Don't Promise Me Forever

15 | in which Harper and Lawson are forced to share a bed

"Hang on," Harper said, something clicking in her brain. "Did you say room? Singular?"

"Indeed."

The horror intensified. "There must be some sort of mistake. We need two rooms."

"I'm sorry, madam." The receptionist tugged at his tie. "There's only one bedroom ready for tonight. The Rosewood Suite."

"What?"

"You see?" He flipped the computer monitor around, tapping the screen. "One king-sized bed. Two adults."

Harper stared. "But how...?"

Something clicked.

Harper fought back a wave of frustration. The room was booked under Diana and David's names, wasn't it? Her parents had originally planned to come up, after all. She'd assumed that they would change it for her, and they must have assumed the opposite.

Shit.

Panic spiked through her. Okay. This was fine. She just needed a contingency plan. Something that didn't involve her sleeping in the same bed as Lawson Hale.

A thought occurred to her.

"I don't understand," Harper said, resting her elbows on the desk. "There must be twenty bedrooms in this place, and my Dad and Diana have booked it out for the week. How can there only be one room?"

"We're fumigating the rest," the receptionist said.

Harper stared. "You're joking."

"Afraid not," the man said soberly. "Bed bug infestation. But the excellent news is that all the rooms will be ready tomorrow, in time for the other guests' arrival."

Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. "Yes, but I don't think you understand; I need them ready now."

"It's fine," Lawson said. "We'll take it."

She turned. "Lawson—"

"Harper," Lawson said in a low voice, and the surprise of hearing her name — her real name — was enough to shut her up. "There's nothing he can do. We can either share a bedroom, or we can turn around and drive back to London." His green eyes were very bright. Challenging. "Your choice."

Harper sighed. For a moment, she pictured driving back to London. Calling Diana on the way. How would that conversation go? "Hi, Diana. No, we're not at the manor. Funny story: none of the rooms are ready, and also, there's a bedbug infestation. Speak soon!"

No.

She had to stay.

Harper turned to the receptionist. "Which way is the room?"

He led them through a maze of twisting corridors, blithely pointing out fifteenth-century oil portraits as Harper did her best not to smash her suitcase into any priceless vases. Mercifully, the Rosewood Suite wasn't far, and it didn't appear to have any bedbugs either. Just a stone fireplace, a golden chandelier, and a wooden rocking chair.

And a bed. A very large, four-poster bed heaped with fur throw blankets that looked like it had been stolen from the set of Game of Thrones.

There was also, Harper noted with relief, a squashy-looking couch covered in the sort of wildflowers an elderly woman might crochet. But whatever. It was a couch.

Thank god.

The receptionist passed Lawson a key. "I'll let you get settled. Give me a shout when you're ready and we can go over the itinerary."

Harper waited until he left, and then immediately set her suitcase next to the couch. She flopped down, reveling in the comfy cushions. Perfect.

"I'll take the couch," Harper announced.