Page 37 of Royal Hottie
I press my lips together, irritated, but then a laugh escapes. “I know your rep.”
He tips my chin up and kisses the end of my nose. “And you know I want to tone it down.”
“Okay. Just take me to the hotel.”
He turns to the guards. Henry nods once. “The car is already on its way.”
I shake my head at Henry and Rafe. “How much you must know. You’re very good at being discreet.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Henry says, still stone-faced.
“It’s our job, ma’am,” Rafe says flatly.
“Okay, then.” I turn to Phillip and whisper, “If I get loud, feel free to do one of these.” I put my hand over my mouth.
He laughs and scoops me up in a hug, lifting me right off the ground. “It’s our bubble, Ruby, do whatever you want.”
A short while later, we arrive at the Ritz. Naturally. See, this Paris bubble will be a snap. It already feels like I’m moving through a dream. So different from my life back home I can’t even wrap my brain around it.
Phillip takes my hand and leads me to the front desk. The clerk recognizes him immediately and quickly checks him in, handing over the key.
“They already knew what you wanted?” I whisper.
“I let them know ahead of time. I booked the Suite Imperiale. I thought you’d enjoy the historic interior since you’re an interior designer and you loved Amalie Palace so much.”
I’m practically vibrating with excitement. This is the kind of thing I don’t see back home. European historic decor is much older and much more elegant than our oldest stuff, basically colonial America. We’re still a pretty young country relatively speaking.
“Will you be needing any assistance with your luggage, Your Highness?” the clerk inquires in perfect English.
Phillip responds cordially, “It’s just us, thank you.” He has zero embarrassment about using the hotel for sex, so why should I?
I follow him to our suite, the guards close behind. He holds the door open for me; I step inside and gasp. It’s more like an apartment! This place is huge!
He shuts the door behind us. The guards remain in the hall.
His arms wrap around my waist from behind. “Well?”
“It’s fantastic!”
“Go see the master bedroom. It’s a replica of Marie-Antoinette’s room at Versailles. It’s the one done mostly in gold.”
I rush through the living room with its two seating areas and head straight for a bedroom. This must be it. Everything in here is silk and gilded. It’s eighteenth-century sumptuous elegance. The place is practically a museum with antique furniture and framed oil paintings. The bed is incredible with a carved headboard and footboard, covered in silks, and set behind it is a gilded balustrade, like an elaborate canopy reaching up to the high ceiling. I pull out my phone, snapping pictures. I’m such a tourist.
I do a slow circle in the room. There’s also a chaise longue, high-back antique chairs, multiple antique tables, a huge fireplace with an oil painting of a dark-haired man featured over it, probably Marie-Antoinette’s husband, the king. I don’t know my French history. I look up. Crystal chandelier, intricate plaster designs on the ceiling and molding, everything trimmed in gold. It’s beyond, justbeyond. I’m dying here. If I had seen this before I added my touch to the royal fantasy suite, I might’ve thrown my hands up, knowing how far I was from the mark of royal elegance.
I turn to Phillip, who followed me in. “Amazing! Is it weird I’m taking pictures instead of getting naked?”
He laughs. “Take as many pictures as you want. You’re practically drooling. I knew this room would be a good choice. Look around your fill. I’m not going anywhere.”
I do a slow tour of the suite, starting back in the living room. Two deep red sofas with gold tassels along the lower edges form two seating areas, back to back, separated by a long antique carved wood table. Glass doors lead to a balcony with a view of the city. I keep going toward a set of white double doors (French doors we call them back home) that lead to another bedroom, not as elaborate as the master, but still gorgeous, done in pale blues and pinks. Silk and gold trim abound in here too. An en suite bathroom mostly done in marble is beautiful, which makes me think the master bedroom’s bathroom will be even better. I backtrack, heading through the master bedroom.
Phillip is hanging his suit jacket in a closet and winks at me as I go past him. He’s such a sweetheart, patiently waiting for me.
Finally, I step into the bathroom. “Yes-s-s,” I say on a long dreamy sigh. I gaze my fill at a huge marble-trimmed whirlpool tub big enough for two below a high window. There’s a fireplace in here too, along with a table covered in luxury bath oils and lotions. White roses in a gold bowl on a vanity table lend a soft floral scent. Carved light wood paneling on every wall. There’s another door. I peek into it to find the rest of the bathroom, all marble and elegant as expected. I return to the glorious soaking-tub area. It’s like a spa in a museum. Unbelievable!
I can only imagine how much it costs to stay here. It must be thousands a night. I know I could never stay here on my own. Phillip really does live in a different world. And Paris is our bubble. I already feel like I’m floating outside myself, looking down at this extraordinary luxury that has never crossed even the far reaches of my imagination.
“What do you want to do first?” he asks from behind me, and I jump. He laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous. This was all your idea.” I can hear the smile in his voice, the teasing warmth.
