Page 17 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“The part where it says this sun cream is infused with the body sweat of Jennifer Lopez.”
“What?” I burst out laughing.
“The only way I’m paying fifty dollars for some sun cream is if it’s either been made with Vin Diesel’s bare hands, or it’s got some bodily fluid from Jennifer Lopez.” She was deadly serious.
“Nobody calls her by her full name; it’s just J-Lo, and why?”
“Have you seen that woman’s skin? She looks immaculate. She clearly has the gene pool of a fucking god because she can look like that, dance, sing, and act. It’s a crime to be that good at everything.” She neatly slid the cream back into its place on the shelf. “And then there’s me and you—talentless.”
I poked her in the side with the first thing I could find, a souvenir back scratcher.
“Speak for yourself.”
She jerked forwards, hitting the towering stand of trilby hats; we both froze as the stand wobbled from side to side.
“Phew.” Billie looked around. The woman who quite obviously ran the small shop was preoccupied selling cigars to an American man. I pushed Billie towards the exit door.
“Why am I only just finding out your woman crush is J-Lo?” I questioned. Vin Diesel wasn’t surprising; she liked buff men.
“I’m not saying I’d lick her vagina, so don’t be getting any ideas.” She lowered her voice after realising she’d just yelled vagina in front of five people exiting the elevator.
“I have a solution that doesn’t involve us going bankrupt,” Billie proposed.
“Okay—”
“We can just mix my SPF 30 with your SPF 30 to get 60,” Billie said it so casually.
I rolled my eyes quite emphatically. “Do you really think I’m going to fall for that?”
Granted, I was naive.
I believed Billie when she told me if I ate pumpkin seeds and then drank a litre of water it initiated the growing process, and I’d grow small pumpkins inside my stomach.Naive.
I also believed Billie when she told me they used to allow people to open the small windows on a commercial aeroplane whilst in flight, but after several decades of modification they realised allowing people to smoke on a plane was less important than safety.Naive.
In my defence, she always told me these things with a straight face. Worryingly, she was a fantastic liar.
“It was worth a shot.” Billie smirked.
When we entered our room, the concierge, Rosalina, was huddled over the bed. She jumped up like she’d been caught doing something inappropriate.
“Sorpresa! Surprise!” she yelled.
I pushed Billie into the room. I didn’t like surprises. The white bedspread had been ironed to within an inch of its life by the maids; the eight variously textured scatter cushions were perfectly plumped and placed with precision. The bed was exactly the same as it had been the day before. The new addition was the fresh red rosepetals that spelt out HBD across the full width of the bed. A celebratory gold banner hung from one side of the canvas headboard to the other; immediately, my interior design head noticed the mountains of Sellotape that’d been used to stick it to the wall—yikes.
In the centre of the bed amongst all the petals sat a large, folded piece of white card that read:
Happy Birthday, Billie. Wishing you all the best on your special day.
The furrowing in my forehead deepened; now I was extremely confused. It wasn’t Billies birthday.
“This is for you.” Rosalina handed her a bottle of wine and a complimentary red hat from the gift shop.
“Thank you so much,” Billie said sweetly as though none of it was a surprise. I sat on the bench by the wardrobes and watched the scene unfold.
“My pleasure.” Rosalina was incredibly sweet. She didn’t move, just smiled a pearly white grin whilst Billie walked to the mirror to readjust her hair to make the hat fit.
“I have another surprise for you tonight. If you will please leave the green light on your door, room service will be coming.”
