Free Lovestruck in Los Angeles by Rachel Schurig Page A

marble facade surrounded the circular drive into which Thomas pulled up for the valet. “Wow,” I said, stepping out of the car and glancing up at the entrance. “This is gorgeous.”
    “A lot of the people I talked to said it was the best place to stay on the strip.” He handed his keys to the valet driver and thanked him before coming around to take my arm, our rolling suitcase in his other hand. “It’s right in the middle of everything, and it’s supposed to be pretty luxurious.”
    “I’m sure that’s why you picked it,” I said, sliding an arm around his waist. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that your favorite director shot a movie here.”
    “You figured that out, huh? What can I say, Ocean’s Eleven was awesome, and Steven Soderbergh is a god to me.”
    The lobby of the Bellagio was amazing. I had no idea if it was like this on the rest of the strip, but I was totally blown away by the wide open space inside, the smooth marble floors, the vibrant colored glass sculpture on the ceiling, and the glimpse of an indoor garden at the far end. The casino was loud and bustling, even in the middle of the afternoon, and the entire place buzzed with soft music, the thrum of conversation, and running water from the indoor fountains. As Thomas led me to the counter to check in I felt like I was at a tennis match, my head snapping back and forth between all the details I wanted to check out.
    I wasn’t really listening as Thomas checked in—until I heard the clerk say something about suite level concierge service. I shot a glance at Thomas, but he just raised his eyebrows at me.
    Sure enough, a suited hotel employee came over and introduced himself to us as a member of the concierge service. “Let me get someone for your bag,” he said, after we’d shaken hands.
    “Oh, that’s fine,” Thomas said. We were only staying for two nights and thus had only brought one carry-on size suitcase between the two of us. “I’ve got it.”
    “If you’re sure, sir,” the concierge said. “I’ll be showing you to your suite. If you have any questions or need anything at all, please let me know.”
    “Suite?” I asked Thomas as quietly as I could so the concierge wouldn’t hear me.
    “Remember you said you weren’t going to say a word about money on this trip, Lizzie. We both agreed that we needed to relax.”
    “Yeah, but you said you weren’t going to go overboard.”
    “I didn’t.”
    We reached the elevator before I could say any more.
    “You’ll need to insert your key in order to get to the upper level,” the concierge said, slipping a card into the slot on the elevator before pressing the button labeled “35.”
    I scowled at Thomas, but he merely raised his eyebrows as if he had no idea what I could be thinking.
    The concierge explained the various hotel amenities to us and the ways he could help us take advantage of them. “I can make reservations for you at any of our fine dining establishments or for any of our shows,” he said. “We also have a wonderful spa facility that I highly recommend.”
    “Ooh, didja hear that, Lizzie?” Thomas asked, smirking at me a little. “Spa facility. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”
    I shook my head at him, trying not to smile. I knew it was stupid to agree not to say anything about money during this trip. He was going to splash out at every opportunity now, just because he could.
    “Visiting the spa sounds wonderful,” I said, smirking right back. “I think you could use a pedicure for those gnarly feet of yours.”
    The concierge didn’t seem to know how to react to that, so he turned his attention to the blinking floor monitor above the door. We were climbing rapidly, but the ride was smooth—it barely felt like we were moving at all. “Ah, here we are,” the concierge said at last as the elevator doors slid open on floor thirty-five. “Your suite is right this way.”
    He opened the door and gestured us inside. I couldn’t