Jessica Gilmore - Proposal At The Winter Ball

The lights were low and intimately flattering, padded sofas were dotted around in discreet corners, and whirlpools, saunas and steam rooms were hidden away behind glazed sliding doors. Tables held jugs of iced water and inviting platters of fruit; thick fluffy towels were piled up on wooden shelves.

‘Oh.’ She pivoted, taking in every single detail. ‘I just want to grab a magazine from that beautifully overstuffed bookshelf, pull on a robe and move into this room for ever. May I? Please?’

But Alex ignored her. ‘Come on, next stop the lounge and then I’ll take you to your room.’

By the time they reached her room Flora had scribbled down plenty of notes and photographed enough details to give her a good place to start. Obviously the designs she came up with for the Bali hotel would need to be unique, to marry with Alex’s vision and the setting, but it was good for her to have an idea of the owner’s tastes. She could see why Lola had used the palate she had; it was warming, sumptuous and complemented the natural materials prevalent throughout the building. The soft furnishings and décor were all shades of soft cream, gold, bronze and orange, whether it was the bronze and orange stripes on the cushions or the subtle champagne of the robes and the towels, the same colour in the crisp blouses and shirts worn by the staff.

It was clear that whatever look she designed for the Bali hotel would have to flow through every single detail, no matter how tiny.

‘Okay.’ Alex stopped at a cream door and gestured. ‘This is you.’

Flora held her breath as she slid her keycard into the slot and turned the handle. Yes, she was here to work but there was no reason why she shouldn’t enjoy it and after a few long years of penny-pinching and worrying it was rather splendid to be in such indulgent surroundings.

She stepped in and stopped, awestruck. ‘Wow. Oh, Alex.’

At one end was the ubiquitous wall of glass and the ubiquitous stunning winter-wonderland view—not that it was getting old. Flora thought she could live here for ever and it would still be as breathtaking as the very first heart-stopping glimpse. The ceiling was high, arched and beamed, the walls a pale gold. The bed, a floating platform, was made up in white linen accented with a bronze silk throw and matching cushions.

Her suitcase had been placed on a low chest at the foot of the huge bed, the cheap, battered case more than a little incongruous in the spacious, luxurious suite. A reminder that this luxury was borrowed, that she had to earn her place here. Now she was here the jeans, jumpers and one good dress she had packed didn’t seem enough. Not for the weather or for the hotel itself.

‘You like it?’ Alex stepped into the room, a smile playing on his lips as he watched her dart around, peering into every door.

‘Like it? Do you realise that this walk-in wardrobe is bigger than my bedroom? In fact this suite is bigger than the house I live in—and I’m including the garden!’

She stopped by the glass screen that separated her bed from the small seating area and stared at the other screen, which stood between her bed and the bath, a huge tub affair perched on a dais right in the centre of the room.

‘Thank goodness the toilet’s in its proper place and not on show, otherwise this would feel more like an oddly luxurious prison cell than a hotel room!’

‘It’s looking good.’ Alex took a few steps further in and turned slowly. ‘I haven’t seen most of the suites since they were decorated and the fixtures installed.’ He stopped by the bath and ran one finger along the bronze trim. ‘At least you’ll be clean while you’re staying here. It can be so difficult to drag oneself away from the bed to the bathroom, don’t you find?’

Flora tested out the sofa, wincing as the rigidity of the cushions rejected her attempt to relax. It looked good but she wasn’t sure she would want to actually sit on it for any length of time. ‘Was the bath in the centre of the room your idea, Mr Fitzgerald? Have you been watching Splash again because I don’t think there are many mermaids in the Austrian Alps.’

He grinned. ‘Nope, not guilty, the fixtures are all Lola’s vision. Apparently this particular suite is the epitome of romantic.’

‘That’s where I’ve been going wrong, all that old-fashioned bathing in private nonsense. Although it could be just a leetle awkward if I was sharing a room with a friend, not a romantic interest. Is this...erm...motif in all the rooms?’

‘Not at all,’ he assured her. ‘In most of them the baths are tucked away respectably in the room for which they were intended. Okay. If you are ready, they are laying out Kaffee und Kuchen for us. I thought we could go and look through my design ideas in the lounge while we have a snack.’

‘ Kaffee and Kuchen? Coffee and cake?’ Flora jumped to her feet. ‘Never did words so gladden a girl’s heart. I’m ready. Lead on, Macduff. Take me to cake.’

* * *

The coffee and cakes were laid out in the lounge, the social heart of the hotel, situated on the ground floor at the very front of the building to ensure it took full advantage of the stunning views. Once again Flora stood by the huge floor-to-ceiling windows and her stomach fell away at the terrifying illusion that there was nothing between her and the edge of the mountain.

Clusters of comfy bronze and red velvet sofas and chairs surrounded small tables, bookshelves full of books, games and magazines filled one wall and a huge wood-burning stove was suspended in the middle of the room. Somehow the lounge managed to feel cosy despite its vast size, easily capable of seating the sixty people the boutique hotel was designed to hold.

‘Right.’ Alex seated himself on one of the sofas and laid out his sketch pad in front of him. It would, she knew, be filled with exquisite pen-and-ink drawings. This was just the first phase, the visionary one. From here he would proceed to blueprints, to computer models, to hundreds of measurements and costings and attention to a million tiny little details that would transfer his vision from the page to reality.

But she knew this, the initial concept, was his favourite part. In many ways neither of them had changed that much from the children they had once been, designing their dream houses, palaces, castles, tree houses, igloos, ships in absorbed companionship.

But in other ways... She ran her eyes hungrily over him, allowing herself one long guilty look at the bent tousled head, at the long, lean body. In other ways they had both changed beyond recognition—not that Alex had noticed that.

No, in his eyes she was still the dirty-faced, scabby-kneed little girl he had met the first time he had run away from home. He’d only made it half a mile along the lane before bumping into Flora and together they’d built him a den to stay in. Planned for Flora to bring him bread and milk and a blanket.

He loved her, she knew that. And there weren’t very many people who could claim that. Outside Flora’s own family probably none.

He just wasn’t in love with her. There had been a time, way back when, she had wondered. But her one attempt to move things up a level had ended messily.

Flora curled her fingers into fists, trying to block out the memory. Block out the way he had put his hands on her shoulders, not to pull her in closer but to push her away. Block out the look of utter horror in his eyes.

He had kissed a lot of girls that summer and subsequent springs, summers, autumns and winters. But not Flora; never Flora.

And here she was, all these years later, still hoping. Pathetic. One day she’d stop being in love with him. She just had to try a little harder, that was all.