“Like they do in real life, too.”
“Huh,” she said, sounding much less interested. She picked up her phone and started scrolling.
But I couldn’t let the moment pass. Not yet.
“It’s simple,” I said, feeling my pulse quicken. “You document your relationship thoroughly—I’d do all of that, of course—and go to the appointments with the immigration officers. You’d have to come, but it wouldn’t take too much time.” I spoke faster and faster, struggling to hold her gaze, which was unreadable. “After two years, I’d get a permanent green card, and then we’d be free to do whatever we wanted. It’d go by so fast.”
I clicked my fingers to emphasize just how fast, and surprised myselfwith how clearly I’d laid out my case. I’d done my research. Peoplediddo that. And they got away with it. A lot of them did. Probably.
“You like it here that much?” Cassie said at last.
“I’ve never felt more like myself than in New York.” I’d never thought that out loud, but it was true. I could become someone here. I could be the person I was always meant to be. But enough about me; I had to make it worth her while. Besides, it wasn’t hard to guess why she kept posting photos of us. “Don’t you want to show your ex what he’s missing out on?”
Cassie perked up, her eyes drilling into mine. It was a stark change, a clear warning that I’d gone too far. I mean, obviously I’d gone too far: I’d suggested that she marry me, a total stranger.
Trying to save the moment, I leaned over and kissed her. “He’s a mad man, letting you go.”
I thought she might push me away, but something ignited within her and soon we were full-on making out, only stopping to tear each other’s clothes off. There was always tomorrow, I told myself. It wasn’t over yet.
But the next morning, as soon as I opened my eyes, I sensed that something was off. The air was too still in the room, the spot next to me empty.
“Cassie?” I called out.
Silence.
I got up, checked the bathroom, the living room.
“Cassie?”
No response.
No, no, no, no, no.
She was gone. Could she report me for suggesting we get married for the green card? Could she make my life even worse than it already was?
An hour passed, and then another. I stared at the front door and still no Cassie.
Fuck, what had I done?
Chapter 7
Taylor
Now
“I need help.”
I grip onto the edge of the counter so hard my fingers hurt. On the other side, the red-haired attendant opens her mouth in a neat O, her eyebrows knitting together. She’s clearly a little shocked at my bursting into the lobby and rushing to her but professional enough to keep her reaction in check.
“Yes, madame,” she says, releasing the computer mouse to pull down both sides of her black blazer. “What can I do for you?”
When I ran from the terrace, I was convinced the man from the next table was on my heels, that he’d gotten up to follow me. After I’d been racing down the street for a few minutes, ignoring the strange looks of everyone around, I attempted a quick glance behind me. There were women carrying shopping bags, people strolling leisurely, none of whom I recognized. He wasn’t there, so I slowed my pace to a power walk, turning around every ten steps or so.
When I reached my hotel—surprised that I even remembered where it was—I checked one last time that the coast was clear before entering. I even waited until two young guys in tracksuit pants and chunky gold neck chains turned the corner.
“Madame?”
The redhead is eyeing me. It’s possible I’ve been staring into space since she first spoke.
