The Mystery Guest

This morning was sunny and bright when I left our two-bedroom apartment at 7:00 a.m. For two reasons, it was not an ordinary morning. First, today was the day that international bestselling author J. D. Grimthorpe would be making his big announcement during a press conference at the hotel. Second, my boyfriend, Juan Manuel, whom I’ve been living with in domestic bliss for over three years and whom I’ve worked with at the hotel for even longer, has been away. He’s been gone for three whole days, visiting his family in Mexico, and I must say, absence does not grow fondness in this particular case. More accurately, it grows fungus. Ergo, I miss him terribly.

This is Juan Manuel’s first trip home in many years, a trip we’ve been diligently saving for. Oh, how I wanted to travel alongside my beloved—a trip together, a true adventure—but alas, it was not to be: Juan is in Mexico, and I’m stuck here. For the first time since my gran’s death, I’m alone in our two-bedroom apartment. Never mind. All will be well. I’m just glad Juan’s seeing his family, and especially his mother, who has missed him for many years as I miss him right now.

Even though he’ll be gone only two weeks, I cannot wait until he returns. Life is just better with Juan in it. He texted me this morning before I left for work:

Today will be amazing! IMHO, there’s nothing to worry about. Te amo.

I’ll admit that his declaration of love elicited a pleasing butterfly sensation in my belly, but his use of acronyms was as consternating as ever.

FYI, I texted back, I have no idea what you mean.

I mean I love you.

I understand that part.

In My Humble Opinion, you are incredible, and today will be spectacular, he concluded.

Though I’d desperately wanted to go to Mexico with Juan, duty called, or rather Mr. Snow called, and it instantly became clear I would not be going anywhere.

“Are you familiar with the writer J. D. Grimthorpe?” Mr. Snow asked me on the phone a few weeks ago.

“Indeed I am,” I replied, leaving it at that.

“His personal secretary just requested the Regency Grand for an exclusive VIP event during which Mr. Grimthorpe intends to make a very important announcement. And…he’s requested the Grand Tearoom.”

Mr. Snow’s breathless excitement traveled right through the phone. This news was serendipitous. When we were rocked by the scandal of Mr. Black’s murder, Mr. Snow had the brilliant idea of attracting fresh clientele by returning an old storeroom off the lobby of the hotel to its former glory as a museum-quality example of an Art Deco tearoom. The renovation was nearing completion, and the hotel needed a VIP event to launch it publicly. This was perfect! And even better, Mr. Snow wanted me and my staff to oversee the special event. I told Juan immediately.

“When opportunity knocks, answer the door,” he said. “We’ll cancel our trip and go another time.”

I couldn’t bear the thought. “Mi amor,” I said. “You go without me. We’ll go together another time.”

“Really?” he replied. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Mind?” I said. “I insist. We can’t keep your mother waiting a minute longer.”

He wrapped me in a close embrace, then planted kisses all over my face. “One for every day I’ll be away,” he said. “And a few extras just because. You’re sure you’ll be okay without me?”

“Of course I will,” I said. “What on earth could go wrong?”

And so, Juan got on his plane a few days ago, while I stayed behind and kept myself busy with advance preparations for the Grimthorpe announcement.

This morning, I set out for the momentous occasion with a jittery spring in my step. I was excited and nervous at the same time. As I rounded the last corner downtown, the hotel came into view.

There she was, the Regency Grand, sublimely timeless amongst an urban eyesore of crass neon billboards and stout, modern office blocks. Red carpet graced the short flight of stairs to the hotel’s majestic portico. Dazzling brass railings framed the entrance leading to gleaming revolving doors. The lobby was teeming with chatty guests, luggage in tow, as well as reporters and podcasters lugging equipment through the revolving front doors in preparation for the morning’s marquee event.

Halfway up the steps on the landing in front of the portico stood Mr. Preston, the Regency Grand’s long-serving doorman, dressed in his stately cap and long greatcoat adorned with hotel crests. “Good morning, Molly,” Mr. Preston said as I met him beside his doorman’s podium. “Big day today.”

“Yes, it is,” I replied. “But we’re ready for it. Have you seen the tearoom? It’s magnificent.”