From the aerial view on my computer I saw the small greenhouse full of lush plants. The elaborate black iron table and chairs for dining. The expanse of wooden deck and brick walls. It’s a beautiful space, meant to be enjoyed, meant to be lived in. The only person who comes up here is the caretaker. Not Bea, even though she’s the only occupant of L’Etoile allowed to use the space.

The elevator doors begin to close behind me. I put my hand out to stop them. Bea looks at me with wide, unblinking eyes. Like a rabbit, I think. Too afraid to run away.

“Come here,” I murmur.

A jerky shake of her head. “Can’t,” she says between gritted teeth.

“What will happen if you come?”

“I don’t know.” Her gaze darts behind me. The view is peaceful, but her expression is full of turmoil. Violence, even. The certainty is a blow to my stomach, making every muscle in my body clench. Because of what happened to her parents. Such a strange and random thing, to be killed by pirates.

And yet it wasn’t random at all. They were targeted because of their wealth.

Which means she could be a target, too. No wonder she does not step foot outside. It’s a wonder that she let me through the door that first night. My dismay only strengthens my decision to help.

“I imagine that if I tell you nothing will happen you don’t believe me.”

Her eyes plead with me, beautiful and haunted. “I do believe you, with my head. It’s my body that doesn’t seem to understand. It doesn’t even let me come outside. I’m stuck here.”

She means that she’s rooted to the spot in the elevator, but it’s more than that. She’s stuck in this old hotel. Stuck in a life she was never meant to lead. Her parents were tech moguls and famous concert pianists. Their gifts should have been a privilege for Bea. Instead it’s trapped her.

“What does your therapist say?” I don’t wish to damage her, despite my own certainty that she needs to leave this place, that it’s imperative for her. Life or death.

“I don’t see her anymore.”

“Why not?”

She mumbles at the marble floor of the elevator. “She wanted me to leave.” Then she meets my gaze, almost angry. “She didn’t understand. You don’t, either.”

“Explain it to me.”

“I mean I physically can’t move. My body won’t let me.”

I cock my head. “What if I move you?”

She shakes her head miserably. “I’ll just freak out. Screaming. Crying. I’ve tried that before.”

With who? I want to know who she trusted enough to take her outside, even if it failed. The same person who put her here in the first place? “If you scream, if you cry, I’ll bring you back inside.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Not easy.” No one looking at her, the strain around her eyes, the tension in her body, could think this would be easy. “But you’re strong enough to do it. With me, Bea.”

I set down the picnic basket so that my hands are free. Then I move so that I’m facing her, my foot still blocking the door from closing. She stands in front of me, inside the elevator that she must have taken hundreds of times. Thousands of times. She knows this elevator too well, while a single step outside feels like a wild jump across oceans.

Her lower lip trembles, and I lean my head close, waiting for her to jerk back. There’s every chance this won’t work, that we’ll end up having the picnic spread out on her bed.

She holds still as my lips press against hers, and I’m suspended in that moment. Stuck, that’s the word she used. I’m not stuck, though. I’m floating. Free.

Our breaths come together, her skin flushed and fragrant.

Her hands are in mine. I could pull her out—one inch, two. I could carry her over this threshold, but I wasn’t lying when I said she was strong enough. Strong enough to make the step herself.

A small swipe of my tongue over her bottom lip.

Then I move back, leaving only a moment between us. She sways toward me, wanting more. I surrender to her for a second, this time a kiss to the corner of her mouth. And then retreat again.

She comes closer, leaning toward me, her feet in the elevator.

“Bea,” I say, gaze dark on hers. In my eyes I let her see every ounce of desire I have for her, which is more than I really should. It makes me naked, this look, more than if I stripped down to nothing.

Her lips part the slightest amount—an acknowledgement. A plea.

The kiss that follows is clumsy as she steps forward onto the hard wood, almost falling into my arms, caught by me, making a little panicked, pleased sound in my mouth.

Ding. The elevator doors close behind her.

I realize that I can’t use her. Not tonight, anyway.

It means too much, that she would trust me this way. And so I hold her, safe and willing in my arms. Perhaps she feels the change in me, because she relaxes into my body.