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Refusing to flinch, I tipped my chin up and stared right back. “What’s the rush, Madame Mayor? The hotel isn’t going anywhere.”

There was a flash of something in her eyes—doubt, maybe even a bit of fear—but before I could identify it, it was gone. “Very well,” she said, smooth as could be. “You take your week. But if you think you can stall forever, you’ll find you’re mistaken. Don’t make me push back.” Her threats were becoming a little less veiled.

As we stepped back out into the lobby, I refused to look at Roland, but from the corner of my eye I saw that Emily had her arm around his shoulders, comforting him. This was my fault, she was comforting him because of me.

Eva paused, turning in a circle right there in front of the desk as she admired the high ceiling and reflected light. “Yes, I think the hotel will do nicely as a reception venue, don’t you? And that way, all your employees can be there to witness your marriage. Isn’t that just perfect, my love?”

My lip curled in a sneer, acid crawling up my throat at the pet name. I maneuvered myself to block her view of him, and she winked at me. “I’m thinking November 15th for the ceremony. Maybe young Mr. Stohl could be your best man? I know how much he means to you.” She had no right to say his name. She knew exactly what she was doing, digging that knife into my chest and giving it a twist.

She could do whatever she wanted to me. I just wished she could leave him out of this.

11

Roland

It seemed like a case of wrong place, wrong time, but what else was new? I was starting to feel like The Scarlet Hotel would always be the wrong place for me.

I’d come in early to cover someone’s shift, but there was no way I could stay now. It didn’t matter that he didn’t love her. All I could see when I closed my eyes was the way she’d touched his arm, like she owned him, leaning into his body and whispering sweet nothings in his ear just loud enough that I could hear them. As soon as the mayor was headed for the door, I’d mumbled something to Emily about feeling sick, then rushed away from the desk. She didn’t try to stop me.

I was proud to say I managed to hold the majority of my tears back until I was safely in the staff room. As soon as the door closed behind me, though, all bets were off. The floodgates opened, my grief and frustration spilling down my cheeks in a torrent. Gods, I was such a fucking masochist! Why did I keep holding on to hope? I collapsed onto a bench, a ragged sob tearing out of me.

Even over my sobbing, I heard Emily’s voice shouting down the hallway, “Sir? Sir! You shouldn’t go in there right now. Please! Haven’t you done enough?” I loved my friend for trying to protect me, but she should’ve known better. There would be no stopping him.

The door swung open immediately after. Emerson stormed in, eyes wild, then he spun around to close the door behind him, flipping the lock.

I buried my face in my arms. “Go away,” I blubbered. I couldn’t look at him, because if I caught even one glimpse of remorse in his eyes, I would never let go. I would keep giving him chance after chance, and at some point, I had to say enough was enough. I was worth more than that.

I heard him cross the room and crouch in front of me, then he tried to pry my hands away from my face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean any of what I said.”

I scoffed a watery, snotty sound. “Didn’t you? If you wanted me to get the hint, I heard you loud and clear. Message received.” I tried to blindly push him away, but he kept a firm grip on my wrists, giving me a little shake.

“Roland, will you listen to me?” He was getting frustrated or maybe desperate; was there a difference? Either way, he had me trapped here between his hot body and the bench, and I was trying very desperately not to pay attention to the way I seemed to gravitate toward him, like a satellite, forever orbiting a planet but never meeting. No matter how much I fought him, my body had taken on a mind of its own and was falling into him, totally against my will.

I will not look at him. I cannot forgive him. I refuse to love him.

Emerson reached between us and gripped my jaw, turning my face toward him. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

“No, and you can’t make me,” I huffed in childish stubbornness, by far the most immature words I’d ever said.

He sighed. “You’re right. I can’t.” The moment his lips touched my forehead, I knew I would lose whatever battle I was fighting with my heart. He stroked my cheeks, my neck, my back, until I collapsed against him, my tears soaking into his rumpled suit. My sobs eventually evened out, my tears drying. He didn’t tell me everything was going to be fine, make promises he couldn’t keep, and he didn’t even shush me or tell me to stop crying. He just held me through all my tears, bracing against the force and waiting for the tidal wave to pass.

“I think I loved you from the first moment I saw you,” he whispered. “Years, Roland, and I’ve loved you every day.” He moved to sit beside me without breaking contact. I halfway crawled into his lap, and he let me, his fingers smoothing through my hair. “The hardest part in all this is that it doesn’t matter if I love you. And it doesn’t matter if you love me back.”

I pulled back, eyes puffy, and finally looked at him. He looked just as bad as I felt, his own eyes red-rimmed, his unblemished skin splotchy with rosy patches, and it looked like he’d forgotten to shave today. I’d never seen him this disheveled. “I don’t understand. Why doesn’t it matter? Whatever is going on, why can’t we work through it together?” I gripped his lapels, trying to keep him here, even as I could feel him pulling away.

He put his hands over mine and squeezed. “You deserve so much better than me. I’m doing you a favor.” Then he pried my fingers off his jacket and worked his way out from under me, setting me aside with the utmost tenderness.

“A favor?” I echoed as my feet dropped back to the floor, the word triggering something deep inside me. “Excuse me? A fucking favor?!” I surged up to my full height and stood toe to toe with him, tilting my chin up to stare him in the eye. “Well, thank you so much, Emerson. That’s so thoughtful of you, I really appreciate it,” I seethed, injecting as much sarcasm as I could into my words. “The way you kissed me, fucked me, told me you loved me, and now you’re marrying someone else. What a fucking prince.” He flinched but didn’t step back. “Now let me do a favor for you,” I snapped. “I quit.”

His eyes widened. “No, Roland, you can’t—”

“Oh, I can, and I did.” I spun on my heel and stalked over to my locker, grabbing my few possessions out of my locker and shoving it all into my bag.

Emerson went on and on behind me, begging me to stay, to reconsider, but I did everything I could to tune him out. Disbelief had me reeling. Did I really just quit? Pride made me strong, though. I would not take it back.

I forced myself to look him in the eye, to imprint this memory onto my soul. “Goodbye, Monsieur Holland,” I said with finality and a calmness that didn’t at all match how I felt on the inside. “I wish you and your wife the most happy of endings.”

“Roland, please,” he choked out, his façade cracking.

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