I feel myself get physically sick.

The champagne that was filling my head with bubbles only seconds ago, floods right down to my stomach, mixing with the bile that’s beginning to simmer with the remnants of breakfast.

The stranger continues with his barrage of questions. The camera from the other man is shoved right into my face.

“Why did you leave the Flanders Flock TV show?”

“What made you choose New York City?”

“Why the name Prynne Dawson?”

Rhys is the one to finally put a stop to it, grabbing the man by his shirt and slamming him against the wall.

“Who the hell are you?” he roars in a voice that could cause most grizzly bears to cower in fear.

“Hey, what the fuck!” the man protests. “Oh, hey! I’m on to your game too pal…or should I say Mr. XO. I hear your dad’s planning a run for Senate in a few years. You know, we’ve been following you two just to see what you get up to. How do you think the voters would feel knowing what you and the Flanders chick here get up to at the Sexton?”

That’s the one punch to the gut that causes the first eruption. I lean over and hurl, the purse on my shoulder and bags in my hand thankfully falling to the ground out of range of the toast, bacon, and champagne.

I think of all the things Rhys did to me in front of that window, all the things he made me do. The things I did just last night of my own volition. Until now, the idea of someone watching was an abstract concept. But as it turns out there were eyes on us, transforming everything that finally made my body come alive into something truly filthy and depraved. Even now, drowning in a sea of nausea, I can’t help the perverse thrill that runs through me at the thought of it.

“You gettin’ this Mike?” I hear the man’s voice practically laugh out.

The next sound I hear is the smack of flesh being pounded by a fist. Somewhere in there is also the crunch of cartilage being shattered.

“Oh! Oh man! Fuck! You broke my nose!” The voice is muffled and stuffy and full of pain. I’m in too much of a haze to get any satisfaction from it.

“Get the fuck outta here or there’s more where that came from,” Rhys responds, his voice more deadly than ever.

“We got what we need,” says the cameraman. “Let’s jam.”

The other man wriggles out of Rhys’s loosened grip and they take off.

My name.

He knew my name!

And Mr. XO.

And the Sexton!

Another wave of nausea hits me and I have to lean against the wall to keep from reeling so much I faint.

“Hey,” Rhys’s voice soothes, pulling me into the safety of his embrace. “Let’s get you out of here. I’m taking you to my place.”

I feel like a zombie as he collects all the bags and my purse and gently guides me to the curb, lifting his hand to hail a passing cab. I’m completely numb and silent during the ride.

Rhys is anything but.

“How the fuck did they find out? I swear to God, I’m going to kill whoever…”

It’s like that until we arrive at his place. I’m too lost in thought to acknowledge the fact that this is the first time I’ve seen his apartment. It’s a large, open loft with the sort of floor-to-ceiling windows I would expect him to have.

Rhys walks over to the bar and pours two glasses of something amber-colored.

“Here,” he says handing me one. “It’ll calm your nerves while we figure this out.”

I want to protest, but instead I take a sip. It’s warm and strong going down, snapping me right out of my stupor.

“I don’t understand. How could some random—” my eyes widen with a more important thought. “What do you think he meant about the Sexton?”

The look on Rhys’s face says it all.

“Oh God,” I mutter. It turns into a chant, interspersed with sips of whatever it is that’s in this glass. “Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.”

“Prynne,” his voice is strong and firm, forcing my silence and attention. “We’ll work this out.”

“Work it out?” I say, my voice rising. “Everything we did there—last night?” My hand comes to my forehead as I feel myself getting dizzy again imagining what it looked like from the vantage point outside the window. Rhys naked. Me on my knees before him. Him removing my dress. Us lying there naked on the bed feeling so carefree as we talk and eat dessert and drink champagne. All the while…

“We don’t know how bad it is yet. Before you start panicking let’s at least find out what they know.”

“I’m already panicking, Rhys! They know who I am! Worse, they know everything about you…and me…and the Sexton! My parents thought I was just stubborn or difficult. Now? Now, they’ll think…I don’t even know.” I look off to the side and notice the windows again. Floor to ceiling, just like the Sexton. “Oh God.”

“Prynne,” he tries the same tone of voice again, but it does nothing to settle me.

“I can’t, Rhys,” I say, downing a large swallow from the glass. It burns this time. “I just can’t do this anymore.”

“Prynne,” Now I hear the intensity in his voice. “I’ve been here before. We can handle this. Together.”

“Being together is how this started!” I yell, mostly out of frustration and panic. It’s not fair, but right now I need a target for my fears and concerns…my guilt. I set the glass down on the nearest surface. “I need to go.”

“Just wait one damn moment!” He shouts. “You’re not the only one having to deal with this, Prynne. I know what you’re going through. I can help you through this. First I need you to calm down and relax so we can think.”

“Relax? You have no idea, Rhys! Your parents are already used to you being a disgrace. Mine are just about to find out that their daughter is—” The words I just uttered hit me too late. I see it in Rhys’s face before it reaches my brain. “Rhys…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Maybe you should go, Prynne,” he says quietly. “Perhaps we both need time to think this out on our own. I’d hate to cause you further disgrace.”

I stare at him, all thoughts of my own mess lost under a cloud of regret. “Rhys…”

“Just go.”

I stare at him a moment longer, then nod, grab my purse, and walk out the door.

The video appears online that very night on some site called Social Stigma. That’s just ground zero. Pretty soon the scene of me, arm in arm with Rhys, swinging way too many Agent Provocateur bags, or worse, one of me vomiting like a drunk, have spread to the farthest reaches of the internet…. Along with even more scandalous photos taken from a certain vantage point that had a direct view of the Sexton Hotel. One window in particular.

It’s taken from a distance, obviously with a telephoto lens, so the pictures are a bit grainy, but not so distorted that you can’t easily pick out that wayward Flanders girl. Or Rhys’s naked ass as she kneels before him.

That horrible “journalist” was right, someone did follow us. It probably didn’t take them long to figure out which window to focus on. We would have probably been the most eye-catching. Fortunately, last night seems to be the only instance captured. If there are photos from our other adventures at the hotel, they have yet to be published.

I’m in my bedroom torturing myself in silence. Thank God, everyone, especially Caryn, was out when I came home. Frankly, I don’t think I could even face Shiloh. Mostly, it’s because there’s that small tickle in the back of my head telling me that, other than Rhys, she’s the only person I’ve recently told about who I really am. Was she the one to sell me out?

As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door. I’m guessing it’s Shiloh, home from wherever, since Caryn never visits me in my room. Even if she did, she wouldn’t have the tact to knock first. I stare at it, debating whether or not to respond.

“Prynne?” Shiloh’s voice says on the other side.

I sigh. “Come in.”

I don’t even need to ask if she’s seen everything. The sympathetic smile on her face says it all. She walks in and closes the door behind her before settling on the edge of the bed.

“Tell me it wasn’t you,” I say.

She just stares at me with a blank expression for a few beats before speaking. “Okay, I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. I’ll just attribute it to you being very, very upset.”

I exhale a sigh and fall back against the headboard, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, Shiloh. It’s just…you and Rhys are the only ones I told.”

“And you didn’t suspect him?”

“What?” I reply, bringing my head back down to look at her. “No, of course not.”

“Oh, him you trust, but not your best friend?” she asks, getting inflamed.

“Well, he was exposed too,” I say hesitantly, now wondering. I immediately shake my head, pushing those thoughts away. “No, it couldn’t be him.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, unconvinced.

“It’s just—”

I’m interrupted by the sound of Caryn and, of course, Eric entering her room next door to a chorus of drunken laughter. They probably already saw the photos and can’t wait to rub it in.

“Ugh, you just know she’s going to make my life a living—” I sit straight up in surprise before finishing.

“What is it?” Shiloh asks, a wrinkle of fret touching her brow.

I’m silent for a moment. Long enough to hear Caryn and Eric start going at it like rutting animals.

“How could I have been so stupid!” I groan, pressing the sides of my head with the palms of my hands.

“What is it?” Shiloh asks again.

“I was so nervous about telling him that night and so anxious about it that I didn’t even think!”

“Are you gonna clue me in here?”

“I should have known,” I say, still talking to myself. “Heaven knows I hear them almost every other night. And they even figured out who Rhys was. It makes so much damn sense!”

Shiloh stares at me for a moment as she begins to put it all together. Her eyes slide to the wall behind me and one eyebrow raises in silent anger. “That bitch.”

“Exactly,” I say, feeling my anger begin to boil over. It’s seasoned with a heavy dose of guilt. “This means it’s all my fault. I’m the one responsible for my own damn mess. And Rhys’s.”

“Hey,” Shiloh snaps, leaning in to give me a hard look. “You are not responsible for this. Any decent person would have left it alone. Those two bastards are the ones that did this.” She pulls back and exhales. “Now, we just have to think of what to do about it.”

“I know exactly what I’m going to do,” I say, already sliding off the bed.

“Prynne?” Shiloh blinks in surprise as I storm past her. She’s quick on my heels as I throw open my door and walk the short distance down the hallway to the next one.

I don’t even bother knocking, simply throwing open the door.

“Hey!”

“What the fuck?”

“You bitch,” I seethe. I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve ever cursed in my life, but I can’t think of a more appropriate time to start than now.

The two of them are still scrambling to disentangle themselves and cover up.

“So what was it, just spite? I know we’ve had our differences, but to do something that low, that despicable.”

Caryn stares at me then laughs, the sheet ripped off the bed and now firmly around her body. “Okay yeah, I did it. But it wasn’t out of spite you dumb hick. As it turns out, your pathetic info was actually worth something to someone.”

I’m stunned. I didn’t think she’d admit it so easily. Which is ridiculous, because of course Caryn would be exactly the kind of person to do something like this then relish rubbing my face in it.

“Do you even realize what you’ve done? You’ve ruined my life.” I’m still in shock as I say these words, quietly, almost pleadingly.

“Well, at least you finally have one,” she sneers. “Who knew you were such a slut? It actually makes you more interesting.”

That snaps me right into fight mode. Before she knows what hit her, my fingers are curled into claws as I lunge. The look of stupid surprise on her face is almost enough to satisfy my need for blood.

“Prynne!” Shiloh yelps behind me.

“Oh man!” Eric moans, smart enough to scramble to the sidelines and watch as his girlfriend gets pummeled.

Caryn is just a deer in the headlights, paralyzed with wide eyes as I fall on her. We tumble to the ground and it’s a tangle of slaps and scratches and hair pulling and all the other things my parents used to ground me for when I’d tussle with my brothers in an “unladylike” fashion. I’m feeling more like a gladiator against a lion right now. I manage one good, hard face slap before Shiloh manages to pull me off her.

Caryn just glares hard at me, breathing heavily as she readjusts the sheet around her and tries smoothing down her hair.

“This is exactly why I did it. So I’d finally have the money to move out.” She gives Shiloh a patronizing smirk. “You finally got your wish.”

“Uh, your name is on the lease, sweetheart,” Shiloh points out.

“Well, I’m breaking the fucking lease, sweetheart,” Caryn retorts in a mimicking voice.

“You can’t do that!”

“We already did. Ten thousand dollars is enough to get me my own apartment.”

“Our own apartment, babe,” Eric chimes in.

Caryn turns to her glare at him. “Speaking of which, where the hell were you while she was attacking me?”

“I was just…uh…I knew you could handle it.”

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you’re even worth it, maybe we should just divide the money and…”

“Let’s go,” Shiloh says, corralling me out of the room to leave them to it.

“Ten thousand dollars? That’s how much it costs to destroy a person’s life. Two people’s lives!” I say, mostly to myself as I allow myself to be led away.

“I’m going to get us a bottle of wine and we’re going to figure this thing out,” she says, guiding me into her room. “You just sit here and I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

I settle down on her bed, moving up against the headboard. When Shiloh comes back holding two glasses and a bottle of wine, she scoots in to join me. I’m not much of a drinker, but I can definitely use the buzz to kill off this righteous anger eating me up inside.

“How am I going to tell Rhys it was my fault? He already hates me.”

“First, let’s focus on you, Prynne,” Shiloh says, pouring wine in my glass—too much wine.

“That’s an even worse road to go down,” I say, taking a long sip.

“So people know you’re Faith Flanders? So what? Is that so bad?”

“That’s not the bad part and you know it,” I say scowling over the glass to sip again.

“Okay…maybe the photos weren’t flattering. Scratch that, you looked damn good, both of you, frankly.” She pauses to consider that.

“Shiloh!”

She laughs, then sucks her lips in with a guilty smile. “Okay the photos might be problematic, but plenty of people have…stuff like that in their sordid pasts. That’s what New York is all about!”

“The problem is, my family lives in Rutherford, Missouri. And they had to find out about all this on a Sunday of all days.” I close my eyes and sigh, resting my head against the headboard to take another sip of wine.

“Well,” Shiloh muses. “I can see how that might be daunting. My family wasn’t exactly like the Flanders Flock, but I know what it’s like growing up in the Bible Belt. More importantly, I know what it’s like to have a bad reputation.”

“I’ll just deal with that later,” I sigh, taking another sip. I open my eyes with a start. “Oh no, tomorrow I have to go work. Good Lord, what are they going to say?”