Page 126 of True Blue

It ebbed after I ate lunch, which usually always brightens my mood.

It flowed again when I walked past all the happy couples eating together, looking annoyingly in love.

By the time I made it back to the hotel to nap, shower, and get changed for dinner, I felt emotionally exhausted.

But William was at the front desk, calling my name once more.

“Is everything okay?” I ask once I reach him.

William gives me an awkward smile before looking up while speaking, like he’s trying to get his words right.

“So, the hotel does a…” he stutters, eyes darting left and right before lighting up. “A lottery! Yes, a lottery for our guests for…” He glances back down to the desk in front of him and squints. “…a ticket for a show in the West End.”

Suspicion creeps up my spine. William really isn’t great at subterfuge.

“Really,” I say, sarcastically, though with no actual venom behind it. “And let me guess—am I the lucky winner?”

“Why yes, you are, Dr. Miller,” William says, picking up an envelope and handing it to me. “You are a lucky woman—our lucky woman, I mean. The hotel’s lucky woman. Of course.”

I narrow my eyes, glancing back and forth between him and the envelope that looks suspiciously like the one from this morning—thick, cream-colored, and without a hotel monogram on it.

“Are you sure the tall jackass didn’t tell you to give this to me?” I ask baldly.

William blanches.

“What?” he squeaks, his voice way too high-pitched for honesty. My brow raises. “No, that’s… no, it’s courtesy of the hotel. Of course.”

Snorting, I shake my head, but take the envelope anyway. “Right. Well, thank the hotel for me, then.”

“Of course, Dr. Miller,” William says, sighing in relief. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No, William, but thank you.”

When I’m in the elevator going up to my room, I open the envelope and let out a string of curses toward my ex-boyfriend that has the older woman sharing the lift with me looking over in surprise.

“Sorry,” I mutter, my face heating.

She snorts.

“You’ll have to do better than that to scare this old biddy,” she says, her attitude reminding me a lot of a British Ellie. No nonsense, sarcastic, but with an air of kindness. “You Americans have no creativity with your profanity. It’s absolutely tragic, darling.”

A smile curves my lips, and when we arrive at her floor, she turns to me before she goes.

“Try bloody buggering wanker next time,” she says, looking very sage. “I think that should about cover it.”

“Thank you,” I say, sharing a smile with her before the elevator doors close. Glancing back down at the envelope, I huff. The absolute audacity, gall, and the fucking loving thought behind the ticket in my hand enrages me.

As William said, it’s a ticket for a show in the West End.

Moulin Rouge! The Musical

“Teddy, you son of a bitch,” I mutter, before snorting. “Literally.”

The show was absolutely incredible, one of the most spectacular things I’ve ever seen. I’ve never been to a live musical before, though I had been considering doing a bucket-list show in NYC since I would be so close in Cape May. I never even considered stopping for a show while I was here.

The show was overstimulating in the best way possible. The songs, mixed with the set of bright reds, deep blues, vibrant magentas, luminous golds, and the familiar love story that has always felt like a pleasant cardiac event.

It made me cry, laugh, and smile so hard my cheeks hurt. It was the most amazing time, and something I will remember for the rest of my life.