—-Places in Paradise———-
Chapter 9: Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures
Leon didn’t talk the whole drive.
Music filled the car instead — loud, steady, like the silence had chosen a beat to hide behind. I tried to start a conversation now and then, but he didn’t bite. He was mad, and I could feel the timer ticking until he’d blow. I promised myself I wouldn’t wait for it. As soon as we were inside the room, I’d make him answer.
He hopped out of the Jeep, tipped the valet, and popped my door before leading me into the hotel. The lobby felt like a cathedral to the sky — painted ceilings the color of noon, stained-glass windows, every surface polished like an exhibit. Leila and Leon’s family clearly spared nothing.
At the check-in I saw her: Gloria, but not the messy-haired girl from the pier. This one had her hair in a tight bun, nails done, uniform crisp. She was leaning on Leon like she owned the scene; he was smiling too easily. The sight stripped the color off my cheeks. For a second my hand reached for a weapon I didn’t let myself pull. Instead I left — toward the pool — because the thought of staying and doing something I’d regret felt worse.
Outside, the pool sparkled. Spring was at its loudest: kids screaming, teens splashing, the kind of normal that smelled like sunscreen and cheap cotton candy. I picked a chair in the shade and let the sun warm my skin, trying to be ordinary for a minute.
A voice nudged me awake.
“Hey — I’m sorry to bother you, but I think I know you.” He had deep olive skin, wet waved ends, and a look that could kill. “Connor. We lived on the same block in Washington.”
Connor Smith? The kid I’d turned down for prom?
“You remember me?” he said, awkward and earnest. “I had a crush….. on you.”
I laughed. It was ridiculous, and kind of sweet. He asked about a party that night. I gave him my number. He teased my purple case — then dove back into the pool, throwing a splash and a grin over his shoulder. For the first time all day, my chest eased.
A hotel worker approached. “Ms. Millard? Mr. Hendricks requested you in the suite.”
Of course he did.
The elevator took us to the top. The penthouse opened like a secret: dark-blue walls, a balcony with a perfect ocean view, framed record covers, a grand piano, and a kitchen that whispered “home.” Leon’s parents had clearly gone too far. It felt like his world — curated, loud, expensive — and I wasn’t sure which part of that hurt more: the wealth or that he let the girl at the desk flirt with him.
I wandered, curious, and almost pushed open a closed door when a wet hand rested on my shoulder. Leon stood there, towel around his waist, hair dripping. He smirked.
“I saved you from invading Leila’s room,” he said. “She’s private.”
I rolled my eyes. “Unlike someone I know.”
“Care to run that again?”
He asked why I was so cold, and I mumbled something. He accused me of lying about the situation with my dad hunting me, which completely changed the atmosphere in the room.
He slammed the fridge. Hard. “If you don’t tell me the truth, don’t bother talking!” he yelled and stalked upstairs.
I lost it.
“She flirted with you at the desk! You stand there smiling—eating it up, and then you tell me we’re ‘connected’? Don’t you dare mock me.” Words came out raw. I grabbed for anything to throw — more out of heat than aim — and he moved too fast, pinning my wrists to the wall.
“Let go, Leon.”
“No. Not until you see how stupid this is.” His voice shifted — less anger, more stunned.
I unloaded everything I’d been holding in: “You’re dead to me. I don’t want anything to do with you!” I pushed, furious and ashamed, and then kicked him in the groin. He doubled over. The door to the stairwell became my escape.
I hit the elevator button with shaking fingers. It felt like a victory — small and loud.
He was up quick, limping, pained but furious. “Wait, Julia — stop!”
