Page 40 of Bad Habit
Someone opened my door, startling me until I saw a smiling uniformed man.
“Welcome to the Venetian,” he said.
“Thank you very much. How kind of you.”
I stepped out of the car, marveling at the volume of lights surrounding the entrance even though it was daytime. I felt like a movie star.
“What’s your name?” I asked the man holding open my door. “Have you worked here long?”
He tipped his head to the side. “I’m Hector. And yeah, nearly ten years. Thanks for asking. Enjoy your stay, miss.” He stepped toward the next car.
Another man took our luggage out of the trunk. Not that we had much. My things were in a small vinyl bag Sister Henry had loaned me, and Mac had a suitcase on wheels.
Mac handed the man some money and took the suitcase and bag. “We can handle it from here,” he told the man. “Thanks.”
A third uniformed man got into our car and drove away.
“Mac! The car!”
“It’s okay.” He stepped toward me. “It’s valet parking.” Mac patted his pocket. “He gave me a ticket. We can get the car back anytime we need it.”
“Oh.” I laughed at my mistake.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“Sex? Right now?”
He laughed, then leaned in close. “Is exhibitionism a deadly sin?”
“Exhibitionism?”
“Sex in public.”
I laughed. “I’m sure that would add an extra level of sin. Sounds very advanced. I vote we wait until we get to the room.”
“If you insist.”
“I really must.” I liked that we could joke about this—assuming he was joking, too.
He rested my bag on his rolling suitcase, and yet another man held open the door to the hotel as we walked inside.
I gasped. Marble and gold lined the hall where massive columns stretched up to ceilings higher than I’d ever seen. “Is this what the Vatican looks like? St. Peter’s?”
“Don’t know. I’ve never been.” He touched my back lightly, steering me down the long hall. “But they did model this place after Italy, so maybe.”
I stood to the side, admiring the painting and artwork on the ceilings, admiring everything as Mac checked us into the hotel. Everything was so highly polished it shone—the entire place glittered—a refection of my joyous but nervous mood.
A couple walked past, the man gray-haired in a dark suit and deep purple tie, and the woman much younger and wearing the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen. Her dress looked like it was made of liquid gold, the fabric hugging her body in a way that was flattering without being lewd. Her shoes barely had straps and must have made her five or six inches taller than her already statuesque height, and her hair was in curls, pinned all over her head with diamonds. Her face was so perfectly made up she looked like a photograph—not real. Even the tiny bag in her left hand was beautiful, covered in diamonds, too.
Laughing at something the man said, she revealed blinding white teeth. Tightening his grip around her waist, the man kissed her neck. Her head tipped back, and her laughter continued as he whispered something in her ear.
“Decided to go with envy first?”
“What?” I turned toward Mac, who nodded toward the couple.
“Oh. Yes. Well, I guess.” Did I envy her? Maybe those little diamond things in her hair. They were very pretty. But this woman was so far removed from me that it didn’t seem envy was possible. Could a sparrow envy a swan?
Mac bent close to me. “She’s got nothing on you.”
