I fill the jetted bathtub in the en suite with the provided eucalyptus salts and lavender bubble bath.

What would Mr. Fox have done with this jacuzzi tub, anyway? I wonder if he would have had Trent drive here from LA to fill it for him. Scolding him if the temperature and bubble-to-water ratio weren’t to his liking. Or maybe Trent is staying in the resort so Aleck has someone to do everything for him, including wipe his ass after a shit. Maybe that’s why he wanted the biggest room. So he and his assistant could share it together, likely making Trent sleep at the foot of his bed like a dog.

After soaking for an hour, letting the salts work their magic on my tense muscles, I step out of the tub, and pull a fluffy teal towel from a nearby warmer. Patting my skin dry, then pulling my hair into a messy bun, I walk into the closet to grab a pair of leggings and a slouchy, over-the-shoulder pink sweater from the dresser and pull them on.

The cold marble floor gives me a shiver as I pad barefoot from my room to the common area. A bucket of water and a few straggling ice cubes that haven’t melted yet sit on the kitchen island with a bottle of champagne, and a card beside it that reads:

Welcome, Mrs. Bose and Guest!

Enjoy your stay!

“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, pulling it from the bucket.

After wiping the dripping water from the bottle, I uncork it, not failing to shout the traditional “whoo” when the cork shoots from the bottle with a loud pop. Plucking a champagne flute from the minibar, I pour myself a full glass, then put the bottle in the refrigerator before heading back to my room.

Taking a sip of my champagne, I pull a tube of mud mask from my toiletry bag, then stare at myself in the mirror.

“You, m’lady, are a fucking rockstar. You are going to slay this wedding.”

Cosmopolitan magazine once had an article that said if you verbalize your intentions in the mirror, giving yourself affirmations along the way, the positive energy you exude will intimidate people filled with negativity, keeping them away. I’ve been hyping myself in the mirror ever since. Does it work? I have no idea, but at this point, what have I got to lose?

I spread a thick coat of mud mask over my face with my fingertips, leaving my eyes and mouth clear, then grab my champagne flute before walking out of the en suite to the bed. As I lie flat on my back, sinking my head into the down-feather pillow covered in crisp white silk, I stare out my window. The sun is already setting, lowering itself behind the ocean like it’s simply a backdrop to the water.

The memory foam of the mattress cups the curves of my body perfectly, making my mind settle for the first time all day. Dragging my phone to my face, I see that it’s almost eight.