At some point during the night, I wake up to the sound of Harmony crying. She’s not in her bed; the sound is coming from the hall. My heart sinks. I climb out of bed and take a tentative step—my foot is sore as hell, but I’m able to hobble into the hallway. Harmony is at the nurse’s station, leaning forward on her elbows with her head bowed. Her back is to me, but I can see her body heaving with sobs.
Oh god. I have no words. What on earth could I possibly say to soften this devastation?
She must sense my presence, because she turns around. I’m afraid to look her in the eye, but I force myself to be strong for her. “Oh, Harmony,” I say. But then I realize—she’s smiling.
“They found them!” she gasps.
“What?”
“They found Damian and Giovanni! They’re okay!”
“Where? How?”
“They got lost, and when they ran out of food, they ate some berries that made them sick, and then they were too weak to hike, but they found them!”
“What’s going on?” It’s Valeria in the doorway of her room, rubbing her eyes.
“They found them, Val! They found them!”
Valeria’s face goes from half asleep to wide awake in a split second. She whoops and runs for Harmony. She picks her up and swings her around, both of them laughing and crying and screaming. They pull me into the mix, and their joy is contagious. I start to laugh from deep within my belly. Life has never felt so good.
More campers start to appear, joining in the celebration when they hear the news. We become a writhing mob of joy as more and more people join in. The nurses hover around us, shushing us, saying we’ll wake the other patients, but we ignore them. Their efforts seem halfhearted, anyway.
Amidst the hubbub, I manage to catch Kei’s eye. He’s grinning, and he gives me a wink. “Love you,” he mouths.
I nod. I know it. He loves me. As long as that’s the case, I’ll always be okay. It’s scary, but not as scary as it once was.
I just have to trust.
Epilogue—one year later
It’s been a while since I was behind a bar, but it still feels weird to be on the other side. Especially in a place like this. With its vaulted ceilings and gleaming dark wood bar, the only thing this place has in common with the Last Chance Bar & Casino is the alcohol. It’s the type of place in which, a year ago, I would have felt sorely out of place, but these days, it’s my new normal.
Not that I’m exactly comfortable.
I tug at the bottom of my dress. It’s new—one of those ones that fit properly when you try it on, but the moment you sit down, you realize you’ve made a huge mistake. The fabric is too heavy for August in Los Angeles, but it feels so luxe and expensive that I’ll bear the discomfort, especially since the brand is paying me to wear it. What a world!
The server appears and refreshes my water. “Can I bring you a drink while you wait? A glass of champagne, perhaps?” From his knowing smile, I can guess that he recognizes me.
“Yes, thank you.” I pull out my phone and check the time. My date is four minutes late. My first thought is that I’m being stood up, and I can feel my hackles start to rise. But then I remember to ask myself “What’s real, and what’s a story I’m making up?” Just like my therapist taught me.
I’m not being stood up. He’s four—five—minutes late. The lightsfeel very bright, and I can feel myself start to sweat. Just breathe, I remind myself.
The waiter appears with my champagne. I take a long drink and feel my jaw soften. I take another sip, and just as I’m setting the glass down, it’s like the air in the room changes. He’s here.
I turn, and the sight of him gives me so much relief. He’s wearing a slim-cut peach-coloured blazer, which so few men could pull off, but with his height and his golden skin, it works. Does iteverwork.My stomach flutters.
“Okay, Cleo, it’s showtime,” says Andy, my producer. The cameraman crouched by the table backs away, making room for me to push my chair back to stand up. I adjust the receiver pack and turn to face my date.
He strides across the room to greet me. He’s biting his lip—he’s nervous, too. He slides his arm around my waist and pulls me in close. “Hi,” he breathes into my ear. “Sorry I’m late.” He plants a light kiss on my cheek. He smells so good. As he pulls away, I look up at him. Honestly, I can’t believe my luck.
“Can we try that again?” Andy calls from the sidelines. “This time with a little more excitement to see each other.”
I giggle. Of course I’m excited to see him—I’m always excited to see Kei—but it’s hard to be effusive when just three hours ago we were both in our sweatpants on the couch watchingLove Island. He gives my bum a squeeze as he passes by, which makes me flush as I remember what we were doing four hours ago.
Cori appears in front of me, wielding a fluffy brush with which he immediately starts dusting my face. After I got back from camp, and the television appearances started, I officially hired him to be my makeup artist, and he’s steadily been building his list of clients ever since.
“Stop sweating, your eyeliner is smudged,” he says, poking at me with a cotton swab.
