Page 8 of One Night Only

They think I’ve been working part time at the very hospital I just left behind—not true.

They think I’m going steady with my boyfriend of three years.

My steps falter as I mull over this one—I don’t even know why I made it up. It’s not like they were going to set me up with someone. Growing up, all I heard was“financial independence before love and marriage.”

Then I remember. I needed an excuse for not going home for two Christmases, especially since my two older brothers and my sister were home. Which was that I was visiting “Rahul’s family.”

They think I use the monthly allowance they give me, but I haven’t touched a dollar in three years. Okay, so that one isn’t too bad. Although I do cling to their health insurance like it was my threadbare baby blanket.

Still, my own mind boggles at the complexity of the lies I’ve woven and maintained.

In a few weeks, I’ll move back to Seattle and slowly begin the work of unraveling it.

I’ll start with the fact that I got accepted into the School of Nursing at UW. With a full ride. It’s possible that Mama and Papa will be so happy that they will forget my lies.

Maybe we’ll all laugh about how it’s just a timeline problem.

Maybe they will apologize for all the numerous ways they’ve hurt me since I was a kid, and we’ll turn into a happy family.

The heel of my stiletto snags against something. I stumble, my head stuck in that impossible scenario of my parents admitting that they played a part in the mess I’ve made of my life.

“I’ve got you,” Dr. Cross says, in that deep voice.

The warmth and comfort in it seep into me, making me feel less alone in the moment. Nodding, I let myself pretend that a man like him will fit into the messy jumble of my life for more than one night.

Chapter Six

Annika

Stepping off the sky bridge,I’m hit by a wave of warm air.

The inside smells expensive. A subtle, almost-smug mix of citrus and sandalwood, with a whisper of fresh-cut flowers from the massive arrangements perched on glossy marble tables. The kind of smell that doesn’t just say money, but class.

Given the more-than-average pay I got to live with Martha, I know that Dr. Cross is loaded. But this is… something else.

My feet stall as I take in the view. The floor-to-ceiling windows show off the city lights, a shimmering kaleidoscope against the black, rain-soaked night. Their glow bounces off granite floors so polished they look like pools of still water.

I can’t escape my reflection in the polished gold of the elevator doors.

Damp and wrinkled, my dress clings to me like a second skin. My knee stings where I scraped it earlier, and my hair—God, my hair—is an unholy mess, stuck to my neck in limp, sweaty strands. I look like I got lost on the way to a frat party.

Instinctively, I glance at Dr. Cross. He’s had a day of it too, right?

Luckily, he was scheduled to fly in from New York today. With the time difference, it means he’s been traveling all day.

He looks completely at ease though, like he’s been walking through places like this his whole life. And maybe he has.

But it’s not just that. He looks like someone who knows what wine pairs with what dish and could actually pronounce “charcuterie” without sounding like an idiot.

Standing here now, I wonder if I made a mistake by agreeing to come with him. Because this isn’t just luxury. This is a universe that people like my brilliant family populate.

My older sister, Asha, would completely own this place. Whereas I feel like the plush chairs in deep emerald and sapphire scattered around the lobby are daring me to sit down in my skanky dress.

A grand staircase curves upward, its bronze railing catching the light like liquid gold, and somewhere above, smooth jazz hums along with the clink of glasses from the mezzanine bar.

A hollow pang blooms in my chest.

What could a man like Dr. Cross possibly see in me? I mean, yes, I cared for his mom, and I’m good at that stuff—showing up, helping people—but beyond that?

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