Page 91 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

“Thanks.” I return her smile via the mirror. “Guess the all-day shopping marathon was worth it.”

“Especially because I didn’t have to go on it with you.”

I widen my smirk and roll my eyes before concurring, “Max was a trooper. It was pretty grueling.”

And just like that, the demon hovering on the outskirts of the perfect day has invited itself back into the party. Closing my eyes to let the makeup girl do her thing with shadow lends an ideal excuse to start up my mantra.

Don’t. Think. About. Him.

Not his decadent gold eyes. Not his hypnotic waves of honey and cinnamon hair. Not the smiles that take over every crease of his face. Not the kisses that consume every inch of your body.

Not the ten thousand versions of perfect he makes you feel.

Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him.

With that effort logged into the Fail column, it’s impossible to hold off the shittiest thought about him too.

That he isn’t here.

That I’ve known he wouldn’t be from the moment he pulled his body out of mine for the last time last night.

That in that unmoving, unbreathing moment, in which our stares were illuminated by the moonlight through my skylight, I simply knew already…

I knew.

That he’d be gone by the time I woke up in the morning.

Not just because he’d shown me as much, with his packed bag on the couch and the charter jet confirmation Dmitri had personally brought over.

Not just because he barely ate anything when we decided our perfect celebration would be Chinese takeout and a Terminator bingefest.

Not just because we only made it through an hour of Schwarzenegger’s finest glowers before screwing like horny teenagers on the couch. Then the floor. Then the kitchen counter. Then finally the bed.

None of it sank in…until the moment, with our breaths still mingled and his body still buried in mine, that he dipped his head and pressed the softest of kisses into the space over my heart.

The final kiss he’d ever give me.

And, what he’d still clearly believed, of his life.

Like a stubborn idiot, I’d still refused to accept either—at least verbally. In the depths of my soul, the dread had already begun. Had scratched and crawled at me, battling my senses for control, screaming at me to stay awake and squeeze every moment of magic I could get in his arms. Somehow believing that if I didn’t let sleep win, the night would last forever.

But, at least for an hour or two, sleep had won.

And when I woke up, he was gone.

Now, he’s probably already cleared security at Teterboro and is likely on the Hemline jet, waiting to be cleared for the nine o’clock takeoff.

The exact same time Hemline will be debuting me to the world.

“Everything okay with Ms. Launette, maternal unit from outer space?”

Drue’s query yanks me back to the bustle of now. The question’s a filler, and we both know it. She sees the puffiness I’ve fought by slamming ice cubes over my eyes. She also sees the tight lines at the corners of my mouth and the stiffness of my shoulders, even after the makeup crew throws on a plastic drape to cover my clothes.

“She’d kill you for not calling her Launi, you know,” I quip.

Sharp chuff. “And I’m known as the evasive one.”

“If you must know…” I kick up one side of my mouth. “She’s out with her new boyfriend, whom I’m apparently responsible for helping her nab.”