Our father sniffs a laugh, and agrees. He turns off the engine just as a guy in a burgundy uniform approaches the car. Daniel disappears into the back of the SUV to grab his suitcase, and I tug my pack onto my lap when the driver’s door opens.
“Welcome to the Ruby,” the guy in red says. I can’t quite place his accent, but he’s handsome—dark hair and dark eyes. He glances inside and notices me. “Can I help with your bags, miss?” His lips curve with a smile, and I’m not imagining that he’s flirting with me. But I’m disoriented from the drive, from my father’s behavior. I shake my head no.
“I’ve got it,” I tell the valet. “But thanks.”
He comes around to open my door, and I’m aware of how close he’s standing when I have to dip under his arm to get out. The guy helps to load bags onto a gold rolling cart, and my father tips him a fold of money before opening the massive wooden doors. I glance back and find the valet waiting. He smiles again, his chin lowered as he watches me. I quickly turn away, an uneasy feeling crawling up my arms.
The lobby is an explosion of grandeur: rich wood furniture, fringed velvet fabrics, and an impossibly large chandelier hanging above it all. Paintings and tapestries decorate the walls, which must be at least three stories high. I turn to Daniel and he smiles—an actual smile.
“Guess I should have worn my clean hoodie,” he mutters.
“You don’t own anything clean,” I say. “I haven’t done your laundry all week.”
Daniel puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a sideways hug. “When we get to Nana’s, I’ll start washing all of my own clothes. I’ll even wash yours.”
I laugh, because Daniel would certainly destroy anything he put into a washing machine. But secondly, he’s taken to calling our strict old grandmother Nana. I can’t wait to see her face when he lays that one on her.
Dad stops at the front desk, Daniel and I behind him. There’s a haggard desk attendant in the corner, tapping the computer keys while he surfs the Internet. He doesn’t even lift his head to acknowledge us. I clear my throat to get his attention, but when he still doesn’t respond, I sigh and lean my elbow on the counter and glance around the lobby. I’m on sensory overload, unable to take it all in. I feel completely out of place here, especially in regular clothes. I should be wearing a cocktail dress, a ball gown maybe. Suddenly a door the same color as the wall opens from behind the desk, and a bald man with a small, pleasant face walks out. He glances in the direction of the other attendant, but the guy is gone. I didn’t even see him leave.
“Welcome to the Hotel Ruby,” the man says joyfully. “It’s a beautiful night.”
“Morning,” I correct. The man turns to me, giving me a quick once-over, as if he’s not exactly sure he wants to answer. I read his name tag: KENNETH—CONCIERGE.
“So it is,” he responds with a chuckle. Before he can ask, my father places his license and credit card on the counter.
“Three rooms,” Dad says. “Just for the night.”
Kenneth nods politely, reading the name. He takes a moment to study me and Daniel, and then leans over the counter toward my father. “I apologize in advance, Mr. Casella,” he says. “It seems we are overbooked tonight.” He pauses, as if waiting for me to interject that it’s morning.
My father’s posture sags. “Is there another hotel close by? A motel maybe?”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Kenneth says quickly, waving his hand. “We wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you like that. The problem is clearly on our end. Let’s see.” He taps a few keys. “I have two rooms on the sixth floor, and if your daughter won’t mind, we have a room available for her on the thirteenth floor. There are some renovations under way, but I assure you”—he turns to me—“you won’t be disturbed.”
I can’t imagine what they would want to change about a place this beautiful, but I’m grateful that we won’t have to spend the night in some sleazy motel along the interstate.
“The rooms on the sixth floor,” Kenneth continues, “have wonderful views of the Ruby Mountains. And, of course, you all have complimentary late checkout. I hope that’s acceptable?”
Kenneth’s fast-talking, smooth voice continues to dominate the conversation. Within seconds my father’s agreeing before even finding out the price.
“Fantastic,” Kenneth says, clapping his plump hands. “Joshua is dropping off your bags as we speak. We have a variety of amenities for you to enjoy during your time here. There’s an on-site restaurant and gift shop, a salon and day spa. Out through the garden doors”—he motions to a set of glass doors—“is a café, and just beyond that are the tennis courts. There’s an outdoor pool, a recreation room with billiards, and, of course, our theater. This is a current list of our movies.” Kenneth hands my father a brochure and exhales, finally taking a break from his monologue.