One entire wall of the room consisted of floor to ceiling windows, framed by draperies of a soft sage green. The sliding door opened out onto a balcony that overlooked one of the resort’s three pools ten stories below. Scarlett pulled aside the sheer panel to gaze outside, noticing the two chairs, bistro table, and two padded loungers on the balcony.
“Too bad it’s hot as fuck outside,” she grumbled. “Otherwise, that lounge chair looks awfully comfy. Good place to take a nap. When it isn’t a hundred and ten degrees, that is.”
The bathroom was equally as impressive, and even more posh than the rest of the room - cool tile floors, a double granite-topped vanity, huge sunken bathtub, walk-in shower. The towels were plentiful and plush, and the toiletries were all from L’Occitane, a high priced brand even Scarlett had heard of.
She wandered through the room again, taking in more details that she’d missed the first time, before removing her sandals and flopping on the bed. She uttered a moan of pure pleasure at the feel of the firm but soft mattress beneath her, and thought that she had never been this comfortable in her life.
The temptation was strong to take a nap, especially since she’d had another restless sleep the night before. But it was already after four in the afternoon, so she resisted the urge, assuring herself she would make an early night of it instead. It was too early to order dinner, and she was still full from the lunch she’d eaten on the plane flight.
“Bath it is, then,” she declared, reluctantly pushing herself off the bed and then padding into the sumptuous bathroom on bare feet.
Scarlett couldn’t recall the last time she’d taken a bath, and gleefully poured out the entire bottle of bath gel into the huge tub. She eased herself gingerly into the steaming hot water, then sighed blissfully as she rested her head against the bath pillow that had been provided along with all of the other amenities. She soaked for long minutes, until the water began to grow cool and she had to force herself not to fall asleep. After washing and conditioning her hair with the luxe products, she dried herself off with one of the plush, oversized towels before pulling on the robe she’d discovered in the closet. She had to cinch the cloth belt a little tighter since the robe was several sizes too big for her slight frame, along with rolling up the sleeves a few times.
By now it was definitely time for dinner, so she took a few minutes to peruse the extensive room service menu. Even though Jackson had told her more than once that it was basically carte blanche and she could order whatever she wanted, and as much as she liked, it was still hard for her not to shudder when she looked at the outrageous prices being charged.
She compromised a bit by ordering a side salad and a pasta dish instead of a pricey steak or fish entree, but splurging on dessert - in this case a decadent slice of chocolate peanut butter cheesecake accompanied by chocolate sauce and a scoop of peanut butter ice cream. She debated whether to order a glass of wine or perhaps a margarita, but decided alcohol should probably be avoided the night before she was to meet Hannah’s doctor and went with bottled water instead.
Overall, Scarlett wasn’t much of a drinker. Oh, she’d certainly attended her fair share of drunken parties freshman year, and suffered more than a few horrific hangovers. But since those first few months of college, when she’d been at her rebellious best and trying to hide her fears and uncertainties at being alone by having too much casual sex and drinking too much beer and tequila, she had eased way, way back on the drinking - as well as the sex. If she was being honest with herself, she just didn’t like the way alcohol made her feel - moody and melancholy and just plain sad. She wasn’t a fun drunk, certainly not a happy one, and not even a sloppy one. Alcohol was, in fact, a real downer for her, and the last thing Scarlett needed was any additional stimuli to make her feel depressed.
Deep down, she also harbored fears that she would turn out to be like her mother and grandmother, both of whom had abused not just alcohol but drugs as well. She’d read somewhere that alcoholism and addiction could be hereditary, something carried in one’s genetic makeup. And since the very last thing she intended to do was be anything remotely like her female ancestors, she had more or less given up drinking entirely. Besides, she’d rationalized to herself, booze wasn’t cheap and she was constantly having to watch every penny she spent. If it came down to a choice between buying a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter or a six-pack of beer, the food was always going to come out the winner.
After eating most of her dinner, she was too full to do justice to the eye-popping dessert and stuck it in the refrigerator for awhile. She’d changed out of the robe into a cheap cotton sundress that dated back to the first shopping trip Margie had taken her on back in Vegas. Scarlett was dismayed to notice the dress was a little looser now than it had been when she was fifteen, and made a vow to start taking better care of herself once she got back to California. Given that she now had enough money socked away - courtesy of her unwilling father - to cover her rent and utilities for at least a year, her food budget should be more generous, allowing her to subsist on something besides ramen noodles, the aforementioned peanut butter sandwiches, and pretzels or chips.
The sun was setting now, and though the weather was still sizzling hot, it was at least bearable as Scarlett stepped out onto the balcony. The pool area was still busy, though it was mostly adults hanging out there now, having cocktails at the swim up bar. She gazed longingly at the pool, thinking how amazing it would feel to swim a few laps in the crystal clear water. She was a decent swimmer, though she’d never had formal lessons, just basic stuff she’d learned in P.E. class. But she hadn’t gone for a swim in years - not since the crazy kid at the group home had plunged a knife into the side of her ribcage and nearly killed her.
Scarlett ran a fingertip along the cotton fabric that covered the ugly, puckered scar, wincing a little as though the wound still pained her. She was always careful to keep it well covered, refusing to wear any sort of cropped top or other clothing that might expose it. Wearing a bikini was out of the question, and even though a one-piece swimsuit would have covered the scar, her stick thin legs and almost nonexistent boobs and butt would still be on full display. Plus, she hadn’t bothered to pack the one old suit she still owned, and she shuddered to think of how much a new suit would cost from one of the hotel’s overpriced designer boutiques.
‘It would serve that asshole right, though,’ she muttered to herself, ‘if I went on a little shopping spree and bought myself a new wardrobe. He did tell you, after all, to order whatever you wanted. How was I supposed to know that only meant food and not clothes? Or spa treatments? Maybe I should get a massage tomorrow. And a mani-pedi. A haircut, too. Ooh, maybe I should try going blonde. Can’t even imagine how much all of that would cost in a snooty place like this. But it would all be worth it to see the look on Jackson’s face when he gets the bill.’
But even as she gleefully anticipated the shocked expression on his face, Scarlett knew damned well that she would never follow through on the threatened shopping spree. For one thing, it would make her physically ill to voluntarily fork over anyone’s money for what were surely grotesquely overpriced items sold in the hotel’s snooty shops. It was the worst sort of wastefulness, she thought passionately, to spend hundreds of dollars on a stupid pair of shoes or a dress, hundreds of dollars that could be put to far better use. Like helping a poor family buy groceries or pay rent. Or donating the funds to an animal shelter, or contributing to a scholarship fund so that more kids like herself could afford to go to college. She had always vowed that if and when she ever became successful she would never, ever forget her humble beginnings, would commit to living simply and making do with less, and helping others less fortunate as much as she could.