Chapter 5 Laurel

I haven't said a word in five hours. If I should detach my tongue and wring it, I would not get as little as a drop of water. Thanks to being alone with Ivan for this long, it's almost as if my jaw muscles are dead and cannot move. I mean, I haven't tried. The psycho was crazy enough to have boarded an entire plane for ourselves and now we have to ride alone to the hotel for the said shoot. Like happy newlyweds.

I scoff out loud, looking out the window at the beautiful scenery of California while Ivan drives, seemingly oblivious to my presence. He also hasn't said much except for when he had to speak to his special escorts we met at the airport. We came here by ourselves but now driving amid a fleet of snazzy cars numbering no less than ten. Lost count at '10' when we had to settle in one of the vehicles and continue our trip. For some reason, he wanted to drive himself.

"My favorite fruit is strawberry by the way," he mentions out of the blue, earning an 'I didn't ask' look from me.

The crease between my brows stretches effortlessly when my brows jump to my hairline, throwing my eyes out the window again. If the hotel back in Washington is magnificent, this is palatial.

The structure that sits here should have nothing less than a hundred floors on a rough estimate. The compound is over a hundred acres, with a grand water fountain in the middle. Around the fountain are sit-outs for relaxation, guarded by planted ornaments trimmed to perfection to provide the view with class.

All the vehicles in convoy round the water basin, and line up in front of the hotel. Ivan's car stops directly in front of the hotel where ladies in black corporate outfits line each side of the pathway leading to the glass revolvable door. They're all lowering their heads with hands crossed in front of them.

Looking through the windshield, the other drivers and respective passengers all hop down, maintaining their professional stances beside their cars. All are in shades, flashy suits, unflinching. Ivan made himself clear that no one should hold open the door for him so he alights the driver's seat himself, and rounds the car to get the door for me.

"Come on," he beckons, holding out his hand for me to take it.

I stare vertically at him and the 'sweet' gesture with contempt but eventually and UNWILLINGLY take his hand.

"Careful," he says softly when my heel almost gets hooked on the floorboard while coming down. Approaching the lot, holding my hand like an England prince would his princess while going to the dance floor, the only man amongst the ladies in a similar outfit emerges from their midst to greet him. He has a few grey strands lining his black hair gelled pristinely to the side, and looks quite lustrous for his age.

He bows, never uncrossing those wrists locked in front of him, before saying, "You're welcome to Strawberry Hotel, Sir."

STRAWBERRY HOTEL?

'My favorite fruit is strawberry by the way,' his voice resonates in my ears.

Is this why he told me?

'So you wouldn't go in there not knowing why your so-called husband chose such a ridiculous name for his new hotel.'

"Are you the manager?" Ivan questions.

"Yes, sir."

"I presume you've been informed of the shoot."

"All preparations have been made," he affirms in a tone stuffed with regard, maintaining his eye level inches below Ivan's. "We've all been waiting eagerly to have you."

"Let's see how well you can meet my wife's taste," he says surprisingly. For the first time since we met the overly humble manager, I roll my eyes up to hold his mysterious stare.

What games is he playing?

"We're happy to have you, Ma'am," the manager says nicely.

"Raise your head," I ask, not out of curiosity to see what he looks like. I just want him to at least keep his head upright to avoid developing neck aches.

He raises his head difficultly. Like he's already used to angling it downward and now it feels like a sac of rice he now has to heave. "Much better," I say, smiling civilly.

Ivan scoffs noticeably like he's saying, 'What the heck do you think you're doing?' before dragging me through the ladies' aisle. Walking past, each pair from both sides bows.

We get into the lobby – a whole new world on its own. The roofing spans about 100 feet upward. Uncountable circular balconies round the colossal height, spiral stairways from both sides leading up to them. Although vacant, there is a thick circular wooden receptionist desk that can comfortably harbor ten receptionists at once, given the different telephones at equidistant points.

Training my eyes over the counter, I imagine pretty ladies waving with smiles, being at their best professional behaviors.

We stride past the void – which no doubt is already equipped with all it'll take to bustle – to the gigantic transparent elevators positioned just across from the main door, that run through each of these balconies to the top. Uniform clacks trail closely behind us, keeping the line between the atmosphere and absolute silence thin. Such expertise on their part. Everything about this place is SURREAL.

We are led into our suite where we're to relax before the shoot scheduled to start by noon.

While Ivan is somewhere with the manager probably going over the schedule, the intrusive thoughts of ruining my costumes are in a frenzy. The box is turned over, and the clothes flurred all over. I had asked to see it because I thought I could do something to change my story. But staring at it right now, my head is nothing but a blank sheet.

'Would you run away instead?'

Yeah, right. Run away and have him find me in 0.01 milliseconds.

'This is HIS forte after all.'

I heave a depressing sigh, out of options. I do not want to be a party to this but my hands are tied. I also hate the fact that things are going Ivan's way after what he did last night. He didn't even bother to apologize, and here I am about to get dolled up in a series of outfits to promote HIS brand. The least he can do is apologize.

He was wrong!

I clench my hair like it'll hasten the process and automatically hand me a solution.

'You can at least try to run,' my inner voice suggests breezily.

My fists on my hair loosen, my mind now torn.

I know that running will ultimately end a fail. But if I do, I can delay the process and get back at Ivan. Noticed he's obsessed with timing so this is sure to claw at his nerves and earn me the displeased look I desire. He saw me cry. This is nothing.

With my mind made up, I tiptoe out of the bedroom to carefully peruse the living room for any presence. But like I thought, he's nowhere in the suite. I still don't let my guard down, keeping my neck tilted backward, on the lookout for when he'll pop out from any of the doors like a freak, and scare the shit out of me.

None of that happens until I'm at the door, holding its knob. I turn it cautiously, grimacing at the slightest sound it makes all the way down until the door comes open.

One last eye-sweep is all I take to confirm Ivan's absence before I finally open the door completely, drifting my eyes to the path ahead.

'Holy graceful mother!'

My heart pounds twice, the sound reigning in my ears when a dead pair of hazel orbs bump into mine.

"It's time, beautiful."