DECEPTION HOTEL
Both Claire and Andrew Mathis can sense the strain in their marriage. Will their weekend at the exclusive Caldecott Manor be just what their marriage needs to get back on track? Or will the handsome stranger Claire meets at a local dive bar and the arrogant small-time hood who becomes Andrew's drinking buddy drive things in the wrong direction? Will stolen kisses and murder pull Claire and Andrew back together or push them further apart?
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Publisher's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental
Also Available from FastForward Publishing
Books by
MADISON BARLOW
Sparring Partner (coming soon)
She's Mine (coming soon)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Description/Copyright
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - Andrew
Chapter 2 - Claire
Chapter 3 - Andrew
Chapter 4 - Claire
Chapter 5 - Andrew
Chapter 6 - Claire
Chapter 7 - Andrew
Chapter 8 - Claire
Chapter 9 - Andrew
Chapter 10 - Claire
Chapter 11 - Andrew
Chapter 12 - Claire
Chapter 13 - Andrew
Chapter 14 - Claire
Chapter 15 - Andrew
Chapter 16 - Claire
Chapter 17 - Andrew
Chapter 18 - Claire
Chapter 19 - Andrew
Chapter 20 - Claire
Chapter 21 - Andrew
Chapter 22 - Claire
SPECIAL PREVIEW: Sparring Partner
A Note from Madison Barlow
Chapter One - Andrew
“Have we gone past it? What should it look like?” I asked, and leaned forward on the steering wheel, squinting to find the sign between the trees that Olivia had told Claire to look out for.
“I don’t know,” she said absently, fiddling next to me. I looked over at her, and for a moment watched her adjust the low neckline of her top around her cleavage. I rolled my eyes and turned them back to the road. We had been driving for nearly four hours, and I could feel that unsettled thumping in my chest that I had come to know as a foul mood.
“Your boobs are fine,” I said when she didn’t stop fidgeting, still looking ahead.
“I just want to make sure they’re all tucked in.”
“They would be tucked in if you wore something that wasn’t quite so low.”
She stopped, her hands frozen with her fingers still curved around the hem, and looked at me with one of those what-did-you-just-say-to-me looks. I didn’t look at her when she did it, because I knew what it would look like.
“You said it looked good when I asked you,” there was reproach in her voice. There was always reproach in her voice.
“No, what I said was that it didn’t make you look fat. That was your question. I didn’t say I wanted you to wear something that revealing.”
“What’s wrong with revealing? I thought you of all people would appreciate my body.”
I just don’t want everyone else to appreciate it too, I thought, but I wasn’t dumb enough to say it. Instead, I saw the sign bright and clear on the right, indicating the drive way to Caldecott Manor, and I turned down the road that I hoped would be an escape from all this.
It was like we were transported into another world, and for a moment I completely forgot about Claire. The drive way lazily curved around trees that reached into the sky and bowed their branches over us in a canopy, a tunnel that led us to a place in a different time. It made me want to breathe in deeply, fill my chest with fresh, clean air.
The hotel looked more like a large house sitting squat and beautiful in all its Victorian glory, basking in the rays of the modest midday sun.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Claire breathed, leaning towards her window and looking up. I stopped the car and she flipped her almost-black hair over her shoulder, giving me one of those looks that annoyed me almost immediately, before she stepped out of the car.
I stepped out too, and stretched my stiff legs. Why did the drives always feel so much longer when she was in the car with me? The manor had an expensive sheen to it, something rich that clung to the old stone walls. It was no doubt a treasure built by someone with money long ago, in a time when art won out over practicality, efficiency, space, all those big words that were stuck on houses today. I looked at the delicate trellises that ran along all the balconies and draped from the roof edges like lace. It really was beautiful.
“Well, come on,” her voice broke the spell, and a sinking feeling happened somewhere between my heart and my stomach when I realized it was still like this. I walked to the trunk to get the luggage. She wasn’t going to take anything, and I supposed it wouldn’t be right for me to expect her to. Sometimes I just wished she would offer so I could be a gentleman and tell her that I had it.
I wrestled her suitcase up the three steps that led to the double front door, trying not to look like it was as heavy as it really was, feeling like I had something to prove. She looked at me with her eyebrows drawn up, her emerald eyes disappointed in my manliness, and I fought the urge to look down, like a child that had done something wrong.
The guy behind the counter at reception smiled at Claire and started speaking to me before he broke eye contact with her. The thumping feeling in my chest turned more to an itch that I couldn’t scratch. He couldn’t have been older than what, 25? With his black mustache like he thought he was the real deal, and his pierced ear, still trying to prove to the world he was allowed to make his own choices. I pushed out my chest a little, and told him we were with the wedding party. He ran his finger down the page, looking for Mathis. When he found our name, his glance slid to Claire’s chest and something inside me cracked a little, the way a branch does before it’s about to snap.
“Eyes up here buddy,” I said and I could feel Claire stiffen next to me. He looked up at me and I had expected him to look nervous or at least apologetic, but instead he looked like he didn’t care. Arrogant even.
“What do you think this is, a free for all?” The itch in my chest was driving me up the wall, and I envisioned hooking him with my first right across the counter. He was close enough, wasn’t he? I could feel Claire’s eyes on me as I stared at this lowlife, but I wouldn’t break eye contact. This was a man’s game and she wouldn’t understand. He looked right back at me and didn’t look scared in the least, and to be honest, it made me feel a little worthless.
“Andrew,” Claire’s voice was cold next to me.
“Can I give you a hand with your luggage, sir?” the kid asked without expression.
“No—“
“Yes, thank you, that would be nice,” Claire cut me off.
We climbed two sets of stairs in awkward silence. I tried not to notice that he didn’t wrestle with Claire’s bag the way I had, and tha
t Claire didn’t pull her eyebrows up at him when we finally reached our floor.
The hotel had two full stories; I’d counted outside, with two or three rooms above the second story; not reallly enough to count as another full story. Olivia, Claire’s sister, had booked out the hotel for the wedding. I wondered where the old bag had found enough people to fill up so many rooms.
Our room was large and comfortable, with a rich wooden bed against the far wall, and soft curtains framing the windows. It screamed out money and good taste, and it was a pleasure just being there, despite my horrible mood and my constant visions of doing something physical to the snot-nosed kid. I walked to the window, trying to pull myself together. Our windows looked to the back of the house, and I looked down on a honey-colored meadow straight from a movie.
Claire was fussing with her purse, trying to find small change to tip the guy. I glanced sideways at him, eyeing the size of his arms, wondering if attacking him would work out worse for me, but he wasn’t paying attention to me. He waited for her, his hands casually in his pockets like he was the one on holiday. Arrogant little bastard.
I took the black bag and shoved it under the bed. In my mood it would be better out of the way.
Finally he left, and the door hadn’t even closed completely behind him before Claire started. I could feel the atmosphere charge around us, and I didn’t need to look at her to know what her face would look like, that tight-lipped stare with the dull green eyes, void of all the life I loved in her.
“What is wrong with you?”she asked and when I turned she was facing me, her hands planted firmly on her narrow hips.
“He was looking at your cleavage, Claire, what was I supposed to do?” I hated the feeling that I had to justify myself, like I had been the one in the wrong.
“Guys are going to stare, Andrew, that’s what happens when they see a pretty girl. You can’t go around shouting at everyone who looks at me.”
“So I’m supposed to let him ogle you, is that it?”
“You’re supposed to behave yourself. Next thing you know you’re going to whip out that gun you take everywhere with you.”
“I—“
“Don’t think I didn’t see you hide the black bag under the bed. You are so predictable.”
“That’s for safety reasons, and you know it. Crime is everywhere and I’m not letting anyone hurt you.”
I sounded paranoid and that made me angry. Why did she always make it sound like my good intentions were ridiculous?
“What on earth can happen, Andrew? We’re at a damn wedding” she threw her hands up in the air, “It’s a first world country for crying out loud. Where have we ever needed a gun?”
“Is it a crime to want to protect you?”
“Eyes up here buddy,” she mimicked me in a mocking tone, “yeah, that’s going to really scare them off.”
“He was staring at your chest!”
Circles. We were going in circles.
“I know you have this macho thing thinking you can intimidate any guy to stay away from your girl but let’s be realistic, I work hard to look the way I do, and it’s nice to know that someone still thinks I’m beautiful.”
I was sure I could hear another loud crack, the sign that I was going to snap soon. I felt short of breath, like I was breathing in but my body didn’t use what I gave it, and from the corners of my eyes the room started to dim.
“What, are you saying I don’t make you feel beautiful?”
“That’s not what I’m saying—“
“That’s exactly what you’re saying—“
“Get a grip, Andrew. It’s not like you appreciate what you have, anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? We have sex, come on, when was the last time we did it? Last week?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
I breathed in deeply, wishing my lungs would work with me. I hated when she went around in circles like that. She never stuck to a point. Whenever we fought, which seemed like it was all the time, she just chased me around, confusing me, and I had to try and act like I knew what was going on.
“I just don’t understand how you think it’s alright to flaunt yourself like that all the time,” I said, my voice more subdued.
“Well, I don’t know why you can’t just appreciate me for who I am.”
“I would if you didn’t nag at me so much all the time.”
It had slipped out before I could catch myself, and a wave of nausea flitted over me as I realized what I had said, but I squared my shoulders. Damned if I was going to apologize, I would man up and mean it.
She was angry. Her green eyes changed in color, became deeper, and that panicked feeling I get when she’s about to back me into a corner crept up on me. I had to stand my ground, I was the one wearing the pants, for crying out loud.
“I don’t nag at you!” Her voice whipped across the room, “I am your wife, and I will not be made the whining bitch. I am not the enemy here, Andrew, and I wasn’t the one that couldn’t keep my big boy pants on when some kid that doesn’t matter thought I was something to look at.”
I clenched my jaw and breathed in deeply again. My chest felt like it was going to cave, and I lost track of my argument. I wondered how many of the wedding guests had arrived already. We’d come a couple of days early so Claire could help her sister with the final preparations. I was hoping no one else had arrived yet. I was pretty sure the whole hotel could hear us by now.
“Can’t you see that I love you?” I asked, my voice much lower, hoping that it would change the climate of things.
“Then show me, Andrew,” she snapped back and it hit me with a blow.
“I show you all the time! You have everything you could ever want. I work hard so you have enough money to live a comfortable life. You have a roof over your head, a car, food on the table every night, and enough for you to spend on yourself so you can look the way you do. What more do you want from me?”
“Did you ever think that there’s more to love than money?” she said, and suddenly her eyes were a bright green. The color I hated the most and loved the most, all at the same time. Her carefully plucked eyebrows drew together and up a little, and her bottom lip quivered.
“Claire…” I started, unsure what to say. I hated making her cry.
“Don’t Andrew,” she said, her voice thick now, “just don’t.”
I started towards her feeling suddenly like I should console her, but her eyebrows straightened out again, and her eyes drained of that brilliant color. She turned and opened the door, slipping through it before I could take another step. The room trembled at the slamming of the door and I was left behind, gasping for air, feeling like the life had been sucked right out of me.
I turned to the window again but I wasn’t focusing on the view. I was hyper-aware, hearing every bit of silence as it drowned out her muffled footsteps on the carpeted wooden floor until they’d faded away. She would probably go find Olivia. They would sit down and gossip and Claire would tell her what a rotten husband I was, and how I always screwed everything up. I knew that was what women did. My sisters had been the same about their boyfriends, and the men were never allowed to defend themselves. I would sit here, alone in the hotel room, angry at every second that came and went without bringing her back. I hated it.
I wanted to kick something, or break a window. You saw it in movies often enough, when someone destroys something in a fit of rage and then feels better afterwards. I never knew how to let out my rage. I felt like I was going to explode. Or implode. But I kept it together. I never let the damn branch get around to snapping. Quiet, calm, sedated Andrew, the pitiful furniture store manager. The only thing he couldn’t manage was his wife.
Chapter Two - Claire
I sped down the corridor, everything blurring around me as the tears welled up in my eyes and I swallowed hard, angry that I couldn’t get my emotions under control. My hands trembled and my heels slipped down the edges o
f the carpeted stairs as I tried to get to the bottom of the flight too fast. On the second floor I stopped and leaned against the wall.
I breathed in deeply, and out again, focusing only on the air travelling in and out of my lungs until the worst of it was over. The tears were going away. I looked down the corridor, but it was empty. Most of the rooms would be empty until a day before the wedding. Olivia had told me. I was relieved there had been no one around to hear all that. It was a beautiful hotel. Olivia had really chosen something special. It didn’t smell like a hotel. The scent from the trees hung in the corridors as if the wind had only just brought it in, and when the breeze changed outside a new waft of nature swirled down the corridors, mixing everything up. Our room had smelled of pine. I had noticed it just as we walked in. I hadn’t had the courage to stand at the window next to Andrew with the mood he was in, but I imagined the view would be breathtaking.
When I was sure I had everything under control, I smoothed the material over my stomach, adjusted the hem around my hips, and fluffed my hair a bit. Much better. I felt like my emotions were still teetering on the edge, still threatening to tumble in on me, but I wouldn’t let them. I plastered on my business smile, and walked down to reception,ignoring how much I just wanted to hide.
The man behind the counter smiled at me sympathetically and it irritated me to think that he felt sorry for me. He pointed me down the corridor when I asked for Olivia Frye. She was in the bridal suite.
I didn’t know why Andrew had gotten so worked up over this guy. He was so young, hormones still raging, how could he feel threatened by him? Andrew was so attractive when he was angry, that fire inside him burning strong. His dark eyes went black when he was angry, and I could just lose myself in them. He stood upright, his broad shoulders prominent again, proud and defiant, and he looked like the man I had fallen in love with. I wish he would see what he meant to me. It seemed like he had collapsed on himself, and he was trying to prove himself to all the wrong people. Who else really mattered, but him and I?
DECEPTION HOTEL: A Wedding, an Affair, and Murder for Hire Page 1