“I don’t know.” She jerked her gaze away, wishing for a moment that things were different between them, that the warmth of his body could offer a welcome distraction from the crushing disappointment. I shouldn’t have let my hopes soar so high. She stared blindly forward, determined to find an alternate solution. The registration forms for the marriage license have been shredded. Yes. There is no way to prove your marriage was fraudulent. That sucks. What’s your next step? Her mind flashed to the hotel spa. Maybe the spa’s computer would have a record of her spa day. A long shot but worth a try. Sarah straightened. “Would you mind swinging by the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino? I’d like to visit the spa and see if they have a record of my spa day.”

Mick shook his head. “Sorry. Can’t do that.”

“Okay. Fine. I get it.” She kept her voice light. “It’s a long shot and you have people to see, things to do.” She opened the car door. “I’ll grab a taxi and meet you back at—”

“Sarah, put the porcupine quills down. You should know by now that I’m happy to drive you wherever you want to go.” Mick reached across her and pulled her door shut again. “The Hard Rock shut down.”

“Oh.” She slumped back into her seat. What is the matter with you? Always expecting the worst of people. Is this who you are now? A wave of weariness rolled over her. She wanted to go back to the hotel, crawl into bed, and pull the covers over her head. Unfortunately, they’d already checked out, so that wasn’t an option. Sarah shut her eyes, trying to find her balance. So proving the marriage was fraudulent didn’t pan out. You aren’t any worse off than you were yesterday. The internal pep talk wasn’t working. Usually she was like her childhood Bozo Bop punching bag. No matter how many blows that clown received, it would always bounce back up. But then, one day, the toy got a leak, could no longer bounce up, and was taken out with the trash. The one-two punch of the morning had drained all the air out of her. Odd how such a small setback—after all she had been through—had laid her so low.

“The Hard Rock closed its doors in 2019,” Mick continued. “Richard Branson bought the resort and did a big renovation. It’s the Virgin Hotel now.”

“I see.”

“It was a good idea though.”

Sarah scrubbed her hands through her shorn hair, attempting to activate her brain. What now? She was tired. Tired of running. Tired of the uncertainty. Tired of doors shutting her out.

“Where to?” Mick’s voice nudged through her downward spiraling thoughts.

“I don’t know.” She felt as if she too were ready to be taken out with the trash.

*   *   *