Not because he could not afford the Grand Regent Hotel.
Because he owned it.
His six-year-old daughter, Lily, slept against his shoulder, her cheek pressed into the collar of his worn leather jacket. One of her small hands clutched the ear of a stuffed gray bunny. The other rested against Ethan’s chest, right over the place where his wedding ring used to hang on a chain.
In his left hand, he carried a bouquet of red roses wrapped in brown paper.
The flowers had taken damage during the flight from Denver to Chicago. One stem was bent. Two petals had fallen loose and stuck to the paper like drops of dried blood.
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They were still beautiful.
Sarah would have said so.
Ethan stood in the Grand Regent lobby under a chandelier big enough to light a ballroom. Marble floors reflected gold lamps. A pianist played something soft near the bar. Men in dark suits passed by without looking. Women in evening coats rolled designer luggage toward the elevators.
