Maia walked off the simple black stage to roaring applause. April greeted her with a lukewarm water bottle for her throat and her cell phone. “He’s been lighting you up for the last four hours.”

Maia laughed. London wasn’t the most patient of men. If she didn’t answer a text right away, he sent three more before he relented. They were supposed to go out tonight. He should be on a plane right now. Or maybe even at the airport, wondering where to meet her. Her body hummed with excitement.

No matter how much she tried to play this down, how many times she told herself not to get too excited because it was one date, her body didn’t listen. It was like her cells were listening to her heart instead of her head. Her heart was indubitably pro-London. The darn organ couldn’t see the importance of a state of self-preservation. Her good sense was the only thing standing between the havoc London Wilder could wreak and her tender heart.

Case in point: she’d been invited to a party with some of her old theater mates and turned the invitation down because she’d rather wander around Time Square gazing into London’s soulful eyes than be in a room with a hundred people who had been her closest friends. She’d need to introduce London to them—eventually. They were taking it S.L.O.W., she reminded herself.

“Hello?” she answered innocently.

“Hi.” His reply was low, and so were his spirits.

“You sound down. Is everything okay?” A horrible thought filled her head. “Did that guy come back to your mom’s shop?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m not going to make it tonight.”

She checked the tiny digital clock. “You’re teasing me. Your plane landed an hour ago.” April had kept her up-to-date on London’s flight and hotel: he was staying in the same hotel but on a different floor—all on his own dime. He’d made the reservations and sent the confirmation page to April himself.

“I wish I were. Something’s come up.”

She put her hand on her hip. “What?”

“I can’t say.”

The old feeling of being locked out of the most important parts of London resurfaced. Her body quaked with rejection. “Please, London, don’t shut me out.”

He cleared his throat. “It does have something to do with the guy who broke into my mom’s flower shop.”

“Oh my gosh! Now you have to tell me.”

“I was at the police station today—they recommended I not leave town.”

“That doesn’t make sense … Unless … they can’t have listed you as a suspect. That’s just ridiculous. Give me the detective’s name and I’ll vouch for you. I can’t believe they would even think you could be capable of destroying your mom’s business. I’m serious, London, text me his—”

“Maia? Maia!” He cut into her tirade. “They don’t think I did it.”

“Oh.” She straightened up, unaware that she’d bent forward as she yammered into the phone. “Well, why can’t you come?”

He sighed, and she pictured him running his hand down his perfectly designed face. “They think it was a stalker. The guy was mad he couldn’t get to me, so he went after Mom’s shop.”

“London—that’s horrible.” She groped for the wall to lean against, her injured leg suddenly feeling twenty pounds heavier and her body full of helium. “Do they know who he is?”

“The police have a solid lead and just need to catch the guy.” His brittle voice was distant again.

She cursed.

“That’s a pretty harsh word for such a pretty mouth.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Not to me.”

She pressed her lips flat. “London, don’t feed me a grammatically correct line. I want an honest answer.”

“He’s dangerous, but only to me, and I can handle myself.” She could hear the slight warble in his words, like he’d rather run two-a-day practices for a month than be anywhere near this creep. He was shaken and wasn’t about to admit it.

“I wish you’d be vulnerable with me.”

“I don’t understand that statement.”

“I know.” She blew out a breath, worried about London’s safety, worried about his head and the emotional toll a stalker could have on him, worried he’d never open up and let her fully into his life. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know, honey. Believe me when I say I would rather be with you than stuck in Dallas.”

She smiled faintly. “That I can believe.”

“You think I’m lying about this? That I made it all up?”

“No, but I know you’re holding something back.”

“I’m doing it to protect you.”

“I’m a big girl, London. I’d love a chance to prove that to you.”

“Maia.” He practically prayed her name. “Please don’t quit on us.”

April approached to take her to her changing room, a tablet in the crook of her arm. “I’m not quitting, London, I’m questioning.” She put her hand over the receiver. “Can you line me up something to wear to the cast party tonight?”

April tapped on her pad, a line forming between her eyebrows. “Sure. London?”

“He’s a no-show.” She uncovered the receiver. “Listen, my evening just exploded. I need to wardrobe change.”

London didn’t answer right away. “I promise I’m going to clean this up, and then I will tell you everything.”

“I’ll look forward to your phone call,” she answered primly. She didn’t mean to be so cold, but she was hurting and confused, and she didn’t think she’d asked for too much.

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I hope so.” She hung up the phone and dropped her head back, staring at the open rafters.

“You don’t trust him,” stated April.

Maia didn’t drop her chin. “I have good reason.” As she traced the line of support beams, her mind buzzed back to the night when she thought she had it all and lost everything.

Maia stepped into the hotel ballroom and watched the light reflect off the jewels on her dress. She spun in a circle, her arms out to the side, making a kaleidoscope of light and color. “I feel like a princess.” She giggled.

London came up behind her to wrap his arms around her middle. At the last second, he pulled back and patted her on the shoulder. “You deserve it, Maia. You look so beautiful.”

She bit her lip, feeling unsure with him. A few days ago, he’d mentioned his mom wanted to meet them to take pictures by the pond before they went to dinner. She’d been so excited to have a custom photo of the two of them all dressed up and had spent a ridiculous amount of time on her hair and makeup, wanting it just right.

They’d driven straight to the restaurant. “I thought we were doing pictures with your mom and then eating at your house.”

London looked everywhere but at her. “Sorry.”

“But …?” She glanced at her carefully shaped fingernails. “I—we planned on—”

“It’s not happening, Maia. My dad …” He stopped and regrouped. “Let it go.” His tone was firm and discouraged any more questions.

Maia’s heart twisted. London’s dad made it clear that he hated her guts, but she didn’t think he’d cancel all their plans and kick them out on prom. Karen had planned a nice meal. She was going to serve them in the formal dining room on her mother’s wedding china.

“We’ll get pictures at the dance. They’ll be great,” London offered.

Maia smiled. “Sure.” She settled into the meal, determined to make the best of the night. So everything wasn’t going according to plan—she was here with London, and that was what was most important. “Where is everyone? I thought we were eating with David and Cherry and Matt and Kate.”

“Yeah, I told them to go without us. They’re already at the dance.”

“Oh.” She waited for more of an explanation, but none came.

Maia dropped her gaze to her silverware, confused by London’s aloof behavior. Cherry and Kate had become her friends—they’d double- and triple-dated a few times. She liked both girls and was looking forward to talking about dresses and hair and their dates and everything.

The appearance of their server was a relief. Maia smiled and ordered the raspberry chicken. London ordered the steak.

He was stiff through dinner, hardly speaking unless spoken to. He cut two pieces of his steak and then pushed the plate aside, staring at his drink with a dull look. Maia tried several times to get him to talk, but he shook his head or gave her one-word answers.

In the car ride to the hotel where the dance was being held, he kept his arms to his side instead of laying one across her shoulders like he usually did. The air was chilly, and her arms broke out in goose bumps. She tried not to think about what London’s dad might have said to him, but she could imagine because she’d heard enough around town to imagine.

Once inside the hotel, with the music blasting from big black speakers near the DJ and her friends waving to her from the dance floor, Maia couldn’t believe tonight was as bad as London made it out to be.

“Come on, let’s dance.” She grabbed his hand, easily the size of both of hers, and dragged him onto the dance floor. Everything was going okay. They stayed on the fringe, catching the last few bars of a fast song, and then she slipped into London’s arms for a slow song. It was the best part of the whole evening, snuggling into him, his hands resting on her lower back, and his breath warm on her neck.

The music shifted to a guitar intro and everything fell apart.

Brad Taylor was hopping around like a ninny in his imagionary mosh pit, and he bumped into London. London’s face clouded and grew red. He shoved Brad hard, sending him into another couple. “Watch where you’re going.”

Brad straightened his blue jacket. “Dude—chill out.”

London grunted. “I’m going to get a drink,” he said to Maia.

She watched him leave, wondering what had happened to her mild-mannered boyfriend. Feeling the dozens of eyes on her alone in the middle of the dance floor, she scuttled after him. “Hey.” She tapped him on the arm. “What’s up with you tonight?”

“Nothing.” He took a swallow of the punch and grimaced. “I don’t feel like dancing.”

“Okay.” Maia looked around the room for something else for them to do at prom besides dance. “We can have our pictures taken, like you wanted. The photographer is set up in the corner.”

He closed his eyes for a moment as if gathering his strength.

Maia placed a flat hand on her unsettled stomach.

“Let’s get this done.” He started off, not waiting for her.

She stood there for a moment—hating the position he’d put her in, again. She hurried to catch up to him. “Hey, I’m not following you around all night.”

He stared at her blankly.

She sighed and slipped her fingers between his. “Can we walk together?” Like a normal couple?

He softened ever so slightly. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” They stood in line. Maia talked to the couple in front of them. She’d had English with the girl, Jackie. Jackie wore a silver dress that was almost white with silver thread accents. Her date had on a silver tie. They kept smiling at each other like they shared a special secret. Maia glanced away, trying not to think that that should be her and London. Pretty soon, it was their turn.

“Okay, you watched the last couple, so if you’ll stand like they did …” instructed the photographer.

The tense parts of Maia relaxed as London’s warm hand settled on her waist. Everything was better when she was in his arms. She put her hand around him and gave him a little squeeze. London grunted, loudly. “I can’t …” He met Maia’s confused stare as he struggled to take a breath.

Maia leaned over with him. “What’s wrong?”

“Your—” Pant, pant. “—arm. I—” Pant. “—can’t.”

She moved the two of them out of the way so the photographer could continue with the next group in line. London pulled himself together, but his breathing was shallow.

“What is going on? London Wilder, you tell me what is happening with you.”

“I’m sorry, Maia. I can’t be here with you—” His face contorted with pain and he coughed.

He couldn’t have surprised her more if he’d coughed up a snake. “You can’t be with me?”

He shook his head, still coughing.

Maia stepped back. The words were harsh, but she didn’t expect anything less from Reed. “Let me help you home.” His cough was awful and he was pale.

He pressed his hand to his side. “I don’t want you at my house. My dad—” He grimaced again like the words were bitter on his tongue.

So Mr. Wilder had convinced London that Maia wasn’t worthy of his time. She’d heard more than one comment from the overprotective father, but she had chosen to ignore them and thought London had, too.

“I don’t care what your dad thinks about me, London. I care about what you think.”

The pained look on his face said it all.

She held up a hand to save him from having to say the horrible things it would take to break them apart. There was no need to be nasty. “You don’t have to spell it out for me. I get it. I just didn’t think you would be so shallow.”

“Maia—” He reached for her, and she evaded his touch with ease.

“It’s fine. Really.” She brushed away the angry tears. “I always thought I was in the wrong league. Good luck with football, London.” She walked away, her head held high and tears pouring down her face. She hit the lobby and called her mom to pick her up.

That was the last time she’d spoken to London Wilder until he showed up at the bachelor auction. Dropping her chin to her chest, she worked to block out the pain that accompanied the memory—the one memory of London she hadn’t allowed herself to relive. He hadn’t come to school for three days, and when he finally did, he didn’t even look at Maia in the hallway. She knew because she’d followed him with her eyes as if he were a beacon. She searched for a sign that she’d taken it all wrong, that she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, but none came.

She lifted her gaze to find April studying her with deep concern. “Let’s go to a party.”

“We can head back to the hotel,” April offered. “A warm shower would do wonders for your muscles.”

“No, I need to go out. Need to take my mind off things.” She’d had a totally different life in New York, one without London Wilder. She could slide back into who she’d been before London and pretend for an evening that she hadn’t been given the best kiss of her life just a short time ago.