The cabbie drove by the famous fountains of the hotel and pulled under the covered portico. Immediately, two bellhops rushed to help me, and I had a flashback moment to the night at The Dorchester. I cringed. At least Cuba wasn’t here to see how much further I’d fallen.

I checked my watch, noting that I had three hours until The Man arrived.

The well-dressed lady at the desk gave me my room key, and I headed up to the suite on the twentieth floor, passing elaborate sculptures and exotic flower arrangements that dotted the lobby area. I rode up in the black-mirrored elevator, amid wealthy looking patrons, feeling like an imposter.

The room wasn’t a suite like some of the ones I’d read about on Google, but it was beautiful, the furnishings modern and tastefully done in shades of dark blue and silver. And I guess it didn’t really matter how big the room was. And it wasn’t like The Man wanted to impress me. I was bought and paid for already.

I gazed out the window to watch the water show below in the fountain. With operatic music and bright lights, it kept my mind occupied. Soon though, fear overtook me, and what lay ahead banged around in my mind. But I soothed myself with the thought that this was the last time, that after this I could go home to Sarah and Heather-Lynn, that I could continue with ballet.

Two hours left.

I unpacked, trying to stay busy and not think about the ticking clock. According to the instructions, he was in a business meeting, but planned to arrive by six o’clock. He’d also requested I wear a dress. I didn’t think it would stay on long.

After clothes and toiletries were put away in the closet, I sat down in one of the velvet covered chairs and clicked on the television. It popped up on a news channel, and I stared at the screen, running my hands over one of the soft pillows.

One hour left.

I got up, knowing I had to get ready. I chose my blue lace dress, even though I’d bought it last year with Cuba in mind after he told me he’d dreamed about me in blue. It had been lying tucked away in the back of my closet in Ratcliffe, hidden behind some old sweatshirts and dancewear. Wearing it for The Man would mean that I’d truly let go of me and Cuba.

I smoothed out the wrinkles. Yes, tonight.

By 5:45 PM, I’d showered, applied make-up, and dressed, the minutes ticking down one by one. I sat back in the velvet chair and waited.

By 6:30 PM, The Man was late, and I was getting anxious. I called down to the desk to see if he’d left me any messages, but he hadn’t. I’d had my phone turned off, and I considered turning it back on, but I didn’t want to communicate with those who loved me. I wanted to push them all away and just get the job done.

By 7:00 PM, I ordered room service. My appetite was iffy, but I figured why not, charging it to the room. So I went all out: strawberry salad, filet mignon, steamed asparagus, and crème brulee, all en route to my room. I didn’t know if I’d be able to eat, but I had to do something that involved action. Because I felt like I was going to die in this room.

Tap, tap, tap came the knock at 7:10 PM, and I snapped up, tugging at my hem.

Panic struck and I breathed through it, preparing for another performance.

Was it him or room service?

A few seconds ticked by and bang, bang, bang the knock came again, this time more insistent.

What would happen if I didn’t answer? I could hide in the bathroom. I could step out on the small balcony and climb down the fire escape. But there was no fire escape. Heck, this wasn’t some ratty motel. It was the Bellagio.

Yes, there was no rewinding. I put one foot in front of the other.

I opened the door slowly, adrenaline spiking.

The world stood still.

I took Cuba in, his shoulders slumped against the door frame as if he were exhausted, his hair tousled. His eyes pinned me, making me freeze, making the hair rise on my arms, my nape, and into my scalp. I stopped breathing, staring at my Greek god, at the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on. He blinked those long, dark lashes as he stared at me, as if he couldn’t believe I was there. Ditto.

“What? How—”

He came at me full throttle and wrapped me in his arms. I squeezed my eyes tight, letting the warmth of him seep into me.

Was this a dream?

I pulled back. “You have to go, Cuba. Please.”

He stalked right past me into the room. “Not leaving.”

Just no. I couldn’t bear it if he saw me like this again. “Leave—”

“He’s not coming,” he said.

Elation hit but then I blanched, my head shaking. What had he done? “Why?”

He sighed. “Because I went to see Alexander. I took care of it for you. And before you say one word, before you go off on me, let me tell you something. I love you. I have for over a year. I loved you last year when I told you so. I loved you on the day we became locker mates this year even though I hid it. I loved you when I was with other girls. I loved you when you dated that ballet dancer dude. I loved you when you were with Spider. And…listen to me good…I loved you at The Dorchester. I have never stopped loving you, not one single day. And I never tried to fool myself that I didn’t. I may have lied to you, but I never lied to myself. I walked a thin line every day I came to school because every single minute you were in my eyesight, I was lost. But I’d convinced myself to let you go. And you know why. But, I want you to know that this whole year, I’ve spent a lot of time growing up and thinking and figuring out what I’m made of.” He took a breath. “And I know it’s a damn mess because I helped Emma. It muddied things up for me and you, but I couldn’t let her deal with her family alone.”