Текст книги "She: Part 2"

Автор книги: Annabel Fanning

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

“I’m not preg—” I begin.

“Not now,” Mercy cuts in, “but soon you will be,” she nods surely.

Uh… Change the subject, I tell myself hastily. “I think we’ll focus on our puppy for the time being. He’s so gorgeous, Mercy, I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to have him,” she smiles at me. “Mary-Gene was just telling me that you’re visiting Charleston this summer,” she says, making me grin. Oh, did she now, I think comically. “So don’t think twice about asking me to look after the little pup,” Mercy says firmly. “I promise you he’ll be safe with me.” She’s so insistent that I suspect she wouldn’t mind keeping our Samuel for herself.

“Bonjour, Gemima,” a familiar voice says to my right.

I turn and see Amélie Clémence standing next to me. Her attire is much like that which she wears to work – classic, stylish, sophisticated. The main difference is that now, for quite possibly the first time that I’ve seen, she’s got her hair hanging down in long, loose curls. They soften her usually austere appearance; she looks good like this, I note.

“Bonjour,” I say, still smiling from Mercy’s last words.

Mercy excuses herself, leaving me with another hug and a sweet kiss on the cheek. She really is adorable.

“A good friend of yours?” Amélie enquires after her.

“She’s very close to Logan,” I explain. “Have you seen him yet?” I ask, looking around for him.

“Non,” she says. “Excusez-moi pendant un moment,” she then says, responding to an apparently urgent message on her phone. Excuse me for a moment.

“Uh, OK…” She comes over to speak to me and abandons me a second later. I refrain from rolling my eyes. Instead I put them to better use, looking for Logan once more. I do a double take when I catch sight of him. I watch him move, tall and graceful, shaking hands, kissing cheeks, and being received with great enthusiasm. I don’t watch him to monitor his interactions, I watch him because he is too stunning not to. He knows exactly where I am, because every twenty seconds or so, he looks over at me, just for long enough for me to catch a glimpse of that stunning smile. Our spark is still potent, I note, no matter how far apart we are, the second our eyes meet it’s as though there’s no one here but us. It’s a beautiful, magical, fulfilling feeling to have. It suddenly occurs to me that our mutual affinity of our bubble, our connection, means that separation renders it unbreakable.

The sound of Amélie tutting makes me drop my gaze from Logan and look at her again. Her phone is nowhere insight, but for some reason her body language is extremely tense and a moment later I learn why. I jump in fright when someone behind me unexpectedly pinches my waist. I turn and see Buddy, looking more dapper than I would have thought possible.

“Chill, Gem,” he greets me, smiling mischievously. I know in an instant that it’s not a coincidence that he’s chosen right now to come and say hello. “Amélie, you’re looking…” he considers his coming insult carefully.

However, before he can deliver it, Amélie says, “Tais-toi, vous des porcs.” Shut up, you disgusting pig.

There’s a terse silence. They’re staring at each other with a mutual lack of respect.

Gem, say something! With little else going through my mind, I revert back to my earlier question. “Have you seen Logan yet?”

“No,” Amélie says sharply, evidently not remembering that I’d already asked her.

“Not yet,” Buddy says shortly.

Silence looms around us once more. Why would Buddy choose to create a situation this uncomfortable?

“You both look wonderful,” I say, desperately trying to kickstart some form of decent conversation.

“Merci, vous aussi,” Amélie says, though her eyes never leave Buddy’s face. Thank you, so do you.

“Yes,” Buddy agrees with her, “you scrub up nicely, Gem.”

Something about his words makes Amélie grimace. I sigh. I’ve tried, I’ve failed.

“This is so awkward,” I mutter under my breath.

“Let me make it less so,” Amélie announces with a scowl, her eyes dangerously narrow. “Gemima, I will seek you out later,” she says to me, “when we are not interrupted by such low quality company.”

I stop myself from laughing at her words. “Alright,” I nod. “Have a good evening, Amélie.”

She gives me a polite smile, before curtly turning on her sky-high heels and marching far away from us.

Buddy starts chuckling as he watches her leave, as if happy he won the standoff.

“You are a shit-stirrer,” I grin at him.

“Me? Never,” he says cheekily. “Ah, I do enjoy the sexual tension between her and I,” he jokes, and I laugh loudly. There was absolutely nothing sexual about the tension between them.

Despite this, I continue the joke, saying, “If you love each other, you should be together.”

Abruptly, Buddy beams at me.

“What?” I ask. He doesn’t love her, does he?

“I’ve heard someone else say those words recently.” Then in further explanation, he says, “You’re exactly the same as Logan, do you know that? Just as hopelessly naive about love in the real world,” he laughs, forgetting entirely about Amélie.

“I don’t think we’re naive,” I say stubbornly.

“Your story is one in a million,” he tells me.

“It doesn’t have to be,” I point out. “Our story is only what it is because we made it that way. Besides, I don’t mean to alarm you, but there’s no such thing as the real world, Buddy.”

He laughs, and puts his hand on my arm, saying, “You might just be right about that. Especially considering that I hear we’re going to be siblings-in-law?”

I smile at him and nod eagerly. “And I hear you knew before I did.”

“Yes,” he admits with another laugh. “Logan couldn’t contain himself when we talked about it. I did try to point out how incredibly fast it all is,” he confesses, but then he shrugs, as though we’re a helpless cause. “He’s crazy about you, Gem. I don’t think anything can stop a man that’s that in love.”

His insights tickle me.

“Besides,” he continues, “when I saw you two together on Wednesday night, I got the sneaking suspicious that you guys are the real-deal. Like Rupert and MG. Did you come with them?” he adds, changing the topic.

“Uh, yes,” I nod, glancing into the crowd around us, looking for them. I don’t see them, but I do see Taylor. He’s staring at Buddy with contempt. Jeez, here we go again, Tantrum Taylor is back. In turn I stare at him, remembering what Logan told me on his birthday about Taylor telling him that he doesn’t deserve to be appreciated for anything. Well, what about this gigantic room of supporters and well-wishers, you bastard, I think gleefully.

He catches me watching him, blinks and then quickly looks away, but not before I’m able to tell that my friendliness with Buddy, whom Taylor clearly loathes, has just caused Taylor’s approval rating of me to go down even further. Taking a leaf out of Logan’s book I think, fuck what he thinks of me. I roll my eyes as I watch him disappear amongst the mass of people.

Following my line of sight, Buddy says, “Ah-ha! I knew it was only a matter of time before you joined Team Logan.”

Team Logan? “I’m ever hopeful that this attitude will improve.” For Logan’s sake. “But in truth, I don’t hold out much hope.”

“You shouldn’t. When it comes to Taylor, hope is not enough,” Buddy says surely. “He’s a mother fucking asshole.”

“Are we talking about Jerry again?” my mother says, appearing at my side.

“No, someone else,” I say hastily. My attention is immediately diverted away from Taylor as I’m quick to notice a sudden glimmer in Buddy’s eyes as he takes in the sight of my mother. Oh, hell no! “Don’t even think about it!” I tell him clearly.

“Enchanté,” he addresses my mom, smoothly.

“Buddy,” I growl.

He starts laughing immediately. “Gem, you know I like older women,” he says to me.

Clearly aware that she’s being courted, my mother tells him, “Buddy, I presume?”

“Oui, and you must be Gemima’s older sister.”

I roll my eyes again. Seriously? Do these lines actually work for him?

“Nice try, kid, but I’ve just been warned about your womanising ways. Mary-Gene told me to expect an advance from you.”

“She’s a perceptive woman,” Buddy compliments his pseudo-mother.

“That she is,” my mom agrees. “So am I, and I can tell you right now, you’re going to have to dip your quill in somebody else’s ink pot.”

“I like a challenge,” he smiles at her.

OK, time for an intervention. “Mom, go hang out with Mary-Gene, or find the bar,” I suggest. “And Buddy,” I spin him around and push him into the crowd, following him saying, “you and I are going to find Logan.”

“You’re a killjoy, Gemima,” Buddy chuckles.

“I will joyfully kill you if you sleep with my mother!” I tell him.

Submerged in the masses it’s hard to look further than a few feet ahead of me, at least at my height, but Buddy, who’s taller than most we pass, seems to know where we’re going, and sure enough we break through the crowd and stumble upon Logan and several of his work colleagues whom I met last Tuesday, plus a few new faces.

Sneaking up behind him, Buddy wraps his arms around Logan’s waist, hugging him from behind, and in a high, shrill voice, he says, “It’s me, Gemima.”

The circle of people erupts into laughter, and I can’t help but join them.

“I do not sound like that,” I laugh, walking over to Logan’s side once Buddy has let him go. Logan and I smile at each other, and immediately it’s there again – that amorous spark. I revel in how everything inside of our bubble is exactly the same. Becoming engaged hasn’t changed anything between us, and I don’t want it to. I don’t suddenly feel bridezilla stirring within me, nor do I get possessed with jealousy as I notice in my peripheral vision a few women ogling him as they walk by. Everything’s the same, it’s just he and I. Neither of us makes a sound while the others continue laughing and jeering our gooey eyes for one another. I reach up to kiss him amidst a chorus of wolf whistles and catcalls, which makes both Logan and I laugh again.

Then turning the attention off of us, I tell the group at large, “I brought Buddy over here for a timeout. He was attempting to seduce my mother.”

My words do the trick, the heat turns to Buddy instead who immediately starts animatedly defending his actions.

While he does so, I whisper to Logan, “Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” he smiles again, “I’m having a great time. Even with Taylor telling my Japanese business partners that I miscalculated the weight bearings on the buildings that I’ve currently got under construction in Osaka,” he sighs.

I mouth drops open. “He what?”

“He said he was trying to joke with them but that they took his words too literally.”

“He was causing trouble, more like,” I mutter, saying my thoughts out loud.

Logan nods. “My patience is wearing thin. I won’t let him spoil tonight for anyone.”

“Oh, Logan, we shouldn’t be too hard on him,” I then say sarcastically, “tonight will be torture for the poor man.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to make it for him if he keeps being a dick,” Logan says seriously.

It’s clear that despite the good time Logan’s having, Taylor has already managed to dent it. Intent on putting a smile back onto his face, I ask Logan, “Can I be your henchman when you do?”

He cracks up, chuckling at the thought, his mood lightened once more. Job done, I think satisfactorily.

“Did those men from Osaka come all the way just for tonight?” I wonder.

He nods. “They take business relations very seriously,” he explains.

“So do I, Logan, but I wouldn’t fly twelve hours for a party,” I laugh. “It’s amazing that people are so responsive to you,” I muse out loud. “I think I’m going to go and mingle some more, and you know, boast about being your fi—“ I stop myself from saying fiancé, “Your girlfriend,” I amend. And that’s exactly what I do.

My first port of call is the bar – one simply cannot mingle without a drink in hand, I tell myself, and then I immerse myself into the splendour, greeting people, having people greet me, joining existing conversations, or starting up my own. It’s a busy, whirlwind of a half an hour, consisting of me trying desperately to remember which face goes with which name.

I cross paths with a lot of men and women who work at Leary Constructions, and who I have the distinct feeling know that I’m their boss’s partner. I get the sense they’re prying, harmlessly, into a side of Logan’s life that he usually keeps entirely private from them. I’m polite and courteous to everyone I meet, and in the back of my mind I cannot help thinking how much more comfortable I am to be known as Logan’s significant other than I ever was being known as Jerry’s.

After a while, I need a breather from the centre of the throng, and I find myself naturally migrating to the side of the room. Spotting Amélie, I begin to walk towards her intending on having a Buddy-free conversation. However, as I approach her I notice that the wall she’s lingering near is covered in project posters and descriptions of Logan’s work, and when I look up and down the length of the room, I notice they line the entire wall. It’s a timeline of his career.

I stop in my tracks. Suddenly speaking with Amélie seems less inviting. I turn subtly and redirect myself to the top corner of the room instead, where Logan’s prestigious timeline begins.

I take my time walking along the wall. To say that Logan started small would be wrong; it appears his initial projects were grand-scale and ambitious, and I discover that they’ve gotten even grander as time’s gone by. He is a true master of his trade, there is no doubt about it. I read every article that corresponds with the myriad of pictures, in many of which he can be seen, and I squeal in delight when I stumble across one of him as a twenty-year-old. He’s baby-faced and gorgeous, and I simply must have a copy of that photo! I take out my phone to take a picture of it, only realising after I have that the young, lanky man he’s standing next to is Buddy. It must have been taken shortly after they met, I think.

As I walk, I find several more photographs which I make copies of, ones where he looks bone tired from striving so hard to make himself a success. It paid off, I smile to myself. And ones in which he starts to look less baby-faced and more manly, closer to how he looks today.

I pass other people walking up and down the wall, including Michel and his wife, Elaine. I abruptly realise that as second-in-command of Leary Constructions this wall-of-fame is equally a tribute to him as it is to Logan. We stop for a brief conversation, during which he talks me through one of the most difficult projects of their joint careers, before they keep walking north, doing the timeline backwards, and I kept walking south.

I beam at the photographs of the very last project on display. It’s my hotel – Hotel Forty-Nine – standing imperially tall in the very heart of Tokyo. I scan every photo very closely, knowing that it was constructed long before it was ever named for me, yet I find myself wanting to be familiar with it. It’s high-end, it’s luxurious, it’s an oriental treasure trove.

“You beat me to it,” I hear Logan saying behind me.

I turn, smile at him, and wrap my arms around his middle, hugging him tightly.

“I was supposed to show you this,” he says, hugging me back.

“I love it, Logan,” I say, meaning it entirely. “She is utterly magnificent and I’m even more honoured now to know she was named for me,” I tell him. “This whole timeline is mind-blowing.” I reach up to cup his face in my hands, and gazing into his pale-green eyes, I say, “I know I wasn’t there for, like, any of these builds, and so it might not mean anything, but I’m so proud of you, Logan. So, so proud,” I gush.

My words make him light-up. “That means everything, baby,” he says earnestly, brushing his lips against mine. Then humour overcomes him, as he says, “I can’t believe I told you that I didn’t want you to come tonight.” He laughs at his own mistake. “There’s no one else who matters more than you.”

I smile once more, and repeat the words that he said to me one week ago. “Temporary madness, baby, it happens to the best of us.”

He chuckles, looking so breathtakingly beautiful that I can’t hold myself back. I slide my hands over his shoulders and reach up on my tiptoes to kiss him headily.

When we break apart a few delicious moments later, we remain face to face, Logan’s arms wrapped tightly around my back, and I giggle against his lips, “I found some adorable pictures of you on this timeline. I think I’ll make one of them my new screensaver,” I tease.

“Just wait until we get to Charleston,” he chuckles. “My mom has the whole house decorated with photos of me.”

“I can’t wait to see them, Logan, I can’t wait to see where you’re from. I saw Mercy earlier and she told me that your mom said we’re going to Charleston this summer,” I grin.

Logan shakes his head. “I have plans to get married this summer.”

His words derail my thoughts entirely. He looks so overjoyed by them.

“Mercy, uh, also said…” I begin, but I falter. What else did she say, I try to recall.

“Yes?” Logan smiles against my lips. He knows his effect on me, he knows I’m temporarily speechless, and so he uses this moment of silence to kiss me once more, his hands running up and down my back in a sweet caress.

This time when we break apart I’m even more breathless, though fortunately my ability for speech has returned to me. “She said she’d look after Samuel whenever we do go to Charleston. In fact, she was insistent on it.”

“I see,” Logan smiles. “I haven’t found her yet,” he says, turning to observe the room.

I turn to look into the room as well, and find a sight quite different to what I expected. While I was engrossed with the timeline and then with Logan, almost everybody else has taken their seat around the pristine-looking tables, and my stomach lurches uncomfortably when I see that many pairs of eyes are angled towards us.

“People are watching us,” I murmur quietly, as though everyone in the room might suddenly be able to hear me. Don’t be silly, Gem.

“That’s because you look stunning, Gemima,” Logan smiles at me, enjoying the flush that comes over my cheeks. “Come,” he takes my hand and leads the way to a table at the very front of the room, around which his family, my mother, and a few key personnel of Leary Constructions are seated.

Trying my best to ignore the eyeballs that follow us as we walk, I instead focus my attention on the back corner of the room where waiters are lingering in a doorway, which I presume leads to the kitchen.

“Dinner and then speeches?” I ask Logan.

“The other way around,” he says, holding out my chair for me to sink into.

We immerse ourselves in the varying conversations around the table, until a tapping sound issues through the loud speakers throughout the room a few minutes later, and a hush descends over everyone.

Two men are standing on the stage in front of a lectern which has a microphone protruding out the top of it. They introduce themselves as the co-chairman of the PBA. Speaking in French, they begin by taking it in turns to welcome everyone to the event before both sharing a brief synopsis of how they came to know Logan and his work, and how privileged the PBA is to have Leary Constructions be a part of it. I learn that they will be presenting Logan with an Outstanding Contribution to Building and Construction award a little later on – it’s a fancy-looking glass sculpture which they balance on the lectern – but first they introduce Michel, who rises from his seat at our table, inviting him to say a few words.

Amid a smattering of applause, Michel takes to the stage and delivers more than a few words; he’s up there for a solid ten minutes, delivering an impressively professional sounding speech. In it, he details the birth of the company, its growing pains and its breakthrough successes, but most of all, he talks of watching a young, idealistic maverick turn into a leader and a mentor and the man I’m all set on marrying. His speech holds me utterly captivated. He was there, Logan’s righthand man from day one of Leary Constructions, and I love hearing his perspective.

Eventually, Michel concludes his speech and receives another, louder round of applause, but he doesn’t leave his station. Instead he announces, “À l’insu de Logan, un membre de son cercle privé a été invité à dire quelques mots.” Unbeknownst to Logan, a member of his inner-circle has been asked to say a few words.

Immediately, both Logan and I scan the table, looking for a guilty face, and for one deathly horrifying moment I think that Michel’s going to call on me!

He doesn’t.

Instead, he says with a mischievous smile, “Mesdames et messieurs, M. Buddy Jackson.” Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Buddy Jackson.

The room erupts into cheers, and it’s suddenly abundantly evident that within this industry Buddy is the class clown.

“Oh, shit,” Logan groans, knowing that his level of embarrassment is about to increase tenfold.

“Surprise,” Buddy smiles from his chair on the other side of Logan. Clapping his shoulder as he gets to his feet, he says, “Stand up, Loges, you’re coming with me.”

Reluctantly Logan stands too, leaving me with a parting kiss and a comical look of dread. As they begin walking to the stage together, I hear Buddy ask him, “You’re not opposed to the term bromance, are you?”

Once on stage, they both look imperially tall, and I vaguely contemplate looking around the room to find Amélie. I’m sure her facial expression right now would be hilarious, but I keep my gaze firmly set on Logan. He moves with such poise and elegance. Charisma and likability oozes from him as he jokes quietly with Buddy and then shakes hands with Michel, thanking him for his kind words. He’s just so fucking cool, I think. I have to stop myself from shouting out, I’m with him!

Keeping my own poise in place, I clap politely as Buddy steps up to the lectern, while Logan lingers behind him.

“This should be good,” I say to the table. And it is. It really is!

Not only does Buddy give a side-splitting account of a young Logan, pre-Leary Constructions, when their bromance blossomed during the two years that they lived and worked together, but also, while throwing out analogy after analogy in an attempt to convey how much Logan loves his job, he shares a private story about arriving home one evening and finding Logan pleasuring himself whilst looking through a building magazine.

I gasp and burst into laughter along with the rest of the room. Logan puts his face in his hands and shakes his head, letting the humiliation wash over him. When he looks up, he’s laughing too, though he gives Buddy a distinct I’m-going-to-kill-you-for-that kind of look.

Buddy revels in teasing his best friend, and drinks in everyone’s laughter, before his speech continues. A few humorous minutes later, he gestures that Logan should join him at the front of the stage.

When they’re shoulder to shoulder, Buddy concludes, “Logan, you have been my friend and my brother for the past fifteen years, the closest thing that I have to a moral compass,” he grins, “and I consider myself very lucky for that. To everyone in this room, you have been a visionary, a kingpin, and a sounding board, and I cannot think of a single person who deserves this award more than you. Not even I deserve this award more than you,” he laughs. He picks up the award and presents it Logan, saying, “Loges, congratulations on all you have achieved and contributed. May it stand the test of time.”

The room erupts into yet another round of applause as Logan is handed his prestigious award. After setting it down once more, he and Buddy do a half-handshake, half-hug type of thing, before Buddy retreats offstage and Logan is left alone. He takes a deep breath and his eyes scan the sizeable room before they dart to me, where they stay for a long moment. I give him a reassuring wink, and I relish that even now, even here, we are able to look at each other and calm descends.

After flashing a quick smile, Logan begins, “That thing that Buddy said about the magazine is not true…” The room immediately breaks out into laughter once more.

“I saw it with my own eyes!” Buddy shouts, now back at the table, where he receives everyone’s quiet congratulations on his speech. Everyone except for Taylor, of course.

“Moving right along,” Logan chuckles. He starts his speech very formally by thanking the PBA for hosting this event and for presenting him with his award. An award which he modestly admits he would not be receiving if it weren’t for the culmination of a lot of work by a lot of people, most of whom are in the room tonight. His formalities die away as he begins to single out specific individuals, Michel, Buddy, Grace, Cheryl, and he works in a few of those gags that I found for him.

True to my promise, I laugh along with everyone else, though I still have no idea why the jokes are funny. Logan cracks up himself as he watches me say ha ha ha to his favourite of the jokes, knowing that my humour is pretence. I give him a little I-don’t-know shrug and he beams back at me, before finishing up his speech.

“The last thing that I want to touch on is failure, or better yet the perception of failure,” he says clearly and confidently. “There are not a lot of people here that know that I used to be a troublemaker in my youth. A real, insufferable badass,” he grins, looking complete gorgeous. “I used to want to keep that to myself, but now,” his eyes find mine again, “now I can embrace where I have been, because it has made me the man I am today.” He then looks out to the back of the room, and shares, “The one question that I have been asked the most in the lead up to tonight, is how have I made a success of myself? To that I say, I have succeeded because I have also failed. And in doing so, I have gained perspective. I have realised that success is more than winning jobs and making money. Success is being happy,” he says simply and I smile at his words. “It’s knowing that I’ve done the best job that I possibly can, and that whatever outcome eventuates I will be proud of my efforts and proud of the efforts of the team around me. I can see now that anything I have perceived as failure in the past, has simply been a chance to learn and grown, and so failures should never be a reason to be ashamed, they should never be regretted or denied. A wise man once said: if you own your own story, then no one can use it against you…”

My breath catches in my throat. I stare up at him in complete reverence and he smiles slightly at my reaction.

He quoted my father! I can’t believe that he’s remembered those words, let alone that he’s saying them at such a profound moment. My heart hammers madly in my chest and I feel like welling up. He really is the most thoughtful, gracious person that I’ve ever known. Across the table my mother gazes at Logan in similar disbelief. I know from her eyes alone that his touching tribute has won her over for good.

“I will own my failures,” Logan continues, “because I wouldn’t have succeeded without them. They have led me to stand before you tonight, and I stand here very humbled, very honoured…and ever so slightly humiliated after Buddy’s speech,” he laughs.

In conclusion Logan thanks the PBA once again, and insists that everyone enjoy their upcoming meal. As he steps back from the lectern, looking throughly pleased that all of the official business is now over, the room collectively rises as one to give him a standing ovation. His eyes widen in surprise. Logan wasn’t expecting that, which makes it all the more satisfying.

Once he leaves the stage, people take their seats and chatter breaks out around the room once more. Waiters immediately swarm every table, delivering our opulent evening meal. It’s a good thing that food is acting as a distraction, I think, because as Logan rejoins the table which is the only one with everyone still on their feet, I’m ready to jump his bones. Before I can get my hands on him, however, he passes my mother, who hugs him and whispers something which makes him smile. Then, finally, he reaches me and presses his lips to mine for a long, delicious moment.

“That’s the sweetest thing…” I begin.

“I thought you’d like it,” Logan smiles, his dimples on display.

I kiss him again as we simultaneously sink back down into our seats.

“So proud of you,” I tell him again, loud enough for only him and I to hear.

“Thank you,” he breathes and then he sighs in relief. The nerve-inducing part is over for him, now the fun begins. As if to prove this, Logan’s hand lingers near my knee and only when he withdraws it do I realise that he’s placed something underneath it.

As waiters deliver abundant plates of food and everyone around the table starts talking amongst themselves, I reach for the little item under my leg and a mixture of desire and excitement courses through me when I feel that it’s a key. Logan’s planned a secret, sexy rendezvous, I realise giddily. I expect the key to belong to one of the ample hotel rooms on the many floors above us, but as I rest it on my lap, out of sight of anyone apart from me, I peer down and read the engraving.

It says: Hotel Roof.