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His tone is light and easy — as though it’s no big deal. He knows why I’m hesitating, and he’s offering to cover my room.

Now Ireallywant to die.

“Here,” he says, handing over his card before I have a chance to object.

The woman’s eyes crinkle with sympathy as she opens her mouth, and my dread compounds. “Unfortunately, we are fully booked this weekend. We simply don’t have any open rooms.”

My mouth falls open, and I want to cry. Thisreallycan’t get any worse.

“It looks like we have you in a king room, Mr. Carson,” she says brightly. “So the two of you should have plenty of room.”

The blood drains from my face. “But we can’t —”

“Great,” says Jake, cutting me off and smiling at the woman. He taps the edge of his key card on the counter once, sticks it in his pocket, and then scoops up our garment bags as he heads toward the elevator.

Horrified and at a loss for words, I turn and run after him.

“Jake, wait,” I say as the elevator opens. “This is silly. We don’t need to share a room. I’ll just call and make a reservation at another hotel.”

Never mind that I’ll have to call Raf and askhimto book it. I know he won’t mind — my brother is loaded — but I try never to ask him for anything.

Jake shakes his head and punches a button. “Nah. Raf asked me to keep an eye on you. How am I supposed to do that if you’re at another hotel?”

“Then we’llbothget rooms somewhere else,” I say, feeling suddenly desperate.

“Why?” asks Jake. “The wedding is here. You’re the maid of honor. Carmen’ll want you close.”

I grit my teeth and rack my brain for some other argument. Damn Jake and his valid points.

“Besides . . . I trust you to keep your hands to yourself.”

I open my mouth in indignation, but then I remember that Jake offered to pay for my room.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For trying to help me back there.Pleasedon’t tell Raf.”

He shakes his head as if to say he would never tell my brother. “Consider it forgotten.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding, and the elevator doors slide open.

“I know it’s none of my business, but I’m surprised Raf hasn’t, uh . . .” Jake trails off, squinting as though he’s trying to come up with a tactful way to say it.

“Set me up so I never have to work another day in my life?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t think he hasn’t tried.”

Jake’s eyes flicker in my direction, but his expression is unreadable. While Jake, Raf, and I all had similar hand-to-mouth upbringings, my brother’s grades and test scores were good enough to secure a full-ride scholarship to Stanford.

While other students drank and partied their undergraduate years away, Raf studied like a maniac and built his data-mining company from the ground up. He sold the business in an eight-figure deal and used the money to launch his next endeavor, which made him a billionaire at the age of twenty-seven.

“I don’t want Raf’s money,” I say quietly as we pad down the elegant hallway toward our room. “Raf’s spent enough on me for one lifetime.”

Jake seems to be waiting for me to elaborate, so I take a deep breath and continue. “Carmen’s ex was uninsured at thetime of the accident, and the cops determined it was his fault. No payout. Mamá was fighting withourinsurance over every little thing, so Raf paid for my medical expenses out of pocket. He paid for my surgeries, the rehab center, PT, in-home care . . .” I shake my head. “I’m not taking any more of his money.”

“I get it,” says Jake.

“Youdo?” I try not to publicize the fact that I’m Rafael Cabrera Garcia’s little sister, but people always seem to find out. Most people I’ve met in Boston think I’m crazy for not wanting Raf’s money — especially when it’s so hard to make ends meet as a dancer.

Jake nods. “Sometimes owing someone makes you feel like you can’t go against their wishes. I get wanting to be your own person.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding. OfcourseJake gets it. He knows Rafael better than anyone.