Ana glanced at me.
“They were not always openings.”
A camera lens gleamed behind the next one.
I stopped.
It was pointed directly at a bed.
My stomach turned.
“How many rooms?”
“All the anniversary suites.”
I thought of our room.
The champagne waiting on ice.
The rose petals.
The gold card that read: SEVEN YEARS DESERVES SOMETHING UNFORGETTABLE.
“Are you recording people?”
“I clean rooms.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No,” she said. “I am not recording anyone.”
“But someone is.”
She nodded.
