Nick looked around the room, giving everything one final check. Yes, it was perfect, down to the last detail. He smiled to himself. Ronni was going to freak.

Ronni.

Veronica.

Veronica Ann Howell, soon to be Veronica Ann Carter. Mrs. Nick Carter.

Nick bit his lip as a nervous thrill ran through his stomach. He looked over at the table by the window. It was set for two. Three white roses stood in a crystal vase in the centre. Ronni ‘s favorite flower. Nick didn't get how white could be your favorite color for a flower, but that was Ronni. His Ronni.

He'd met her at the launch party for AJ's solo CD, Juggling Act. Talk about a crazy party! That was one for the record books. Jugglers, for God's sakes...and circus clowns and waiters on unicycles dressed like acrobats. Ronni was a waitress. She was dressed like a tightrope walker or bareback rider or something - wearing only sparkly tights and a skimpy, sequined outfit that didn't leave much to the imagination.

Nick noticed her as soon as he walked in the door. She stood out from the crowd. She was beautiful and she glowed. And man, could she work a room!! He figured she must be a singer or songwriter - something like that - someone trying to break into the business. She wasn't serving much in the way of food, but she was serving up lots of sexy moves, chatting up all the movers and shakers. Nick figured she'd go home with one of them at the end of the evening. He had no idea that it would be him.

He walked around the party talking to people, answering the same dumb questions he'd been answering for years. No, the group wasn't broken up. They were just doing their own thing for awhile.

Thank God AJ had finally got his act together, thought Nick. He was the last one. Nick had two CDs under his belt now; Brian had released his pop/gospel CD the previous fall and Howie's solo effort had followed soon after. Kevin had done his thing in Chicago all over the place and now he was filming a movie in Spain.

Nick thought about his own movie, The Hollow. It had been pretty bad, he guessed, but he'd had a lot of fun doing it. He'd sure learned a lot about making movies. He'd make some better choices next time, for sure.

The fellas all kept saying they were going to make one more album as a group, but it was getting harder and harder to find a time when all five of them were free. The last time all five of them had been free was right after the Black and Blue tour when they could barely stand the sight of each other. Familiarity had certainly bred contempt near the end of that tour, and it was good that they took some time away from each other. Now they had the inclination to be together and they didn't have the time.

"Shrimp?" The sequined waitress appeared in front of him with a tray of appetizers.

"Speak for yourself, little girl," laughed Nick, flashing his toothy grin. Wow! Up close, this girl was even more beautiful. Blonde and blue-eyed. Perfect bone structure. She smiled back at his little joke.

He picked up one of the shrimp. "Are you a model?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, why?"

"'Cause you sure are beautiful enough to be one," he said sincerely.

"Why thank you, kind sir," she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him. "Actually, I'm trying to be an actress."

"Ah," he said, with a knowing nod. "Having any luck?"

"Not much so far," she said. "But, what the heck, I'm having fun at it."

"And waitressing helps you meet people and pay the bills?" suggested Nick.

"I don't worry about the bills," said the girl. "That's what I have parents for."

"Lucky you," said Nick. He selected a stuffed mushroom from her tray. Someone put a hand in between them to reach for a shrimp and she turned away.

He didn't see her again until he was getting ready to leave. Outside the club, he handed his parking tag to the valet and waited for the car to be brought around. He heard a voice off to his left and looked around. A few feet away, he saw the waitress, talking into her cell phone, with one finger stuck in her other ear to block out the street noise. She didn't seem happy.

"But you said you would pick me up if..." She paused to listen. "Yeah, well, it didn't..." she said after a moment. "And I don't want to take a cab all the way out there." More silence.

The valet pulled Nick's car up to the curb. Nick tipped him and walked around the car. He looked over the top of it at the girl. She looked at him and shrugged, rolling her eyes at whatever the person on the other end of the line was saying.

"Need a lift?" said Nick.

"Really?" she asked. "It's pretty far."

"Sure," shrugged Nick. "Come on." It wasn't all that late and he wasn't tired and she was beautiful.

She said a few words into the phone and snapped it shut. She picked up her gym bag from the sidewalk. The parking attendant opened the door and she climbed in, placing the bag at her feet.

"Where to?" asked Nick, pulling the car out into traffic.

She gave him an address in the suburbs.

"Wow! That is far out," said Nick. "How do you get back and forth to work?"

"Usually, I drive my car, but my roommate needed it tonight. She was supposed to come and get me, but I think she got luc...busy."

She got lucky, thought Nick, and you didn't. Or, he reconsidered, maybe you did. Maybe we both did.

"Well, if she's...busy...maybe it wouldn't be convenient for you to go there right now."

"Good point. I'm Ronni, by the way, Ronni Howell."

"Nick. Nick Carter."

She laughed. "Ah, yeah...like, I know."

"Do you want to get a drink or something...maybe something to eat?" asked Nick.

"Yeah, that's a good idea." Suddenly, she sat up straight. "You know what I feel like...breakfast." She said the word like she hadn't eaten in a week. "I want pancakes and eggs. Is that weird or what?"

"Actually, it sounds pretty good," said Nick. "And I know just where to get it."

He drove to an all-night diner down by the marina. They ate and talked and got to know each other. Finally, Ronni pushed her plate away. "That was great," she said. "It really hit the spot. But it hasn't made that drive any shorter, has it?"

"Maybe it has," said Nick. "I've got lots of room at my place. Do you know me well enough to trust me...that I wouldn't...you know...come on to you...? You could just have one of the guest rooms and then I could drive you home in the morning."

"Are you sure?" said Ronni, "Because I...you know...sort of...first date and all..." She shrugged.

Nick assured her that it would be fine and then waved away her protestations that it would be too much of an inconvenience for him. He took her home and settled her in one of the guest rooms. Then he lay in his bed and thought about her. She lay in her bed waiting for the knock on her door. It never came.

In the morning, she got up early and had a shower in the ensuite bath. She pulled clean clothes out of her bag and got dressed. She always took a change of clothes with her, because you just never knew...

She found Nick in the kitchen. He wasn't usually an early riser, but last night he had set the alarm before going to bed. There was a pitcher of orange juice on the table and coffee was dripping and gurgling in the coffee maker.

"Good morning," she said from the doorway. Sometimes the morning after was awkward, but not today...since there hadn't really been a night before.

"Good morning," he said. "Did you sleep okay?"

She nodded and poured herself a glass of juice. They had coffee and made small talk. Then he drove her home. She gave him her phone number and he said he was going out of town but he'd give her a call when he got back. On the way back to his house, he thought about her. Yeah, he thought maybe he would give her a call.

At her place, Ronni thought about it too. She knew he would.

Nick walked over to the table. He looked at the fine china and the fragile crystal sitting on the snowy white tablecloth. He picked up the tiny velvet box that sat beside one of the plates. He opened it and looked at the sparkling diamond ring. He snapped the box shut and put it in his pocket. It was the one thing he couldn't decide on - should he have the ring sitting on the table for her to find when she sat down or should he present it to her later?

He wanted it to be a big moment and he didn't want her to discover it while he was standing there holding her suitcase or when the waiter was there bringing the food...but on the other hand, he wasn't much for making speeches...and he didn't want to sound awkward and dumb. He could just hear himself. "Uh...Ronni...like, ya know...like, do you wanta...like...get married or sumthin?"

He had changed his mind about it half a dozen times. Because he wanted to do it right. Everything else was perfect. He knew that for sure. He'd put a lot of time and effort into this.

The idea first came to him when they were out on his boat. Ronni was telling him about vacations from her childhood, how they had spent two weeks at Brookhaven Lodge for a couple of summer. It was a big resort on the shores of Lake Michigan. She described the place vividly, telling great stories of summer fun.

"I want to go back there some day and stay in Rose Cottage," she said wistfully.

The lodge, it turned out, had most of the rooms in a big, central building, but scattered throughout the extensive grounds were eight cottages...small houses really.

"We were pretty well off," said Ronni, "but there was no way we could afford one of the cottages. I asked both years, ‘Can we stay in Rose Cottage this year? It's the smallest.' But we never did."

Nick decided that he would propose to Ronni in Rose Cottage at Brookhaven Lodge on the shores of Lake Michigan. He got his P.A., Mary Kemp, working on it. He chose the beginning of June. He had a week off before he was meeting the guys for another stab at getting an album together. The weather should be good then, nice and warm, but not too hot. It would be too cold to swim in the lake but there were three heated outdoor pools and one indoors.

Nick arranged to have Rose Cottage for the whole week. He figured that, after he proposed, they could spend a few days planning the wedding, getting all their thoughts together about what they wanted before Jane Carter and Miranda Howell got their fingers on it.

He also wanted to have a week of privacy before the news was made public...because he knew how it would be received by his fans. Nick wasn't being cocky about it, but realistic. He had spent over a decade watching girls scream, cry and even faint in his presence. News of any publicized girlfriends had been met with hysteria and horror and sometimes even hatred. To say that a significant portion of teenage America would go into mourning was not an understatement. Nick wanted to get engaged and then get married quickly, so that the furor could be over and done with.

He looked at his watch. 4:00. She should be arriving in Chicago right about now. O'Hare was the closest airport to the Lodge. A limo was waiting to drive her in comfort for the three hours it would take to complete the journey. Nick had had the car stocked with flowers and Ronni's favorite snacks and soft drinks. Wine and champagne would be saved for later. Supper was going to be delivered to the cottage at 8:00. In just under five hours, Nick was going to be an engaged man.

At 4:30 his cell phone rang. Probably Ronni calling from the limo. Probably trying to get more clues. He had kept the whole thing a secret. He told her they were going on vacation for a week, but he wouldn't tell her where. He told her what time to be ready. A limo would pick her up. Subterfuge wasn't his best thing. He didn't like lying and playing games, but he figured this time that the end justified the means.

Ronni, on the other hand, loved playing games. She did it all the time to him. She didn't care for it so much when he did it to her. She tried to wheedle the information out of him.

"What kind of clothes should I pack?"

"Think early summer in New England," he said. Then, after a pause, "Or Seattle."

"Will I need any foreign currency?"

"No, I'll pay for everything."

"Why can't we travel together?"

"I've got some business in New York and you've got that audition here. It's just easier if we meet in the middle."

Nick really did have meetings in New York and it really was easier if they just met at the Lodge, but his true reason was that he wanted to get there before her and make sure everything was perfect in Rose Cottage.

Rose Cottage was not at all what he expected. First of all, there were no roses. It was a white building, a small house, set in a grove of trees. There were flower beds on either side of the front door and also bordering the white stone pathway that led to the house. There were petunias and pansies and marigolds. There were small shrubs and even some ivy climbing the side of the house. But not a rose in sight.

Until he opened the door. Then his brain was assaulted by them. The furniture, the drapes, even the carpets were patterned with dark green leaves and deep pink roses. The furniture in the living room was English country cottage style, two overstuffed armchairs and a love seat.

In the corner by the window was a pine table and chairs. The chairs were ladder-back colonial style with padded seat cushions that matched the curtains and the upholstery. A matching pine sideboard stood on the opposite wall. Even the paintings on the walls were landscapes of country gardens.

There were two bedrooms where the rose motif continued unabated. The larger bedroom was done in darker furniture and yellow roses for the curtains, wallpaper and linens. The smaller bedroom was in pale pink with more pine furniture.

Nick wondered if Ronni had ever been the inside the house as a child or if she had just gazed longingly at the outside and imagined what was behind the white stucco walls. She seemed more of a leather, metal and glass person these days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He picked up his phone.

"Hello, Baby," he said in a very sexy voice.

"Um...Mr. Carter, this is Domenic. I was given your number. I work for Towne Car Service. I'm to pick up a fare at O'Hare Airport."

"Yes, that's right," said Nick. "Veronica Howell."

"Flight 389 out of LAX?" queried Domenic.

"Right," said Nick. "Arriving at 4:00. What's the matter? Was the flight delayed?"

"No, the flight arrived on time, but...um...the young lady...Ms. Howell...she wasn't on it."

"What? What happened?"

Nick was saying this more to himself than to the limo driver, but Domenic felt compelled to answer anyway.

"I don't know, Sir. I waited until all the passengers were gone. I was holding up my sign and I'd been told to look for a..."

"...gorgeous blonde," filled in Nick.

"Yeah," said Domenic. He'd watched until the last passenger had gone through. Then he'd gone to a counter and had her paged. After that, he'd gone to an airline rep and tried to find out if he'd somehow missed her. The airline didn't want to share information with a lowly chauffeur, but Domenic persisted until the airline rep took pity on him. Seat 9B had been vacant. Ms. Howell had not made the flight.

"Maybe she took a later flight," suggested Nick.

"I thought that too," said Domenic, glad that Nick agreed with his line of thought. I had her paged after the next four flights landed. Nothing, sir. I'm just...um...wondering, what you want me to do now."

Nick's mind was in a whirl. Where was she?

"Sir?"

"Um...give me ten minutes and then call me back," said Nick. He disconnected and phoned Ronni's cell. If she was in the air, her phone would be turned off, but otherwise... There was no answer. He paced the floor and tried not to worry. His phone rang and he snatched it up.

"Hello!"

"Mr. Carter?" It was Domenic again.

"Hi, Domenic. Anything?"

"Another flight arrived. She isn't on it. That's the last flight from L.A. for three hours."

Nick sighed. "I tried her cell but it must be turned off. She always answers. If she's on that flight..."

Domenic didn't care where she was. He got paid by the hour. And quite frankly, cooling his heels at O'Hare was a much better gig than driving through rush hour in Chicago. Same hourly rate, less traffic.

"Twenty minutes more," said Nick. "And give me your number there."

Nick pulled a pen and a small pad of paper out of a drawer in the sideboard. Dominic recited his number. "Okay," said Nick, "I'm going to make some calls. Call back in twenty if you don't hear from me first."

"Yes, Sir," said Domenic, feeling very glad that he was not Mr. Carter.

Nick paced the floor and punched buttons on the phone. No answer. Try again. No answer. No answer at his house or on her cell. He didn't know what to do. He felt stranded, out of his element, all alone in chintz-covered Rose Cottage in the back of the freakin' Brookhaven Beyond on the stupid shores of stupid Lake Michigan.

Where was she? Why hadn't she made the flight? Was she okay? Why hadn't she called?

All the arrangements were in place, he knew that. He'd talked to Mary after he arrived this afternoon. Everything was taken care of on her end. He thought about calling her, asking her to contact the limo service in L.A., see if they could shed some light. But he didn't want to cause a big fuss over nothing. He also knew that Mary didn't like Ronni all that much. She had never said anything to him, but Nick could feel the atmosphere change when the two women were in the room together. In the four months, Nick and Ronni had been dating, Mary had grown more and more distant. Instead of the laughing, joking atmosphere of previous times, now it was all business. All Nick's business.

Nick knew that the problem lay with Ronni's attitude toward Mary. She treated her like a servant, which she kind of was, Nick guessed. But she was Nick's servant, not Ronni's.

It started with little things...Ronni asking her to make an appointment with the hairdresser...that was the first time that Nick remembered. Mary had asked in a frosty tone if Ronni knew the phone number. Ronni said, sure, and reeled it off. Mary smiled sweetly and slid her cell phone across the table to her. Then she turned back to Nick. "Now back to business," she had said crisply, turning her back on Ronni and freezing her out of the conversation.

Boy, had Nick heard about that later! He sat on the sofa and watched Ronni pace up and down, waving her hands and ranting.

"Who does she think she is? That was just plain rude, what she did."

Nick nodded in appropriate places, but he didn't say anything. Mary was invaluable to him and there was no way he was getting rid of her. But his relationship with Ronni was progressing to the point where decisions about living arrangements were about to be made.

"It was just a simple phone call, after all," raved Ronni.

If it was so simple, why couldn't you do it yourself? wondered Nick.

"Mary works for me," said Nick after Ronni finally wound down. "It wouldn't really have been her place to do something for you..." He didn't like the look on Ronni's face. "...like...um...you know ...before she did my stuff."

Eventually, Ronni was mollified. But she didn't give up. A few weeks later, she was virtually living at Nick's house. She sat in on every meeting. She had Nick tell Mary the things she wanted done and smiled in satisfaction at the look on the older woman's face as she made notes. The smile disappeared when Mary would arrive the next day with all the completed items crossed off the list. The incomplete ones...sorry, didn't have time for that, I'll try and get to it today...those items were always Ronni's. When she complained to Nick, he just sighed and said patiently, "Well, why don't you do it yourself? You have lots of time."

Ronni did have lots of time. Her acting career wasn't going anywhere. She had given up waitressing at Nick's request. He wanted to spend time with her at night. During the day, she went on auditions or read scripts, while he was taking care of business. Real business. Money business. He was taking control of his own finances.

The entertainment world had been shocked a number of times over the years by supposedly well-off stars ending up bankrupt because of mismanagement of funds, either by stupidity on the part of their financial advisors or by outright theft. After the most recent one, Nick began to realize that he didn't have any idea how much he was worth, where it was invested, how much tax he paid, etc. He talked it over with Howie who informed Nick that he knew all the answers to those questions about his own finances and he was surprised that Nick did not.

Nick set up an appointment with his accountant, Robert Evans, and took Howie along. Howie asked questions and Nick sat there feeling stupid. Not only did he not know the answers, he didn't even understand half the questions.

But the accountant did and answered them openly and honestly. He showed Howie the books, at Nick's request.

"Is there some kind of problem?" asked Robert, after awhile. He didn't feel like he was being raked over the coals or anything, but... Nick had never shown any interest in these matters before. In fact, any attempt by Robert to go into detail had been met with a wave of the hand and a ‘yeah, yeah, whatever'. Nope, no problem, shrugged Nick. I just gotta learn some stuff.

After the meeting, Howie assured Nick that everything was in order, but suggested that Nick might like to take a little more interest in his own life.

"I guess it's the grown up thing to do. I'm not so good at that," laughed Nick. But he did it. He wasn't making an album or a movie at the moment and he wasn't on tour, so what the hell...he had time on his hands, might as well learn something. What he learned was that he enjoyed it...discussing figures and investments, tax write-offs and portfolios.

It opened his eyes to a few things. First, it made him hate Jive Records even more for the way they continually tried to weasel out of paying Nick and the others what they deserved by inflating "costs" and subtracting them from the "profits" owed to the boys. He also learned that some of his practices were downright foolhardy and he started to change his ways. He didn't become a miser or anything, he just put a little more thought into his lifestyle and reorganized his priorities.

And one of his biggest priorities became his relationship with Ronni.

Nick's relationship with Ronni could best be described as a spiral, he thought. It kept going up but not in a straight line. After their first evening together, there had been a break of a week, when Nick had been out of town. For the rest of the month, he'd been in and out of town, so they saw each other sporadically. Sporadically but constantly, because whenever he was in town, he was with her.

And when he was out of town, he found himself thinking about her. And soon he was calling her, opting for an hour on the phone over a night on the town. They had long chats about nothing and everything. And he couldn't wait to get home because he wanted to be with her...in all senses of the word. The sex that hadn't happened on the first date, did on the second and on all subsequent ones.

Ronni would drive into L.A. and meet Nick at his place. They'd do ‘whatever' in the evening and then spend the night rolling around in his big bed. The next day, she'd go back to her place or off to an audition. Gradually more and more of her things got left at Nick's. And there was less and less reason for her to go home. Gentle hints from Nick about her moving in officially were rebuffed with words like ‘independence' and ‘roommate'. She couldn't leave her roommate in the lurch. Nick acquiesced and fell deeper and deeper in love. Announcements of impending matrimony by three friends in separate areas of his life led Nick to the decision that he was going to skip the whole 'living together' part. He was going to marry her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If he could find her, he thought.

Suddenly, he stopped pacing and started to laugh. He'd figured it out. He knew where she was. She was sitting in the back of that limo, sipping cream soda and laughing it up with Domenic about the joke she was playing on Nick.

His shoulders sagged with relief. Yep, that was Ronni. She'd turned the tables on him, really had him going there for a minute. Now, how should he play it? Act all hurt and worried? Or laugh it up...yuk, yuk, you got me? He shook his head. Ronni and her games!

The phone rang. He looked at his watch. Eight minutes had passed.

"Hello."

"Hello...Nick." It was her.

"Ronni," he said, relief flooding over him, because the worst-case scenario could now be discounted.

"Um...Nick...I...I didn't make the flight."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Domenic told me already." He didn't have the patience for a game at this point.

"Who's Domenic?"

"Your driver," answered Nick. "The guy behind the wheel."

"I'm not in the car, Nick," she said softly. "I told you...I didn't make the flight."

"What? Why not? What happened? Are you okay?"

She laughed. "Oh, Nick. I'm more than okay. I'm wonderful. I'm...I'm married."

Nick knew he couldn't have heard that right. But his heart decided to stop beating anyway.
"What?" The lone syllable choked its way out.

"I'm married. To James. James Fenton."

"Blast-from-the-past James?" said Nick, wondering why he couldn't feel his body anymore. He poked a finger into his thigh. Nope, nothing, couldn't feel a thing.

"Yes," sighed Ronni, "Blast-from-the-past James. We're in Las Vegas. We got married today. I'm Mrs. James Fenton." She said it proudly.

Mrs. James Fenton.

Not Mrs. Nick Carter.

"But Ronni, how...when...?" Please, God, let this be one of her jokes. Please, God!

Blast-from-the-past James was a former fiancé. Nick gathered that Ronni had more than one of those in her past. That was why Nick had been planning on rushing the wedding through, He hadn't wanted to risk becoming a ‘former fiancé'. But now it seemed he wasn't even going to get that dubious status.

"...this week..."

Nick tuned into the words. The words that were slicing through his heart. James had come to L.A. on business and had looked up his former love. They'd spent a lot of time together and rekindled the flame.

Nick snorted. Rekindled the flame. Who talked like that? It sounded like a book. Hope flickered anew...that it was a book, or at least a story.

"James said he wouldn't tolerate another engagement and that we had to get married immediately. So when the car came this morning, we had the driver take us to Las Vegas instead of the airport. Oh, Nick, please be happy for me."

No, thought Nick. I'm not happy for you.

"Ronni? Is this real? Not a game?"

"Yes, Nick, it's real. I love James and I'm going home with him, giving up on all that L.A. crap."

Nick guessed that ‘all that L.A. crap' included him. "Have a nice life, Ronni," he said and disconnected.

He sat without moving, without thinking, almost without breathing. His mind was a total blank. He tried to force a thought into it, but he couldn't. So he just sat.

The ringing of the phone startled him. It was still in his hand. He looked at it through two rings before he could remember how to answer it.

"Hello." His voice was dull, lifeless.

"Mr. Carter?" Domenic could tell by the sound of his voice that there wasn't going to be a trip to Michigan tonight.

"Oh, Domenic, yeah...um...okay...she's not coming...yet. She got hung up in L.A." Nick didn't know why he was bothering to lie.

"Okay, so I should just...pack it in here?"

"Yeah, and thanks man, you went above and beyond the call."

"No problem, Sir."

"Hey, Domenic. You got a wife?"

"I have a fiancée."

"Well, take all the roses and food and shit out of the back and enjoy the evening off with her."

"Thank you, Mr. Carter. That's very generous of you." Domenic had already planned on doing that anyway.

"Yeah...well...enjoy...bye."

Nick disconnected and threw the phone across the room. It bounced off the back of the loveseat and landed in the middle of the table, knocking over a crystal wineglass. Nick walked over to see if it was broken. It wasn't. He wanted it to be. He wanted to smash every glass and dish on the damn pine table. He wanted to pick up the colonial ladder-back chairs and hurl them through the glass patio doors. He wanted to pull the rustic landscapes from the walls and put his foot through them. He wanted to burn Rose Cottage to the ground.

Instead, he picked up the bottle of Merlot from the table and poured himself a glass. He went back to the living room and dropped into an armchair.

What the hell had just happened? He tried to take stock of his life, to make sense of it.

He and Ronni had known each other for six months. As far as he knew, she hadn't been seeing anyone else. Certainly not after she moved in with him. And he certainly hadn't been seeing anyone. Nick hated dating. Oh, he loved women, loved spending time with them, loved having sex with them...he just hated the process of getting to know someone well enough to enjoy their company. He hated the bullshit...trying to see if the person was real or just wanted something from him, trying to stave off disappointment before it occurred.

The thought of having to go through that process again made him pour another glass of wine. He drank it down quickly and put his head in his hands. Tears fell and great wracking sobs shuddered through his body. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't be happening.

Why? Why? He leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling. Why did he take the trip to New York? Why didn't he stay in L.A.? Why hadn't he gone back to get her before coming here? Why had he even come here? Why hadn't he just asked her at home?

Maybe then, she wouldn't have taken the limo to Vegas. He sat up. She took the limo to Vegas. No, they took the limo. Her words came back to him. "...when the car came this morning, we had the driver take us to Las Vegas..." Which meant that James was already at the house...Nick's house...in the morning...had probably been there all night...in Nick's bed...making love to Nick's woman.

Nick drained the glass and raised it, preparing to hurl it against the mantel. A knock on the door stopped him.

Nick walked to the door, staggering a little. Was it her? Omigod, had it all been a joke? A horrible, cruel joke!?

He flung open the door. "Ronn..."

"We have your dinner, Sir." A waiter in a white dinner jacket stood on the doorstep with a tray in his hands. Behind him were two others.

Nick stepped aside, saying nothing. He looked at his watch. Eight o'clock. Right on schedule. He didn't know where the time had gone. He watched the waiters bustle about, putting silver-domed dishes on the sideboard on hot mats, lighting the candles on the table, pouring ice water into the glasses, setting a bottle of champagne in an ice-bucket, placing silver bowls of shrimp and crushed ice at each place setting.

The head waiter lifted the lids and pointed out the various dishes to Nick. Nick just looked at him, not saying a word, not taking any of it in.

"There you go, Sir, and if there's anything else you need, just dial 5-0 on your phone."

By force of habit, Nick reached into his pocket. He slipped a bill into the man's hand and mumbled a ‘thank you'. The waiters departed and Nick was alone again. He put his hand back in his pocket and his fingers curled around the little velvet box. He rubbed it with his thumb.

Why, Ronni, why?

He guessed only she knew the answer to that. Well, dammit, he was just going to ask her! He dialed her number. While it was ringing, he walked over to the sideboard and lifted the lids on the dishes. All her favorites. Shrimp cocktail. Linguini with clam sauce. It hadn't been easy either. Brookhaven Lodge was used to serving the same dinner to many people...tonight roast beef, tomorrow pork loin roast, next day chicken. Large portions and always in the meat-and-potatoes format. Linguini with clam sauce was a little out of their range. But Mary had persevered on Nick's behalf and it had all been arranged finally. It was a beautiful, perfect meal and the sight of it made him want to throw up.

"Hello?" Ronni's voice jolted through him. "Hello?" she said again.

He could barely hear her through the background noise. There were bells clanging and electronic whoop-whoop sounds, all overlaid with the din of voices. She was in a casino. Nick disconnected without a word. It was real. It was true. She wasn't coming.