“You didn’t tell me the entire hotel would be Castillo territory,” you hiss, heels clacking beside him as the bellboy rolls your luggage toward the gilded elevators.
Xavier’s hand finds the small of your back like it belongs there. “I didn’t tell you on purpose.”
“Why?”
“So you wouldn’t panic and try to bail.”
“I would’ve. I absolutely would’ve.”
He just grins, cocky and smug and impossibly relaxed in his dark suit. “Exactly.”
You make it through the check-in, the whispered greetings from extended family members, and the fourteen framed engagement photos of his parents that line the hallways like a curated museum of obsession.
It’s weirdly sweet. Kind of terrifying. Extremely Castillo.
You finally reach your suite — yes, shared suite — and as soon as the door shuts, you spin around to face him.
“Do not make me cry before the welcome dinner,” you whisper.
Xavier freezes.
You press a hand over your mouth. “I’m serious. I met your dad, your cousin, your second-grade teacher who flew in from Spain. I cannot handle your mum now.”
“You’re scared of my mum?” he asks, stepping forward, voice quieting.
You nod.
“She’s five foot two and bakes bread when she’s sad.”
You nod harder.
He smirks, then cups your cheeks and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Baby. She’s going to love you.”
You exhale shakily. “What if she doesn’t?”
He tilts his head. “Then I’ll elope with you. Right now. Just you and me and the world's most illegal minibar.”
You roll your eyes but your stomach flips anyway.
Then—knock knock.
You go stiff.
“She’s here,” Xavier murmurs.
You spin around like you’ve been caught sneaking out of high school detention. “What do I say?”
He shrugs. “Just be yourself.”
You whip back to glare at him. “That’s the most dangerous advice anyone’s ever given me.”
He opens the door.
And in walks the woman who raised Xavier Castillo — warm eyes, red lipstick, a Chanel scarf knotted at her throat and the energy of a matriarch who’s deeply obsessed with her husband of thirty years.
She pulls you into a hug before you can speak.
“Finally,” she breathes into your shoulder. “He never brings anyone. We thought he was in the mafia.”
Xavier groans behind you. You suppress a laugh.
His mum pulls back, palms your face, eyes twinkling. “You’re so beautiful. God, this poor boy didn’t stand a chance.”
You’re speechless.
And a little in love with her already.
Later that night, after dinner...
You’re on the hotel balcony, wine in hand, bare feet resting on Xavier’s lap.
“They love you,” he says, tracing circles on your thigh.
You scoff. “Your aunt asked if I could make paella. I panicked and said I could make toast.”
“She said that’s more than I can do. You’re already her favourite.”
A long beat. The string lights above you glow soft and gold.
Xavier turns toward you fully, eyes locked on yours.
“You realize they’re only half as obsessed with you as I am.”
Your breath catches. “Is that right?”
“Mmhmm.” He leans in. “If I have to sit through a week of vow renewals and slow dances, I need to balance it out with something filthy.”
You smirk, pretending to be scandalized. “In your parents’ hotel?”
He grins like a devil in a silk shirt.
“My parents booked the entire hotel. That means every room is fair game.”