Mrs. Wrong Last Name

Chapter One

It had been in the works for a couple months, finalized now for a couple weeks, and she had thought about it almost every minute. As if on cue, the St. Regis suddenly came into view on her right. She bent her head down to look up at it, inhaled deeply and then text him.

"What room?" she asked.

"2811. Top floor, penthouse suite," was the response.

She pulled into the circle drive and the valet took her keys. He asked her room number and then called her Mrs. 'Wrong Last Name.' She smiled and didn't correct him. After all Mr. Wrong Last Name was in 2811 and it was his reservation.

And she was wearing a wedding ring. It just wasn't his.

She exited the vehicle, grabbed her purse and overnight bag and strode purposefully inside. The doors were opened for her revealing a gorgeous marble lobby with a beautifully landscaped atrium and elevators that went on forever. She was rushed by attendants offering to carry her bag saying, "Welcome to Boston Mrs. Wrong Last Name, may I take your things to the penthouse for you? Would you like for me to have anything sent up from the bar?"

"No thank you, I appreciate you though," she smiled.

They nodded their heads and motioned her over to the Concierge Desk. She obliged them and paused there for just a minute to stop and get her keys. A man next to her was talking loudly about West Highland White Terriers and Cuban Cigars... the poor concierge was trying his best to act interested. It was truly quite a spectacle- Mr. Cuban Cigars was about as round as he was tall, had tons of chest hair emanating from his collared shirt, and a gold chain was completely entwined in the mess.

The concierge looked up to acknowledge her and smiled. He informed her there was no need to stop there since her husband had already checked in and was waiting for her upstairs- dinner reservations and pre-dinner drinks had already been secured. He then asked if there was anything else that she would want or need to make her stay more enjoyable.

"No thank you, which way to the elevators?" she asked.

"Right around the corner, enjoy your stay Mrs. Wrong Last Name and please don't hesitate if I can be of any service," he said, and extended his arm towards the elevators.

At that very moment Mr. Cuban Cigars decided to wrap it up with the concierge and quickly switched his attention to her- walking right beside her and talking dogs and travel all the way to the elevators. Most of his diatribe she didn't really catch as her mind was firmly planted elsewhere. The attendants were still hurrying along beside her and oddly enough she felt a little bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

"You know Cuba has just opened back up and it's amazing," he said. "You really should think about going."

She smiled at him absentmindedly but did not reply. She thought to herself this whole thing was quite peculiar.

The attendants were still leading the way and held the elevator doors open for her and Cuban Cigars. They inserted a key card and pushed twenty-eight for Mrs. Wrong Last Name, and Mr. Cuban Cigars finally stopped to take a breath.

"Going to twenty-eight, eh? That's up there with the nice rooms," he commented, duly impressed. "Is this your first time in Boston?"

"No," she replied, withdrawn. She realized she was still wearing her hat and sunglasses. She turned from him to fold them up and put them into her bag. Mr. Cuban Cigars finally got the hint and rode the rest of the way up quietly until he exited on floor nineteen. As she began to feel the gravity of the elevators and of her situation, she just had time to sink against the wall and exhale. The realization that this was truly happening crept over her as Adele began to sing Love Song in the background.