The cleaner slowly removed one wet glove.
“You have that backward.”
The tourist frowned.
“What?”
The cleaner flexed her coffee-wet fingers.
“Employees make your stay possible.”
The tourist’s face hardened.
“That attitude is exactly why service is terrible now.”
She stepped around the fallen wet-floor sign.
The cleaner moved to retrieve it.
The tourist shoved the mop handle aside.
It struck the marble with a sharp metallic sound.
Then she nudged the sign farther away with the pointed toe of her cream-colored heel.
The cleaner looked at the sign.
Then at the tourist.
“Stop.”
The word was quiet.
The tourist’s chin lifted.
“Or what?”
“You’ll call your manager?”
She gave a little smile.
“Go ahead.”
“Call him.”
“I’d love to explain why the cleaning staff thinks it can order paying guests around.”
The cleaner did not answer.
That silence irritated the tourist more than an argument would have.
She stepped closer and reached toward the cleaner’s shoulder.
Perhaps she intended to move her.
Perhaps she intended to brush past.
Perhaps afterward she would say she had only touched the woman lightly.
It never happened.
Another hand slapped hers away.
Hard.
The sound cracked across the marble lobby.
The rich tourist spun.
A bride stood between them.
The bride’s white gown swept across the polished floor.
Her veil had been pinned up for photographs, and tiny crystals sparkled along the edge. Her breathing was fast because she had crossed almost the entire lobby at a run.
Her face was furious.
“Don’t touch her again.”
The tourist stared.
Then blinked.
“Excuse me?”
The bride stepped closer to the cleaner.
“Are you hurt?”
The cleaner shook her head.
“Just angry.”
The bride looked at the stain.
“She threw that at you?”
The tourist threw up both hands.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic.”
The bride turned.
“You threw coffee at her?”
“She was rude.”
The bride stared in disbelief.
“Coffee.”
“You threw coffee.”
The tourist lowered her voice.
“This is your wedding day.”
“Do not start a scene.”
The bride almost laughed.
“I’m starting a scene?”
Several members of the wedding party had appeared at the ballroom doors now.
The groom was among them.
He saw his older half-sister standing near the desk.
Saw the cleaner covered in coffee.
Saw his bride between them.
His expression changed.
He started walking forward.
The tourist noticed him and immediately switched tactics.
“Tell her.”
The groom stopped.
“Tell who what?”
“Your bride is screaming at me because some housekeeping employee blocked the lobby.”
The bride’s eyes widened.
“Housekeeping employee?”
The tourist gestured toward the stained uniform.
“Yes.”
“What else would she be?”
The bride looked at the cleaner.
Then back at the tourist.
Something almost like disbelief crossed her face.
Then sadness.
Not for the cleaner.
For the tourist.
“You really don’t know.”
The tourist frowned.
“Know what?”