As I made my way into the hotel lobby, the reception desk shone with the brilliance of blue stone mosaics artfully placed along the front. "What can I do for you, Sir?" the woman behind the desk asked, her lips moving before she even glanced up from her computer. The moment she did, her eyes widened, and she dropped her mouth open. "Señor Ibarra," she said, reaching out a hand to probe the manager standing next to her.
He grinned, bringing up the reservations on his computer. "Señor Ibarra, I have you for ten nights in the Penthouse Suite. Is that correct?" he asked.
I nodded in response. "I trust the couple didn't give you any trouble with switching to the private villa?"
"Not at all. They were shocked, understandably, but thrilled to have a space to themselves in such a way. Thank you for your generosity. We would have accommodated your request either way, of course," he said.
"Of course," I agreed. The man wasn't stupid enough to think that anyone in Ibiza could deny me what I wanted without risking his head.
He handed me the key card for my suite. "Your bags will be delivered shortly."
"The arrangements for the party are in order, I presume?"
"Invites have been sent to the hotel, along with very specific instructions, as requested," he confirmed. I nodded without another word, turning and making my way to the elevator that would take me to the Penthouse Suite on the top floor of the hotel.
A woman followed me in, sliding her body in front of me to press the button for her floor with a smile. I pulled my phone from my pocket, ignoring her presence entirely as I scrolled through my text messages to pass the time. The woman stepped off with a huff, clearly unaccustomed to being dismissed so readily. I'd gotten that reaction often over the past sixteen months.
But none of them could elicit even a modicum of interest from me. It was a reaction I never could have expected, something I would have mocked my men for before laying eyes on my princesa.
Stepping out of the elevator on the top floor, I strode across the hall to the only door. The Penthouse I would spend my week in occupied the entire level, and a quick swipe of the key card turned the light green so I could step into the room.
I pushed the door open, making my way past the entry table and into the kitchen of the suite. Through the living room, I passed the chess set resting on the coffee table as requested and moved to the sliders and opened them.
Stepping out onto a terrace, one of two on the level with our suite, in addition to the private rooftop terrace we had to ourselves, I looked out over the water as my phone dinged with the alert of a new message.
I swallowed as I read the memo from Joaquin. It was just one simple word. Nothing that should have changed my life, but it did.
Landed.
Isa was in Ibiza.