Chapter 8 - ROOM 1520 AGAIN
Lucia was born at thirty-nine weeks.
Seven pounds, nine ounces.
Dark hair.
Enormous lungs.
Alessandro stood beside me during labor.
Not commanding.
Not threatening doctors.
Not buying the hospital.
He held ice chips.
Was terrible at timing contractions.
I yelled at him.
He looked relieved I was strong enough to insult him.
After Lucia arrived, he whispered:
“Hello, little lion.”
I cried.
So did he.
Three months later, we returned to the Obsidian Hotel.
Not for romance.
A charity gala supporting nursing scholarships.
Same chandeliers.
Same ballroom.
Different life.
I wore a navy dress.
No catering tray.
Alessandro stood beside me.
Not touching until I took his hand.
Room 1520 remained upstairs.
I thought about it.
“That night was reckless.”
“Yes.”
“You invited a catering worker to your hotel room.”
“Yes.”
“That is objectively questionable.”
He winced.
“I know.”
“And I went.”
“Yes.”
“We were idiots.”
“Yes.”
I smiled.
Then:
“I don’t regret Lucia.”
“Neither do I.”
“Or talking to you.”
His expression softened.
“Neither do I.”
May you like
That was enough.
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