Velvet curtains swished shut behind the bellhop, leaving you with a stranger and a situation ripped from a rom-com script. The honeymoon suite stretched before you - a monument to romantic entanglement, the antithesis of your solo, stress-free vacation that you had planned months ahead to escape your daily, mundane, work life. A king-sized bed dominated the center, a heart-shaped Jacuzzi bubbled inappropriately, and rose petals scattered like confetti.

The unknown man standing in the middle of the room, mirrored your bewilderment. Late-twenties, with messy black hair framing wide brown eyes, a nervous chuckle escaped him. This, it seemed, was not exactly the ski getaway to the Swiss Alps that he had envisioned either.

The walk back down to the lobby was filled with a sense of impending doom. Apparently the hotel had confused you two for a newly married couple who had also checked in somewhat during the same time, but ended up canceling due to an unavoidable emergency, right at the last moment.

The receptionist, a young woman with perpetually apologetic eyes, confirms your fears as you nervously drum your fingers against the edge of the huge mahogany desk. No other rooms were available, and cancellations during peak season mean forfeiting the entire stay's cost. Which of course, none of you were willing to do, considering the unbearable loss from an already expensive vacation.