Billionaire Stepbrother: Spring(8)

“I’m sorry, Phoebe. You didn’t come here for this,” I managed to say.

“What? Are you kidding? You do realise this is a five star hotel right?”

“No, I mean—”

“I know what you meant, hun. Just trying to lighten the mood,” she said and sat across from me. “Anyway, I think I’m the one who should be apologising. I brought you that damn letter. I should’ve burnt it.”

“No. I needed to know. It’s just, well, a bit of shock?”

“Tell me about it,” Phoebe said as she cradled her tiny bump of a belly in her hands.

“Do you know if you want to keep it?” I asked, attempting a change in subject.

She shrugged and held up a hand, the palm faced up. “On the one hand, there’s the whole getting fat, losing everything I’ve worked for; my degree… this bodacious body, and giving up on ever graduating.” Phoebe then held out her other hand in the same manner as before.

“But, on the other,” she glanced to her open left palm as her right fell once again upon her belly, “there’s this magical thing happening right here, and even though it’s twisting my insides at the moment, I don’t know if I can give it up. My heart hurts just thinking about it.”

“Oh god, what a pair we make, huh?” I shook my head. “The orphan and the hussy!” I said, teasing, and Phoebe managed a brief laugh.

“You probably shouldn’t be too hard on Lex, you know.”

I raised my eyebrows at her, nearly gobsmacked that she’d jumped ship to his side.

“So all it took was a first class ticket and swanky hotel for you to see his ‘good’ side, eh?”

“Ha! Not at all. Well, I do feel bad for him. Loretta probably planned this. Her last attempt to ruin him maybe? He’s obviously been trying to figure out the best way to tell you without breaking your heart… Be mad at Loretta, not him.” She bit her lip and I could understand what she was trying to say, but I was still too angry to hear it.

Phoebe was supposed to be my friend, on my side, after all.

My face must have twisted, because she quickly retreated back across the line, “Fine, forget what I said. He’s a prick. He should have told you the moment he found out. Happy now?”

“That’s more like it,” I said as a sad smile twitched at the corner of my lips. She was trying her best, and I loved her for it.

Suddenly Phoebe’s chocolate eyes twinkled with mischief. “Let’s teach him a lesson and rack up a huge room service bill.”

“You do realise nothing we do will ever make the smallest dent in his wallet, right?”

“It’s the thought that counts. Anyways, I’m starved. What do you want?” she asked and handed over the menu.

“Pfft, if we’re going to do it, we might as well do it right,” I said and shooed the leather bound folder containing set dishes away. “I’ll get something made to order, thank you very much.”

***

The next morning I stood on our private balcony, looking over the port, and I watched as the colours of the water turned from a deep warm blue to a bright turquoise. The calm waters infected my own wellbeing, cleared my mind. I knew what Phoebe had said was right. It must’ve killed Lex to keep something like that from me, and I never even gave him a chance to explain.

This was just another bump in the road, and I resolved to change that today. We were so much better together, and there was no way I could consider doing this without him. I needed his strength and support to even think about trying to find my real mom.

I let Phoebe sleep in and tried not to disturb her as I quickly got dressed. I just had to get to Lex; I couldn’t let another moment go by without being with him.

Crossing the foyer I was able to truly appreciate the vaulted ceilings and the dazzling chandeliers that made this hotel magnificent. I would’ve stopped to take in the art that lined the walls, but I was on a mission.

“Excusez–moi, Mademoiselle?” a low voice from behind called, but not thinking it had anything to do with me, I continued towards the entrance.

“Mademoiselle Chamberlin? Please, I have a message for you.”

I turned at the sound of Lex’s last name. Chamberlin would’ve technically been my name too, but when my mother had married his father I chose to keep my own surname, which was probably wise, what with the divorce and all.

The receptionist peered at me with a concerned look on his face; I thought I had done a good job of covering my puffy eyes from the night of high emotions before heading out of the suite. Maybe the hotel staff were trained to see these things.

“Are you OK?” the young man asked in a heavy French accent, momentarily distracted.