MARRIED TO MY ENEMY

ONE ROOM LEFT

The taxi finally stops in front of the hotel. The driver takes my cash without a word, counts it quickly, and drives off fast, leaving me standing alone in the dark with my ugly pink suitcase.

It’s well past midnight. The street is quiet except for the sound of the ocean somewhere nearby and frogs croaking loudly in the bushes. The warm night air feels heavy and alive.

The hotel is beautiful in a way I didn’t expect. It’s not one of those tall glass towers like in Milan or Dubai. This place is low and elegant, painted white with a dark wood roof. Big open windows let the night breeze flow through, and warm yellow lights glow softly from inside. Tall palm trees line the driveway, and stone statues decorated with fresh flowers stand guard along the path.

It smells incredible out here like salt water, sweet tropical flowers, and something smoky and earthy that might be incense. For the first time in two days, I feel a tiny spark of hope.

I found this place myself during my layover in Singapore. While waiting for my connecting flight, I used a public computer at the airport and booked it under the fake name Sophia Santos. I paid everything in cash that Chloe gave me. I chose Blueview because the pictures looked peaceful. No loud pool parties, no DJs, no crowds. Just a quiet boutique hotel right by the ocean. The kind of place where a runaway could disappear for a while.

I didn’t tell Chloe the name of the hotel. I didn’t even tell her which country I was going to. If my father finds her and asks questions, she can honestly say she doesn’t know anything.

I pull my suitcase up the wide stone steps. The front doors are made of dark wood and glass. They slide open automatically, and a blast of cool air-conditioned air hits my face like a blessing.

Inside, the lobby is even prettier. One entire side is completely open to the night, no glass wall, just fresh air flowing in. The floor is dark, shiny wood. There are big white couches with bright blue pillows and huge potted plants everywhere. Soft guitar music plays gently in the background.

It smells like jasmine and fresh lemons. Behind the front desk is a stunning wall of blue and gold tiles shaped like ocean waves.

A few staff members in soft grey uniforms smile at me even though I look like a mess wrinkled dress, messy hair, cheap sandals, and an ugly pink suitcase. For the first time in two days, I feel like I can finally breathe a little.

A young woman, maybe twenty-five, stands behind the white stone desk. Her hair is in a neat ponytail and she has a kind smile.

“Hi,” I say. My voice comes out hoarse.

“Welcome to Blueview, miss,” she replies warmly.

“I have a reservation under Sophia Santos.”

Saying the fake name still feels strange on my tongue.

She starts typing on her computer. Her fingers move fast across the keys. Then the big wooden doors behind me slide open again, letting in another rush of warm night air.

A man walks in fast, pulling a black suitcase.

It’s him.

Airport guy. Green eyes. Wrinkled white shirt.

He walks straight up to the desk and stops right next to me like it’s completely normal. He doesn’t even glance in my direction.

“Good evening,” he says to the receptionist. His voice is deep and tired.

My mouth falls open. “Are you following me?”

He finally turns his head. First he looks surprised, then his expression settles into pure annoyance like I’m a problem he thought he’d left behind at the airport.

“Why would I follow you?” he asks flatly.

“You tell me,” I snap. My voice is too loud in the peaceful lobby. One of the staff members glances over. “It’s a simple question.”

He lets out a long sigh, like dealing with me is exhausting. “What exactly is there to follow?”

“What do you mean ‘what is there to follow’?” I put my hands on my hips. “I’m..” I stop myself just in time. I almost said I’m a Bianchi. I can never say that name here. “You just happen to show up at the exact same hotel as me?”

He turns to face me fully. His green eyes are sharp even though he looks tired. The same wrinkled white shirt from the plane, sleeves still pushed up. “Let me be clear. Why would I need to follow a spoiled little brat who looks completely lost? Does this hotel belong to your daddy or something?”

“Ma’am, sir, please…” the girl behind the desk says nervously. Her eyes are wide.

“For all I know, you’re a serial killer!” I point at his chest. My finger is actually shaking from lack of sleep and adrenaline.

“And for all I know, you’re a runaway princess who’s never heard the word ‘no’ in her life,” he shoots back. “I have a reservation too.” He looks at the receptionist. “Diego Salvatore.”

So that’s his name. Diego. It sounds too smooth for someone so rude.

“I was here first,” I tell the girl quickly. “Please help me first. Sophia Santos.”

She types even faster, then suddenly stops. She bites her lip and stares at the screen.

“Um… we have a problem,” she says quietly.

“What problem?” I ask. My feet are killing me. My cheap sandals have given me blisters. I just want a bed and a hot shower.

“The rooms you both booked… they were given away by mistake,” she says, avoiding our eyes. “There was a system error. I’m so, so sorry.”

“What?” Both Diego and I step closer to the desk at the same time.

“You gave our rooms away?” I repeat, voice rising.

The girl looks like she wants the floor to swallow her. “I’m really sorry…”

I can feel my temper exploding. “You’re sorry? That’s it?”

“Please don’t shout,” she whispers, eyes glassy.

Before I can say anything else, she calls for the manager. A few minutes later, a composed woman in a black blazer walks out. Her dark hair is in a perfect bun and she carries herself with calm authority.

“Good evening. I’m Elena, the night manager. I understand there’s been an issue?”

I explain everything again, talking fast. She listens carefully, nodding. She doesn’t even flinch when I mention being a travel blogger.

“I’m truly sorry about this,” she says. “Let me see what I can do.”

She sits down and types quickly. Diego and I stand there in heavy silence. My legs are shaking from exhaustion. There’s a beautiful couch just a few feet away, but I refuse to sit. I don’t want to look weak in front of him.

After a minute, Elena sighs. “Okay. I have good news and bad news.”

“Just tell us,” Diego says, voice low.

“The good news is I found you a room. The bad news is… it’s only one room. Our very last suite.”

My stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“You would have to share the suite tonight. Just until tomorrow morning when another room opens up.”

“No!” Diego and I say at the exact same time. We glance at each other, surprised.

“Give it to me,” I say quickly. “I got here first!”

“My reservation was messed up too,” he argues. “I’ll take it.”

“It’s mine!”

“No, it’s mine!”

Elena raises both hands. “Please. This is our Oceanview Suite our best room. It’s complimentary tonight because of the mistake. It has a full kitchen, private balcony, heated plunge pool, and more. Just one night. Please.”

I’m so tired I feel tears burning in my eyes. I blink them away fast. I will not cry in front of this man. I let out a defeated sigh. “Fine.”

Diego mutters “Fine” too. He looks just as unhappy as I am.

The young receptionist takes us up in the elevator. The ride is completely silent and painfully awkward. Just the three of us watching the floor numbers light up. I can feel the heat from his body next to me. His arm is so close it almost brushes mine.

She opens the door at the end of the hallway. “Here’s the Oceanview Suite.”

I step inside and for a second I forget how angry I am.

The living room is huge and open. A big, soft cream colored couch faces a fireplace built into the wall. There’s a huge TV and beautiful furniture. The entire back wall is made of glass doors that are open to the night. I can see the ocean right there, dark and sparkling under the moonlight. I can hear the waves gently crashing.

The receptionist talks quickly as she shows us around. “Full kitchen here with grocery credit… private gym through this door… heated plunge pool on the balcony…”

It’s absolutely stunning.

“And the bedroom,” she says, her voice getting quieter as she walks toward the other side of the suite, “is right through here.”

I follow her and my heart stops.

There’s only one bedroom. And in the middle of it is one giant white bed.

Before I can even open my mouth to protest, the receptionist looks terrified, backs out of the suite quickly, and closes the door behind her.

Click.

The lock beeps green.

She’s gone.

Now it’s just me and Diego standing alone in this beautiful suite.

With only one bed.

The sound of the ocean fills the silence between us.