I salute the doorman as he holds the door open for me. I spent the morning working out and then I got it in my head to do something nice for Natalie. I went over to the Time Warner Center, which is really close to the New York Athletic Club where I train, and bought some nice sexy lingerie for Natalie from La Perla.

Who am I kidding, right?

She's going to put this shit on, and I give it all of maybe 30 seconds for it to stay on.

Sure, if I let her, Natalie can gyrate around for me a little bit. Look all sexy as fuck as she could maybe back that nice ass of hers against me, into my cock.

Fuck, just thinking about her in this thong is getting me hard as I get into the elevator.

I wonder if she's coming straight to my place or if we're meeting for dinner?

One thing is for fucking sure, love, and I know it in my fucking bones. I think I'm in love with this girl.

But yeah, I haven't told her anything yet.

A large part of that is that I've never been in this situation where I've fallen for a girl and she's been pretty aloof from me.

I mean, think about it, love. Ever since the first day when I fucking fell from the sky, she hasn't put up with any of my bullshit.

Remember the fucking tongue lashing she gave me at the United Nations?

Remember the honest assessment she gave of my public image?

Sure, she's loving and caring. But she's also smart as all fuck and she doesn't suffer fools.

For the first time in my life, someone expects more from me than just to show the fuck up and get my award.

In fact, you may not think it, but my swearing has come down a lot too, love.

I'm serious. I don't swear as much. Unless I'm with her and we're about to have sex that is.

Then, all bets are off.

Speaking of which, thinking about how I love her is fun and all, but the elevator doors are opening up to my floor and I'd much rather imagine what she's going to look like in this La Perla that I bought for her.

I think the best course of action is to go open some wine for her, pour some scotch for myself, call her, tell her to come over, give her this underwear, tell her to wear it, then rip it off of her, and proceed to fuck her brains out.

Maybe she won't be so smart after my cock is done with her, but her intelligence hasn't been affected so far, so I think I'm fucking good, love.

I'm actually quite pleased with my plan as I walk into my apartment.

But when I look around my apartment, I freeze.

That's odd, there's shit all over the place.

I mean, I know it's not like I've been ransacked. It's just I see a travel bag of Natalie's that's on the dining table.

I see her iHome that she brought over to charge her phone and play music unplugged.

What the fuck is going on?

"Hello?" I ask as I walk through the apartment.

Probably for the first time ever, I kick myself for having such a big place to live in New York City.

You're going to think I'm a fucking asshole for telling you I literally hate myself for having six bedrooms right about now.

I find her though in the Master Bedroom.

She's carrying a handful of her clothes from the walk-in closet that I cleared out for her and dumping them on my bed.

"What the fuck is going on?" I ask. She seems so intent on getting her clothes out that she gives a start when I speak.

"What are you doing, babe?" I ask her again.

She's silent. She's not even looking me in the eyes.

"Natalie?" I ask.

This shit is starting to seem kind of fucking mental. I take a couple tentative steps toward her and raise a hand to caress her cheek.

It's like I pushed a trigger or something.

"Don't you fucking touch me, you asshole!" she shrieks, taking a step back.

Almost as if forgetting me and going back to what she was doing, she walks into the closet and emerges in a few seconds with more blouses and dresses. She brings these to the bed and hastily stuffs them into a duffel bag.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I ask. "Besides creasing your fucking dresses. That dry cleaning bill isn't going to be cheap."

She looks at me with eyes smoldering with fire.

"Don't worry, I'd rather pay any dry cleaning bill than take up any more of your precious time or lead you astray, Your Highness," she says with a cold edge to her voice.

Something is definitely not right here.

"What are you so upset about?" I ask her, looking around. "And why the fuck does it look like you're moving your shit out?"

Natalie looks at me like she's about to laugh through some tears.

"Are you fucking serious?" she asks me. "After everything we went through and everything we did you're wondering why today I'm moving my shit out? And yes, I'm getting everything out of here. I won't be troubling you anymore."

But that can't be why, can it?

Was it her birthday?

Was it our anniversary?

"Listen, babe," I say, trying to figure what the most expedient thing will be to say. "I'm sorry."

She pauses.

Bingo.

Maybe I got something.

"I really am sorry, Natalie."

But whatever it was, it wasn't good enough for her.

She zips up her duffel bag with the last of her clothes and turns to me.

"I'm really sorry too, Connor," she says.

I watch her, still puzzled and a bit concerned as she grabs her iHome and the other bag, and walks out the door.

Jesus.

Maybe I should've told her I love her a lot earlier instead of waiting.