Episode 1

“You need to come home, you can’t keep being stubborn.” That was the hundredth message my mother had sent me, in capital letters and with several exclamation points. She had been more desperate and insistent since I turned 27, as if something huge was going to happen in our lives. I felt enormous pressure and guilt, not understanding the reason for such demands.

I rolled my eyes and put my phone aside, trying to concentrate on my work. The hotel was crowded with new guests, arriving with luggage, costumes, and confetti, worried about their carnival reservations. I had to help some of them even using my own phone to access information, while hearing the sound of music and fireworks outside. I couldn’t waste my time with my mother’s nonsense; she had been sending me messages every five minutes, pressuring me to return home.

I always thought she was a little eccentric, but lately Mom had been out of control. She was terrified of something she’d heard from my grandfather, an old and mysterious story he told with a trembling voice and frightened eyes. I was already beginning to suspect it was time to send them both to a nursing home, where they could receive proper care and get rid of these fantasies.

Regina needed psychological help, but she refused to listen to anyone who tried to contradict her. She lived in a world of illusions, where everything was perfect, and no one could question her. She isolated herself more and more, avoiding contact with reality. She was also easily irritated, reacting with aggression and arrogance to any criticism or advice. Mom needed urgent treatment, but she didn’t admit she had a problem.

“Diana! Can you help me here?” The hotel manager called me, pointing to a line of impatient people. I sighed. I glanced again at the phone screen, which lit up with my mom’s hundred and first message.

“He was here and he’s coming for you. I warned you.”

Wonderful! Now she was delirious and projecting her hallucinations. I ignored the message and turned to the gentleman in front of me.

“I made the reservations six months ago,” he complained in English with a Texan accent. I sighed again.

“I’m so sorry, sir, but there seems to have been a system error. We don’t have your reservation registered,” I said, looking at the computer.

“What do you mean, you don’t have my reservation? I paid in advance, I have the receipt, I want my room now!” He shouted, banging on the counter.

“Please, sir, calm down. We will sort this out. Maybe there was a name swap or a communication problem. Let me see your receipt,” I asked, trying to stay calm.

He handed me a crumpled paper with his name, reservation date, room number, and amount paid. I let out a frustrated sigh; after all, he actually had a receipt. I checked the data with the system, but I couldn’t find anything. It was as if the reservation never existed, and it was going to cause the biggest scandal.

“I don’t understand, sir. This has never happened before. A huge mistake really happened. I’m going to call my supervisor and see what we can do,” I said, picking up the phone.

“Mistake? Mistake is what you are doing to me! I want my room or I want my money back. I can't believe I'm going to have to get a lawyer! That's absurd!” He continued to rant, attracting the attention of everyone in the lobby.

I tried to ignore his insults and called my supervisor, explaining the situation. He said he’d be right over and told me to keep trying to calm the client down.

I hung up the phone and took a deep breath, preparing to face the gentleman again.

“Can’t you get him a room?” Said a guy next to me, and only then did I notice his presence there, hunched over my counter with a tired expression.

He was a huge man, with broad shoulders, strong arms, and long legs. He had black hair, blue eyes, and a face as handsome as a Greek God. His nose was straight, his mouth full, and a well-defined square jaw.

He was wearing a white T-shirt and simple jeans that showed off his entire body. He was carrying a backpack on his back and a camera around his neck. A typical tourist.

He looked at me with curiosity and sympathy, as if he wanted to help me.

“Unfortunately not,” I explained. “The rooms are all booked. Do you have a reservation?”

“I don't think so,” he said, leaning further over the counter to try to look at my computer screen. “Look it up, Christophe Kiermaier.”

I typed his name into the system, but I found nothing. He didn't have a reservation either. I sighed again, feeling my patience wearing thin.

“Sorry, sir, but it looks like you don't have a reservation either. The hotel is full due to carnival. Perhaps you can try another hotel in the area,” I suggested, trying to be polite.

“This hotel sucks! Nobody has reservations?!” The gentleman yelled again, slamming his fist on the counter, very irritated and impatient.

“I already knew that, I’m not here to stay. I came to collect something that belongs to me,” Christophe said with a mysterious smile on his lips. He looked at me curiously, and his sentence made me frown.

“Let me handle it, Di. Go have lunch,” said my supervisor, putting his hand on my shoulder after showing up to save my day. Mr. Silva was one of the best bosses anyone could ask for, and I wanted to hug him a thousand times for getting me out of that mess.

“Thank you very much! I hope you can solve your problems,” I said to the two gentlemen without rooms, and ran to my break. I needed some time to relax and forget about this chaotic day.

“Bye, Di!” I still heard the huge man’s voice, but I didn’t look at him. I felt a shiver down my spine when he said my nickname and it intrigued me.

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