“Oh thank God,” Dean says, his tone flat and sarcastic. He nuzzles his face into my neck, tickling my skin with his nose. “It’s getting pretty boring here. You want to head up to the room?”

I know I should answer Dean, but I can’t look away from Andrew. His cheeks are red from our fight, and he’s breathing hard. His hair is sticking up in all directions, and he looks, suddenly, so young, like the little boy I used to tell everything to.

And all I want to do is comfort him, even though I’m the reason he’s upset in the first place. I want to leave everything behind—leave this ballroom, leave Dean, leave Prescott, and just be with him, just hold on to him and never let him go. But it’s too late for that.

I know suddenly what his grand gesture is going to be. I know why he and Danielle got a room tonight. He’s going to tell her he loves her and then he’s going to sleep with her for the first time. His first time.

So I have to let him go.

I turn around and face Dean, placing my hands on either side of his chin and pulling his face toward mine. Then I kiss him like there’s nobody else around—like we’re already up in the room. I kiss him like it’s a promise. When I pull back, I can see his pupils have dilated.

“Yeah, let’s head up to the room,” I say, my voice scratchy.

He begins to lead me away and I let him, following him toward the exit. I don’t want to look back at Andrew, but I can’t help it and at the last second I turn and look behind me, afraid of what I’ll see on his face.

But he isn’t there anymore. I don’t know when he left. Maybe it was a long time ago.

THIRTY-TWO

THE ROOM IS beautiful. It’s everything you’d expect in an old hotel—dark wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling, a red carpet and plush armchair, a fireplace with a coat of arms over it like we’re no longer in Vermont but in some European castle far, far away. Best of all (though it doesn’t feel that way right now) there’s a giant four-poster bed.

Dean heads directly for the bed, pulling me with him. The sheets feel like they’re made of butter, like you could melt into them. It’s like we’re in a movie—this is exactly the moment I wanted it to be. It’s exactly the right time.

I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Dean kisses me and I kiss him back but then pull away and slide a few feet away from him, so there’s a respectable space between us on the bed.