isabella [h.s.]

thirty two

**We talked about making it,
I'm sorry that you never made it and
it pains me just to hear you have to say it,
you knew the game and played it,
it kills to know that you have been defeated**

HARRY

After our rather disappointing, and very greasy, meal at the diner, Isabella and I get back into the car to continue the second half of the road trip to Atlantic City. Annoyingly enough, because it means Isabella was right, there isn't much traffic so we arrive there a little after sunset, pulling into the car park of the hotel before grabbing our bags and heading inside. The lobby is decadent and modern, a mix of dark wood, whites and greys, two perfectly groomed female receptionists tapping away at their computers behind the long glass counter. Seeing as I found this hotel in a rush just before leaving the precinct earlier, I have to say I did pretty well.

"Good evening," one of the receptionists greets Isabella and I when we approach the counter, her red-painted lips arched into a friendly smile. "Do you have a reservation?"

"No, we don't," I reply, receiving an understanding nod. "We'd like to book a room for one night, please."

"Of course!" the receptionist obliges happily, clicking the mouse of her computer and scanning the screen. "We have the choice of single rooms, double rooms, or our suites which have two bedrooms, a living area and one bathroom."

Before I can even open my mouth to reply, Isabella cuts in. "We'll take a suite," she tells the receptionist, and when she notices the shocked look I shoot her, she assures me, "I'll pay."

"What? No, don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous," she counters. "You drove here, so it's only fair."

"But that didn't cost hundreds of dollars like this suite probably will," I remind her in a lowered voice. "So it's not really fair." Before she gets the chance to reply, I have a sudden idea, my lips stretching into a smile as I grab my wallet from my back pocket. "You know what?" I say, pulling out the black card from inside and holding it up between two fingers. "This is on the NYPD. It's the least they can do."

"Hmm, and they say chivalry is dead," Isabella hums teasingly, earning a small laugh from the receptionist.

After giving the receptionist some details and swiping my card, she hands me the key card and wishes us both a good stay before we head over to the elevator. Struggling with all her bags, Isabella nearly trips over several times on her way, causing me to roll my eyes playfully as I swipe a few bags from her arms to help her out, attempting to hide my amusement as she swears under her breath while I press the button for the fifth floor.

Like the lobby downstairs, the suite is just as impressive and modern, the walls painted in an array of greys and whites, with furniture of the same muted colours, and almost every surface made of sparkling glass. As promised, the room features a living room, complete with a flatscreen TV and an iPad to order room service on, a spotless bathroom and two identical bedrooms including double beds and a rather impressive city view. After admiring the suite too, Isabella claims one of the bedrooms, the one closest to the bathroom, by dropping all her bags onto the bed before dramatically flopping down onto it, apparently exhausted just from sitting in the passenger seat for a few hours instead of being the one who actually drove here.