Hallbjorn let out a chuckle. “Your bedroom? Won’t it be both of ours, once we get married? Or do you expect me to live somewhere else?”
Aria frowned. She hadn’t really thought about the logistics of what would happen after they got married. Would she have to tell her parents? Would she get in trouble? Then again, what could they really say? Byron and Ella had eloped their last year of college; their parents had come around eventually. But what would Mike think? And what if people from school found out? They would never understand. Not that Aria cared what people thought about her, of course, but gossipy whispers behind her back were getting kind of old.
“Let’s worry about where we’re going to live later,” Aria said shakily. “We’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.”
“Whatever you say.” Hallbjorn leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Aria tilted her chin so that their lips met next. They kissed for a long time, disappearing into the mound of pillows, and just like that, all of her concerns dissipated. This was about them, not their families or people at Rosewood Day.
Hallbjorn slid Aria’s T-shirt over her head, and she did the same to him, letting out a pleased groan as their bare skin touched. She rolled over, accidentally squashing the remote. The TV clicked on at maximum volume.
Aria looked up. The hotel’s in-house channel, which advertised the resort’s various restaurants, casinos, and pay-per-view options, was on the screen. Then, two silvery panthers appeared. “Now at the Borgata, Biedermeister and Bitschi will blow your mind,” an overenthusiastic voice said. Then came a snarling eighties guitar lick, and two magicians marched onto a stage. They waved their capes like bullfighters. The panthers roared, and the crowd looked dazzled.
Aria snickered. “Do you think our floor show tickets are for that?”
“I hope not,” Hallbjorn said, pausing from kissing her to glance at the screen.
Suddenly, a faint giggle sounded outside the door. Aria hit MUTE on the TV. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” Hallbjorn raised his head.
Another giggle floated through the vent. “That.” The hair on the back of her neck rose.
“It’s just someone laughing.” Hallbjorn massaged Aria’s shoulders. “You’re being paranoid.”
“It’s not just someone laughing.” Aria stood and crept past the bathroom as the giggle intensified. It sounded like the person was standing at their door, wanting to get in. She pulled on a robe, took a deep breath, and whipped the door open.
The hall was empty. All of the doors were shut; an empty room-service tray with two drained glasses of red wine waited on the carpet outside room 910.
Aria slumped against the jamb and rubbed her temples, wondering if Hallbjorn was right. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Maybe she was hearing things that didn’t really exist.
Chapter 8
Panther Porn
“Another glass of champagne?” a cocktail waitress in a slinky beaded gown and a feathered cap asked Aria as she and Hallbjorn sat in the lobby lounge later that evening.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Aria extended her flute. The waitress dropped a few strawberries into the liquid, and it fizzed dramatically.
Aria took a sip and shut her eyes, suddenly feeling deeply relaxed. The day had been absolutely lovely. They’d lounged around in bed for hours, then had a delicious, romantic, and free dinner at the Wolfgang Puck restaurant. When they’d finished, Aria had poked into a little vintage shop down the block that was still open. She’d found an adorable red polka-dotted frock, which she was wearing tonight, and a gorgeous white tea-length dress with lacy accents at the neck and tiny pearl-shaped buttons running down the back for the wedding tomorrow. It had a tiny rip at the neckline, but it wasn’t anything a needle and thread couldn’t fix. With any luck, she could also dye it lime-green and wear it to the prom.
And now, she and Hallbjorn were waiting in front of the theater to see the Biedermeister and Bitschi silver panther show—it was, indeed, the free show comped with their stay. A swarm of other guests, many of them elderly, waited in front of the theater as well. Suddenly, the doors to the theater burst open, and the ticketholders rushed inside.
Aria stood, careful not to spill her champagne. “Shall we?”
Hallbjorn glanced at the poster for the show, which stood on an easel just outside the double doors. The magicians, whose stretched, catlike faces looked like they’d undergone tons of plastic surgery, had twin mullet hairdos and stared intensely into the camera lens. The silver panthers sat next to them like obedient dogs—except that they were baring their enormous, pointy teeth.