it is you people do tofix these things.”
Oh, wow.You people. Okay, Miss Beverly Hills 9021-No-Manners.
“I have personally attempted to process your outstanding charges on three separate occasions. Each attempt has been rejected due to what appears to be an account freeze at the financial institution. We have dialed the emergency billing contact you provided, but regrettably…” He pauses. “The line redirects to an automated voicemail system. This is extraordinarily unprecedented at Casa Cashmere.”
“Well, obviously your payment processing is broken,” Fiona snaps.
Nigel’s diplomatic smile is a work of art. “Our financial infrastructure, madam, has executed flawless transactions for five decades. I can state with certainty that this is not a processing error. The sudden vacancy you filled, due to the King of Liechtenstein’s unexpected and regrettable illness, is an agreeable arrangement for both of us.”
Translation: She swooped in like a vulture when some actual royalty’s dream vacation was cancelled due to medical drama. How veryFionaof her.
Nigel continues dryly, “As long as your expedited reservation is promptly paid in full, it won’t tarnish your father’s distinguished reputation here.”
“Ugh,” she huffs. “I’ll call Daddy right now and fix this ridiculous misunderstanding. But you cannot breathe a word of this to anyone. The last thing I need is some terrible rumor ruining my magical week.”
“Certainly. Casa Cashmere’s sterling reputation relies upon discretion. However, I must clarify our position with transparency—we provide extraordinary experiences. We do not bankroll them. Especially one hundred-million-dollarmatrimonial celebrations.”
“I’m aware,” Fiona says through clenched teeth.
