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likes to drink, he likes to fight, and someone named Shelly really hurt him. That’s all I know for sure.
    Fitting, I think as I stuff my clothes into my suitcase. My mom’s sister Shelly was murdered, so the name seems to be a sad one all around.
    Before I leave my room, I call Raymond. I find out ‘Edgar’ is doing fine. He might have a mild concussion—or so Raymond thinks—but he’s up and about.
    “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
    “Well, I haven’t seen him. I’m actually leaving town today.”
    There’s a funny little pause during which I assume he wonders what the fuck is up with me and ‘Edgar’. Finally, he clears his throat. “Have a safe trip.”
    I hang up and leave the room, rolling my suitcase down the hall with a knot in my stomach. This trip has turned out nothing like I thought it would. It’s official now: I wish I’d never met him. I really do.
    I tell myself as I ride the elevator down that obviously he didn’t mean all the subs were meant to be stand-ins for me. He probably thought I was Shelly the whole time. She must have been a blonde like me.
    If he wanted me, Leah, he could have contacted me years ago. I have a prominent web site with my contact information listed.
    But why would he want me? We knew each other in a terrible circumstance, when we were so much younger.
    He was good to me. Nice to me. He got me through that awful time, and of course he was attached to me then. I’ve let my feelings balloon over the years, because I’m too afraid to look for real, plausible love. So is he , I think.
    That’s not my business.
    For the first time, as I head toward the front of the casino, where the cabs are, I don’t feel filled with giddy longing for a ghost. I feel unhappy, sad, that’s true, but at least I’m living in the real world now.
    I stop and get a muffin from a café, then head to the customer service desk to settle up my bill. I stayed here way too long, I think as I wait in line. I’m kind of glad I did, because seeing him last night brought closure.
    I’m paying my bill when someone grabs my shoulder.
    “Ma’am? Are you Lauren Liberty?” The name creeps up my neck and makes me flush.
    “Who’s asking?” I say as I turn around to face a casino staffer.
    He hands me a letter. “Room eight thirteen, right?”
    I nod, frowning.
    “I see your actual name is Leah McKenzie, but we understand about the pseudonym. Hearts in Vegas is a popular event here, so there are a lot of authors.” He winks, and I stare down at the envelope clutched in my shaking hands.
    I finish paying my bill, walk out into the main corridor, and find a bench beside a large potted palm.
    It takes me three tries to open it, because my fingers shake so badly. I pull out a letter, and even before I unfold it, I can see the thickness of the pen he used, the heavy stamp of The Enchanted Forest letterhead.
    Lauren—
    Let’s give this another go. You submit, and I’ll help you work through your fear of letting go. You hurt me, I’ll pleasure you. One week trial run. What do you say?
    And, in loose cursive below : Let me take care of you.
    Yours,
    E.
     
    It’s the ‘yours’ that cracks the top layer of ice over my heart.
    I re-read it, several times. The man from last night wants to help me with my fear? He wants to take care of me? I remember a thought I had while I was at his place: Who takes care of him?
    I think of the woman he might find if I say no. Someone who won’t mind hurting him. Someone who will likely even enjoy making him bleed and flinch.
    The thought makes me sick.
    Everything I told myself this morning evaporates as I hold the thick letter. While I sit there, feeling dizzy, with my thoughts racing and my chest aching, I feel a light tap on my shoulder.
    “Ma’am?” I whirl around to find myself facing an older man dressed in a black uniform. “Are you Lauren?”
    “Who are you?” I whisper.
    “I’m Cecil, an employee of Edgar. Would you like a ride?”
    My