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.