Chapter Twelve – A Room with a View
1456 Words
The hotel looked like something out of a romantic film—perched on the cliffs above the sparkling Mediterranean, with crisp white stone, lavender-lined pathways, and windows that spilled golden light onto the terrace below.
Emery stepped out of the car and stared up at it, awe washing through her. The scent of saltwater and flowers filled the air. Cal stood beside her, hands in his pockets, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He looked every bit the movie star that graced posters and screens—but here, in this quiet corner of the world, he felt real in a way that unnerved her.
The bellhop led them into a suite on the top floor, where French doors opened to a private balcony overlooking the sea. The room was light and open, all soft linens and pale wood, like it had been built for lovers.
There was only one bed.
Emery blinked. For a second, she thought maybe the staff made a mistake. But when she turned to Cal, he was already thanking the bellhop in fluent French and tipping him. No hesitation. No correction.
Just the one bed.
And no apologies.
Once the door clicked shut behind them, she finally found her voice. “There’s only one bed.”
Cal raised a brow, amused. “That a problem?”
Her stomach fluttered. It should have been. It should have made her feel awkward or nervous or maybe even a little foolish. But instead, it made her feel... chosen.
She walked past him and ran her hand across the soft duvet, then glanced at the view. “No. Not a problem.”
He smirked like he knew exactly what she was thinking but didn’t press it. “Unpack, get comfortable. Then we’ll go find the best rosé on this side of the coast.”
As he stepped into the en suite to freshen up, Emery sat on the edge of the bed, heart racing.
She’d just agreed to share a room with Cal Donovon.
Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was reckless.
But somewhere between the stars over LA and the sun-kissed beaches of France, she’d stopped resisting the truth:
She was falling for someone she absolutely shouldn’t.
And now, they were sharing a room—with a view, with wine, and with a growing intimacy that was no longer just flirtation.
It was real.
They wandered through the narrow cobblestone streets of the coastal town, letting the breeze off the sea guide their pace. Neither of them had a plan, and that felt strangely perfect. Cal didn’t bother with maps or agendas — just followed curiosity wherever it pulled them.
It pulled them toward a flower market, where Cal picked out a single white peony and tucked it behind her ear with an affectionate smile. Toward a tiny café tucked into an alley where they shared a croissant, flaky and warm, laughing when powdered sugar dusted her nose. Toward an art gallery, where he stood beside her in silence while she stared at a piece that moved her more than she could explain.
And all the while, Cal was close.
His hand brushed hers as they walked, fingers tangling naturally. When they crossed streets, he rested his hand at the small of her back like it was second nature. And every time she turned to him with something to say — about a color she liked, or the way the buildings looked like cake tiers stacked together — he would press a kiss to her temple, like he couldn’t help himself.
It made her heart race every single time.
She tried not to overanalyze it. But it was impossible not to feel the weight of each small touch, the way her body responded to him. How, in the middle of a warm, beautiful day on the French coast, she was aware of only one thing:
Him.
The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. The warmth of his voice when he said her name. The way it felt like the whole world blurred and stilled around them.
This wasn’t just a crush anymore.
It was real.
And if she wasn’t careful, it might be everything.
Dinner was set against a painting-perfect backdrop — the sun melting into the ocean in streaks of gold and rose, waves crashing gently against the rocky shoreline below. The restaurant was perched on a cliffside terrace, intimate and glowing with amber string lights swaying in the breeze. Emery felt like she’d stepped into a dream.
Cal had requested a quiet table with a view, and they got exactly that.
He ordered for them effortlessly in French, his voice low and smooth, making her stomach flutter for reasons entirely unrelated to the rich seafood risotto he’d chosen for them to share. A chilled gin and tonic sat in front of her, already half-sipped. Cal had opted for a glass of deep red wine, swirling it slowly in his hand as he watched the sky fade to twilight.
“I didn’t realize France could feel like this,” Emery murmured, glancing at the distant lights starting to twinkle along the coast. “Like a pause between real life.”
Cal looked at her then, his gaze soft. “That’s exactly what it’s supposed to feel like. A breath. Something just for you.”
“For us,” she corrected before thinking, then flushed when he raised an eyebrow.
“You like it being us now?” he asked, teasing.
She smiled behind the rim of her glass. “I think I always did.”
He leaned in just enough for her to feel the heat of him, one hand draped casually across the table. “Then maybe it’s time we stopped pretending this is some casual stop on your little adventure.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
They sat there, the space between them charged and intimate. The sun vanished beneath the waterline, and Cal’s fingers brushed hers, warm and grounding.
“I don’t want a pause from real life, Emery,” he said quietly. “I want something real with you.”
The breeze caught the words as they fell between them, but Emery felt the weight of them settle deep in her chest.
And for the first time, she didn’t feel scared.
She felt seen.
Loved.
Wanted.
And this time, she let herself lean into it.
Back at the hotel, the city quieted to a hush. Their footsteps echoed softly down the hallway as they made their way to the suite, Emery’s fingers still loosely intertwined with Cal’s. She hadn’t let go of his hand since they left the restaurant.
The door clicked shut behind them, and suddenly the air felt heavier—warmer. The golden light from the bedside lamps bathed the room in a soft glow, casting long shadows across the plush bedding and marble floors.
Emery slipped off her heels with a soft sigh, her body humming from wine, sunset, and the charged silence between them. She glanced at Cal as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolling the sleeves back slowly. That familiar tension curled in her stomach.
He caught her watching. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m trying not to overthink this,” she admitted. “It’s just… it all feels so big.”
Cal stepped toward her, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then don’t think,” he said, his voice low. “Just feel.”
That was all the permission she needed.
Her hands found the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His mouth was on hers in the next breath—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. And maybe they did. For once, there was no rush, no list, no plan. Just this moment. Just them.
He peeled away the layers of her dress as if memorizing every inch of skin he revealed, his touch reverent. She answered with whispered moans, her fingers tracing the ridges of his back like she was learning him all over again.
When he laid her down on the bed, the world outside vanished.
No expectations.
No headlines.
Just Cal.
He made love to her with a devotion that undid her completely. Not just with his hands or mouth—but with the way he looked at her, like she was something precious, something his.
Later, tangled in the sheets, her cheek against his bare chest, she whispered, “I think I’m falling for you.”
His hand stilled where it had been gently trailing along her spine. Then he kissed the crown of her head.
“I’ve been falling since the day you got in my car.”
- Writer
