Not ten seconds later, Bar enters the Prince room with a tray of toast, coffee, and eggs, which smell divine. Taste buds come alive on my tongue. He says, “I see you opened the blinds.”
“I didn’t. Mrs. O’Donnell was just here, and she opened them.”
He stands in the middle of the room and looks baffled: screwy eyebrows, semi-open mouth, unblinking. “Did you say Mrs. O’Donnell?”
“I did. She’s a very nice woman. Enchanting. Caring. She’s been a dear during my stay. You should hire more lovelies like her.”
Bar chuckles, and a gentle smile fills his face. He walks to the bed, passes me the tray, and climbs in next to me.
I don’t understand his laughter and ask, “What’s so funny?”
“Mrs. O’Donnell accidentally fell down the Prince tower seven years ago and broke her neck. She died instantly
