For their honeymoon, Royal had taken her to a hotel in London that didn’t even have a lobby. When they parked their car, a valet greeted them by name—Good afternoon, Viscount Vaginahunter, they had said, if Tabitha remembered correctly—and took them straight to their room. It was more like a palace wing, complete with his and hers bathrooms and a library. She never saw an employee or another guest, yet food and wine constantly appeared, and every towel, sheet, and bit of laundry remained cleaned and ironed the entire time they stayed there. It was a miracle of service technology, now that she thought of it.

The Double Standard Hotel in downtown Napa was not quite as luxurious, but it had an aggressively hip charm. The chandeliers were just a tad too modern; they resembled crystal swords jutting out from the ceiling. The armless couches around the lobby were just a bit too sleek, the way they backed each other as if each assignation that took place on them was just a turn of the head away from changing a life. It all looked impermanent, as if even the furniture did not want to commit. A serviceable level of luxury type of hotel; designed, she imagined, for the well-heeled but not vulgar rich who could afford to come to Napa and buy a great deal of good wine, but did ultimately pay attention to the price on the bottle. Those who wanted to impress their current spouse but weren’t afraid to keep their eyes open for an upgrade.

Tabitha knew it was her nerves telling her these stories. She’d had too much coffee on the drive up, and was worried she’d see Royal any moment now. She’d created a caffeine-fueled confrontation in her mind, and she imagined striding across the lobby, her spike heels clacking loudly and attracting the eyes of everyone in the room. The woman on his arm, whoever she might be today, would wither at the sight of Tabitha. Everyone in the room would expect a violent confrontation. But instead, Tabitha would pause in front of him and whisper, “Good luck in the competition,” her words dripping with acid and cracking so loudly in the lobby that they rang like a hard slap. Sometimes she swapped what she said. “Good luck being sad for the rest of your life” didn’t have the sharp anger she wanted, though it did convey what she felt. “See you in hell” got her anger across, but Tabitha didn’t want to imply that she would see him again in the afterworld; dealing with Royal in this life was punishment enough. She liked saying it in her car, however. She imagined her words brittle and sharp, letting the people in the lobby, and in the world, know that she was not only wishing him luck against her in the competition, but also in his entire life, where he was sure to fail against Amazonian forces like her. Because that’s what she was now, she had decided. An Amazon.

Of course, she hadn’t even worn heels to the competition. She never wore heels.

The valet was busy with the car in front of her, so she stepped out of her car and stood for a moment, facing the sunshine. She put her hands in fists on her hips and leaned her head, arching her back as if she were just facing the sun after a long drive. “Power,” she whispered to herself, trying to make herself believe the word. “I am a powerful, strong woman.”

“Ma’am? Can I take your car?”

She opened her eyes and faced the valet, who stood in front of her with a tiny smile. Tabitha made a move to open her trunk, but then stopped herself and reached for her purse on the passenger seat. She had to stand in Wonder Woman pose for one full minute. She needed to get up to her room, wash her face, and hit herself with some strength moves, per the instructions of Cori the Zen Yoga Freak.

“Your room won’t be ready for another hour,” the sleek check-in receptionist said when she arrived at the front desk. It was a hotel with supermodels for employees. Tabitha wished for the heels again.

“I need any room,” she said, her smile as sweet as she could manage. “I don’t care if it’s not clean yet. Can I please just go in there for five minutes? I’m expected at my event soon, and if I don’t—”

“Yes, I have your itinerary here,” said the Barbie doll, handing over a matte black folder with a wine glass etched in silver on the front. “Your first event is scheduled to start in approximately ten minutes. You can go straight to the event and we will be happy to bring all of your luggage to your room, and can even text you to let you know when the room is ready.”

Tabitha’s head spun. She needed to pee; she needed red lipstick; she needed to do the Wonder Woman pose, dammit. She could feel her blood pulsing with nervous energy. Ten minutes?

She ran through the lobby to the public restroom, berating herself for not standing up to the receptionist. She didn’t have the Amazon forces in her. Once inside a bathroom stall, she tried to recapture that image of herself she had pictured on the drive.

This is the new Tabitha. In charge of her life. Not taking shit from anyone.

It’s okay to be a few minutes late.

You have as much right to be here as anyone.

More right. You have more right to be here than some people.

We know who that is.

She tried to stand in power pose, but the stall was so narrow that she couldn’t even cock her elbows properly. She walked to the sink and stared at herself in the mirror.

Terrible.

Not terrible. Fine. It would be fine. She looked disheveled, but she could fix that. She tried to smooth down the left side of her hair, which had gone wonky because she had her window open on the drive. She didn’t have lipstick in her purse, and her t-shirt was wrinkled to hell.

Dammit. I am barely an adult.

She attempted the pose again. Feet spread, hands on hips, breasts out, chin in the air. Eyes closed. I am Wonder Woman. She breathed in deeply. I can handle anything that comes my way.

“Excuse me?” came a voice behind her. “May I use that sink?”

Damn, damn, damn.

One of the women waiting in line for the next toilet grinned as Tabitha walked by.

“Whatever it is, you’ve got this,” she said, holding up her hand for a fist bump.

Tabitha attempted a smile. “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be Wonder Woman.”

Everything had seemed so right when she left the house this morning. Badass and assured. Pink hair, suede thigh-high boots, a Ramones concert t-shirt underneath her blazer. She looked like a teenager, not an adult. What was she thinking with all these braided leather bracelets? People were going to think she was into S&M. A rock and roll t-shirt? At a somm event? She had to change. She had a nicer, more professional blouse in her bag. Maybe she could get to it before they brought her luggage to her room. She’d be ten, maybe fifteen minutes late to the introductory lecture.

The bag was in the room. She could not get to the room, even though she asked as nicely as she could. The front desk clerk with the cheekbones that could slice through paper eyed her, pointing the way toward the front door.

“There is a corner shop just down the block if you need food or other supplies.” She pulled open a drawer. “And I can give you any toiletries you need. Feminine supplies? Toothbrush? Deodorant?”

It wasn’t Tabitha’s imagination. The receptionist had emphasized that last word.

Tabitha took a deep breath again and walked to the hotel ballroom. She heard a speaker behind the closed door say something over a muffled microphone, followed by a roar of laughter. One person sat behind the check-in desk and handed her an ID badge and a notebook with the schedule of events for the week.

“You’re not even that late,” the woman said in a loud stage whisper.

Had Tabitha still been married to Royal, would she be falling apart like this? She took her hand off the ballroom door handle and stepped back, leaning against the wall and considering the notion before she entered the room.

If she were still married and falling apart at this competition, she wouldn’t have admitted it to him. She would be wearing a proper business suit—Royal would have insisted. She would have been up all night, going over last-minute study tips with him instead of snuggling on the couch watching Pixar movies with Micah. Royal would have insisted she do one more round of blind tasting with Weston. Instead, she ate spaghetti with her sister. She had worked hard, prepared for this competition, but undoubtedly Royal had focused in like a laser-eyed shark, filling his body with an inhuman amount of wine knowledge while she filled her body with pasta.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. What was done was done. She was here. It was time to get hold of herself.

Keeping her eyes closed, she straightened up, leaned away from the wall, and assumed the power pose again. Who cared if anyone saw? Thirty seconds of deep breathing never hurt anyone. Her heart began to slow down; her breath smoothed out its ragged edges. A sense of calm moved all the way into her belly and filled her with— Well, not confidence, exactly. But at least it seemed to be crowding out the anxiety corroding her insides.

One more deep breath. And another. She would take it in like a cool ocean breeze, and her confidence would be the diamond-pointed electricity that would propel her into the room. She sucked in deeply, her chest protruding. She filled her lungs and breathed out through her mouth. I can do this.

“Tab-eee-ta?”

She opened her eyes to see a man standing in front of her. A man with the deepest brown eyes she’d ever seen.

Eyes she recognized.

“Giovanni?”