Her face changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Not of him.
Of the situation.
“Patricia,” Lupita said gently, “did you check the secondary corporate tab? Executive bookings sometimes don’t show on the first search.”
Karla snapped her head toward her. “Excuse me?”
Lupita held the towels tighter. “I’m only saying—”
“You’re only cleaning staff,” Karla said. “Go back to your floor.”
The piano kept playing.
A man near the bar glanced over, then looked away.
Ethan did not.
Lupita’s mouth pressed into a line. Her cheeks flushed, but she did not move.
“A tired father with a sleeping little girl is my business,” she said, “if he’s being left standing in the lobby.”
Patricia clicked her tongue. “This is why we have departments.”
“And this is why we have hospitality,” Lupita answered.
Ethan looked at her for the first time fully.
There was no performance in her voice.
No attempt to impress anyone.
Just a woman who had probably seen too many people get ignored and had finally decided not to ignore this one.
Patricia huffed, turned back to the screen, and typed harder than necessary.
A second passed.
Then another.
Her expression shifted.
First irritation.
Then confusion.
Then fear.
Her fingers stopped.
Karla leaned closer. “What?”
Patricia swallowed.
“Suite 904,” she whispered.
Karla’s arms unfolded.
Patricia’s face had gone pale beneath her makeup.
“Corporate reservation,” she said. “Confirmed two weeks ago.”
Ethan did not smile.
He did not say, I told you.
He did not even move.
Lupita’s gaze dropped to the roses.
“They’re beautiful, sir,” she said softly. “Are they for someone special?”
La pregunta le entró como una mano tocando un moretón.
“Mi esposa,” dijo Ethan. “Mañana marca tres años desde que falleció”.
The lobby seemed to grow quieter.
