Shadows and Stars: A Darker Love ✔

Chapter Eleven

It's almost bewildering to be stepping into this place; the very place where I realised my feelings for Grayson, even if I wasn't completely aware of it at the time.

The humongous lobby is pretty much made of white marble, a strong floral smell carries through the large, clean area. A sizeable reception desk fills the back wall and lines of green plants stand upright in each corner. In many ways this hotel is so similar to the Pacific Blue in Mayfair, but in many other ways it's different, and I love how Grayson's father has tried to make each one independent from the other.

Amongst the flurry of guests, I spot four large, silver clocks against the back wall; the current times of London, Beijing, Queensland and New York on proud display.

New York; my heart sinks at the sight of it. It's 2.p.m there, and I think how, if Grayson and I had gone there together like I once thought would be the case, then we might be ambling merrily through the busy streets or filling our faces with bagles or ice cream. Once it was a dream to me, then it became a potential reality, and then it reverted back to a dream.

I sigh, but I shake my head, pulled back to reality when Anderson and I reach the front of the sparkling reception desk. My heart flutters as I stand against the edge, watching as Anderson checks in for the both of us. I wonder if Grayson is here after all, or maybe his Dad is? In many ways I want to see them, but in others I really don't. What would I even say?

"Miss Thorpe, you will be in room three-hundred-and-six, and Mr Taylor, you will be in room four-hundred-and-eighty-one." A blonde haired male receptionist, dressed as impeccably as his surroundings, hands us a keycard each before taking our luggage from Anderson's hands. "Your bags will be in the room for you." I smile, and realise that I've never learnt that Anderson's surname is Taylor.

"Thank you," Anderson and I say in unison, and as we watch our bags being wheeled off on a trolley, we turn and start down a carpeted corridor towards a large function room, slotting our keycards into our pockets and bags.

I take in a deep breath. "It's through there, right?" I point to a huge, white doorway, a sign outside stating 'Saint and City Christmas Party' in fancy italic letters. I laugh, realising I've just answered my own question.

"I think you could be right," Anderson teases. "Ready?" Once more Anderson has his arm out to mine, and I smile as I hook mine within his; I'm grateful for his support as we meander through the hundreds of visitors that filter into the room.

Through the part opened doors, I can spot the shimmer of bright, disco lights and crowds of laughing, happy guests. We're also greeted by the loud sounds of uplifting, vibrant party music; the tune of 'Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree' is unmistakable.

     "Champagne?"

Anderson and I turn as we reach the doors, greeted by a smiling, brunette waitress who stands with a tray of champagne flutes. We're handed one each, and I take mine gratefully. "Thank you," I say, lifting the cold liquid to my lips without hesitation.

     "Eager?" Anderson chuckles as we amble into the room, arm in arm as he watches me sip at the glorious, golden drink.

     "I need to calm my nerves," I say, tearing my eyes from the grey of Anderson's to see the huge room in front of me—and it's as magnificent as I expected.

At the front of the room stands a wooden, polished staging area where it seems a group of outfitted men are preparing to play live music. In front of them, twenty or so round tables are placed perfectly central and are lined with a silky, white tablecloth and dusted with decorative diamonds and dazzling silverware.
Tones of purple, blue, pink and white shine from the moving lights across the ceiling—which enhance the otherwise dark room extravagantly—and I move my head to the right; a large bar fills the back wall, where plenty of guests are stood drinking, laughing and generally greeting one another with elation.