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He faces me. “Yes?”

“Seriously, thank you. I really appreciate you.” My voice cracks because I’m about to go inside and lose it.

He nods. “Downstairs. Anytime. Middle of the night, whenever. If you don’t want to be alone, I’m here. Okay?”

“Okay.” I needed to hear those words. More than I realized.

As Slade leaves, he adds, “Just for the record, the blue man just made a huge mistake. He’ll regret it for the rest of his lonely life. On his deathbed, he won’t mutter ‘Rosebud,’ he’ll mumble ‘Marin.’”

My lips twitch because I can’t manage a smile. I needed to hear that too. “Goodnight.”

I enter my room and close the door behind me. First thing, I catch a glimpse of myself in the wall mirror. I let out a little yelp of fright before I realize I’m looking at myself and not the Bride of Frankenstein. Not only is my hair a rat’s nest on top of my head, but streaks of supposedly waterproof mascara are running down both my cheeks. I look like I’m ready for freaking Halloween. All I need is a little blood dripping down my dress. No wonder both Slade and Joss stopped in their tracks when they saw me.

I look terrifying.

It's simply the icing on the proverbial cake. Worst day ever. I close the room-darkening drapes while not even noticing the amazing view. I hardly glance at the incredible architecture of the room with its slanted ceilings, cleverly placed windows, fireplace, and small dining nook flawlessly worked into the construction. My mind doesn’t even register the fact that I’m not in a typical rectangle-shaped hotel room. Or that I just moved into a life-sized dollhouse oozing with charm.

All I can think about is my impending breakdown. I tear off the hideous dress. It feels like it’s slowly tightening around me and suffocating me in a death grip, like the type of plotline you see in an old black-and-white horror film starring Vincent Price. I stuff it in the trash, stomping on it until it fits in the tiny garbage can. I don’t let thoughts about the cost of the dress enter my mind—or I’ll have even more to cry about. I strip off my lacy undergarments and hop into the shower, turning the temperature to as hot as I can stand.

Then I let loose. I cry harder than I’ve ever cried in my entire life, so hard I can’t catch my breath. I collapse to the floor of the shower and cry until I can’t cry anymore. Not sure how long I stay in there, but my fingers are all wrinkled when I finally emerge. When I was a child, my mother called them prune fingers.

I don’t bother with clothes. I slip between the crisp sheets and find out Icancry more. I sob into my pillow until I fall into an exhausted sleep.

chapter six

IWAKE UPto a knock on the door. My head spins from a monster headache. Crying has a way of doing that to me.

“Yes?”

“Breakfast, ma’am. Mr. Sheridan said to bring it up to you.”

“Be right there.”

I climb out of bed and stare at my suitcase. Only a silky robe in there.

No way.

I grab the terrycloth robe hanging on a hook in the bathroom, my fingers running over the Sheridan House emblem on the right chest area.

A sweet lady hands me a tray of something that smells amazing, reminding me I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. I’m famished. Contrary to how I feel, I did not come here to lie down and die. I would never give Blu that kind of power over me.

I will live and be happy just to spite him.

No, I take that back. I will live and find happiness again for myself. Only for me. I won’t do anything for Blu except forget him.

In the meantime, I will allow myself to mourn the loss of the life I thought was going to be mine.

Then I will close the door on my feelings for Blu and walk away. Never look back. Just move forward.

It won’t be easy. But I’m determined to do it.

I collapse onto my bed and check out the contents of the breakfast tray. My appetite returns with a vengeance. A little of everything is included. Pancakes, French toast, a croissant with jam, scrambled eggs with melted cheese, bacon, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a tall glass of orange juice.

I know I can’t eat it all, but I’m sure going to try.

Just as I can’t take another bite, a second knock on my door makes me jump. I sigh. Now what? I’d like to drown my sorrows in solitude.

The same lady as earlier hands me a neatly folded striped pajama top with a note on top. “Mr. Sheridan asked me to bring this to you. Sorry to disturb you.”

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