Clara spent the rest of the afternoon practically floating on air. To subtly show her appreciation without ruining his surprise, she spent four hours in the kitchen preparing his absolute favorite, labor-intensive French dinner. When the front door finally clicked open at 7:00 PM, Clara stood up with a bright, expectant smile, waiting for him to drop the hint. But Marcus barely looked at her. He walked right past the beautifully set table, his eyes entirely glued to his glowing phone screen.
“Smells good,” he muttered abstractly, sitting down and immediately cutting into his steak without another word. Clara sat across from him, her hands folded neatly under her napkin, her heart pounding with anticipation as she waited for him to finally reveal the luxury beach getaway. Instead, he wiped his mouth and dropped a hammer. “I have an urgent, last-minute corporate retreat this weekend. A client emergency. I need you to pack my garment bag tonight. My flight leaves early tomorrow morning.”
The warm room instantly turned ice-cold. The realization hit her like a physical blow, freezing the blood in her veins. The honeymoon suite wasn’t for her.