Roger’s mouth hangs open.

I close my eyes, remembering the woman who made me feel loved. The woman who helped raise me as if I were her own. The woman I miss daily.

Obviously still in shock, he releases my hand and takes a gulp of his cocktail before reaching for my drink. I have no doubt he’ll be quite intoxicated before we part.

“Did they ever catch the perpetrator?” Roger slides his hand into his pocket for a cigarette.

I reprimand him. “You can’t smoke here. And no, no one was ever arrested.”

A few minutes of silence hangs over us.

“Sweetheart, I’m … I’m so sorry. How about Caroline?”

“She passed away a year after her mother’s death.” I don’t have the strength to reveal Caroline’s drug overdose.

Roger studies my face and realizes I’ve divulged more than I had planned. He doesn’t ask more of me.

“It’s been years, and it’s still painful.” I place the palm of my right hand to my chest.

Roger reaches for my left hand, lightly squeezing it. “Thank you for sharing your past. Now I understand why you’ve been guarded all these years. And I’m not saying that in a bad way. You can always talk to me. You’ve always been there for me, and I want you to know how much I love you.”

“I love you too, and I don’t mean to be so guarded. Now you know everything about me.” I sigh. “After all these years, I’ll be seeing Julian and his father … I’m nervous. Julian was about thirteen when I last saw him. I just can’t believe that I’ll be with them tomorrow. I haven’t even told my Nana. I don’t know if she would approve.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Roger asks as he continues to appreciate the magnificent view before us.

“My grandparents were upset at how Julian didn’t keep in touch. Marcel and I have communicated over the years even though it was never the same. It was tough. It’s still tough talking about it. I haven’t even said the ‘Caine’ name in years.”

“Caine?”

I nod. “Yes, Caine.”

“As in, Marcel Caine? The hedge fund guy?”

“Yes, that’s Uncle Marcel.”

Roger pauses. “I’m … I’m surprised.”

“Why?”

“They’re one of the richest and most private families. I knew that you, yourself came from money, but the Caines … that’s just crazy money.”

“I just never thought of them that way. They were my family for a while.” I hesitate a moment before continuing. “I’ve missed them for so long. It feels like a new beginning, though.”

Roger offers a warm smile before raising his glass. “To new beginnings, Lina.”

I raise mine along with his and grin. And although what I revealed a few minutes ago was a painful part of my past, I feel cathartic. A sense of relief washes over me, and I’m able to enjoy this moment with him.

My best friend and I continue to admire the beautiful man and his adorable bulldog as they watch the sunset. From where I am seated, I can see his back muscles, and I swear, I don’t know who would jump at the chance to rub it first. Me or Roger? The bulldog and his gorgeous master finally leave after a good hour and we’re now bored because the view is no longer attractive although we’re staring directly at the Pacific Ocean. We spend the next few hours drinking and talking about his favorite subject−himself.

Roger Bartley and I first became friends while we were in college.

At the time, he was a senior at the Naval Academy who had been dating my roommate, Beth. With a blond buzz cut, dark blue eyes, and towering height of six-foot-five, he could easily have been mistaken as Chris Hemsworth’s doppelganger. Even with a crew cut, he had been nicknamed ‘Thor.’ Most of the girls in my dorm panted every time he came by to see Beth. Middies, as they were called, were hot commodities in the D.C. area. Okay, men in uniforms are hot. As the first few months of school went by, Roger and I spent more and more time together. During the weekends, we would sometimes take the metro to the city and head to the free museums. Sometimes, we’d grab a meal in Adams Morgan or Dupont Circle and just enjoy our time together. Beth wasn’t always happy that I was around, but Roger, without fail, always asked me to join them.

A few months later, Roger broke up with Beth, proudly came out of the closet after leaving the Naval Academy, and moved into my loft. Sadly, his family disowned him and he hasn’t seen or spoken to them in years.

I focus my attention on my best friend, enjoying his animated hand gestures while he discusses his upcoming date. He looks hopeful. We’ve been through so much together, and I am grateful to be here with him.

* * *

I toss and turn all night, finally falling asleep at around 3:45 a.m. Unlike his usual self, Andrew woke me up right before he left for UCLA. Kissing me gently on the lips, he says, “Lina, I’m leaving for work. Call me once you have landed. Have a nice time and” −he pauses for a brief second− “just have a good time. If you need me, I’m only a phone call away. I love you.”

It’s almost eleven thirty and I think I have everything. Toiletries, check. Makeup, check. Sexy party dress, check. To die for Louboutins, check. Sweats, check. Chuck the sweats. Sunglasses, check. Agent Provocateur under apparels, check. Not that anyone else will see, but a girl always wants to feel sexy. Extra clothes, check. I’m ready to go, and Julian should be arriving any minute.

Studying myself in the mirror, I am filled with excitement. I haven’t seen him in years and wonder if he looks the same. Heartbreak fills me as I think about the sad, lonely boy I held that night. I try to put that heart-rending thought away and decide to check my items again. It’s the past and who knows what has happened all these years.

After my quick shower, I decided to keep my hair parted in the middle and in a bun. Who wants to fuss with unruly hair? I look at the reflection staring back at me. My long oval face hasn’t changed much. My wide-set green eyes have saddened over time. The cheekbones are still high, but not as full as they were when I was a teenager. I was certainly heavier back then. I forgo wearing makeup; instead, I apply tinted moisturizer and dab light lip gloss to my lips. Anyway, it’s just Julian. I never needed to fix myself up for him.

My doorbell rings and I grab my Prada messenger bag along with my small black luggage. Opening the door, I realize my iPad remains on top of the kitchen counter. I leave the door slightly ajar, grab the iPad, and as I head out, I bump into him.

HIM.

My balance falters as I stare up and freeze at the sight of the man holding the door.