Against All Odds

Chapter 39

"I am pleased to inform you that you'll be in the overwater bungalow suite 810 for the duration of your stay with us, Mr Beckett," the formal man said, and my head snapped to Killian who was staring at me with an intensity that sent a bolt of lightning straight to my heart.

"810?" I repeated, disbelief rocketing through me.

"Here you'll find a map of the resort-"

I surged to the counter, interrupting the poor soul who was only trying to do his job, and the desperate, frantic, hysteria so evident in my voice and on my face made the guy lose momentary control of his professional composure. "Is 810 next to 808?" I demanded.

"Stella-"

"You shut-up!"

"Ma'am-"

"Don't you ma'am me," I hissed, tapping the counter aggressively with my forefinger. "Is 810... next to... 808?"

The clerk looked genuinely nervous now, his dark eyes darting between me and Killian who was standing a bit behind me, a presence I could feel as a heated balm permeating through the clothes covering my shoulders. "Sir," the clerk hedged, uncertain, "do you know this guest?"

I turned to give Killian a pulverising look, raising my brow in challenge. At least, I figured, he looked a bit worried, but I could put that down to the obvious scene I was making in front of other guests and the hotel staff gathering in the foyer. Killian had never liked to cause a fuss. I had always been the one to send back food that had been overcooked or oversalted when we went to restaurants when we were dating.

"Yup," he said after a brief pause, and I was well aware that there was a tone of resignation to that word.

I turned back to the clerk, my brows raised, and waited for his response. "810 and 808," he said neutrally, "are normally reserved for larger families staying with us. They are beside each other, and share a door which can be locked from either side."

I slammed my keycard on the counter. "I'd like to request another room, please," I said tersely. "One far away from 810."

The clerk looked truly pained. "Unfortunately, ma'am, that won't be possible. Our resort is fully booked for the duration of your stay with us."

"Move me, change me with another guest!" My fingers clenched around the flyer I still had, crinkling the paper irreparably. "There has to be someone accommodating, something that you can do to assist me."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

I wanted to wail at them to move me to another resort completely, but that wouldn't appease my contractual duties to Zahra. This was the resort I had to write about. I turned back to Killian, desperation making my pleas irrational and bonkers now. "You move!" I hissed at him. "Go to another resort. Just... go!"

"I'm not going to do that, Stels," he said levelly, calmly, and my shoulders slumped in defeat. I couldn't read his expression since he was being so damn reasonable, his face a handsome, neutral facade that gave nothing away about how he was truly feeling about all this, but I knew I had lost. I didn't have a choice but to stick this out, in a luxury bungalow neighbouring with Killian Beckett while my heart ripped in two each day. "I settled the full amount for the resort a long time ago and it's non-refundable. We'll just have to... stay out of each other's way."

"Fuck," I swore, resigned, and snatched up the keycard again, skewering the clerk with a venomous look, before storming out the foyer.

When I reached the golf carts waiting to haul me to my suite, I spied two sets of luggage hitched to the back in a small trailer. I recognised the sleek black suitcase packed beside my fraying, brown mess of a rucksack, and knew exactly who the owner of it was, emitting a groan of dismay as I slid into one of the seats after a cheerful greeting from the porter. The cart dipped and shook a bit when Killian climbed in and sat in the row behind me.

"This isn't my fault," he said pointedly to the back of my head. "You can't possibly be blaming me for this."

"Honestly, Kills, I can't deal with this right now." I sighed, miserable, and the golf cart purred to life and began to zip forward. Clearly our driver had aspiring dreams of becoming the first ever Formula One golf cart contestant because the speeds at which he zoomed onto the boardwalk that led to a line of beautiful overwater villas made me hold on for dear life.

Just when I would be able to deal with it, I wasn't sure. I was exhausted- mentally and physically- after fourteen hours of travel to get to a tropical paradise I would be sharing with my ex. Not just an ex, but my first and only love of my life.

I wasn't over him- I had hoped that by immersing myself in travel and work I could help that bit of a problem, mend a heart that was aching at never being held in those tattooed, muscly arms ever again. Now, I would have to face him daily because I somehow doubted we'd be able to avoid each other, not with him staying right beside me.

I felt tears prick my eyes as the salty wind whipped my hair in front of my face, but I fought off the urge to cry. I wasn't the sort to wallow, to feel sorry for myself. Killian was here and that was a reality I needed to deal with.

And I figured I had two choices in that respect.

I could continue being a prissy little bitch about it and kick up stinks whenever I encountered him.

Or I could take the high road and endeavour a modicum of civility- no hard feelings. Let bygones be bygones. Polite and aloof.

I grimaced as our bungalows came into view, side by side as they stared out over the pristine, glistening aquamarine waters the Maldives was renowned for. It was idyllic and beautiful, a romantic fantasy come to life. The cart ground to a halt, jarring us all forward, and the driver hopped out before assisting me.

I stepped down and gave Killian a fleeting look, heart heavy and mind buzzing.

I don't think I could run with the no hard feelings thing anymore.

Because I had a lot of feelings, and none of them were soft.