Page 99 of Wish Upon A Star

“Our ride.” I put my phone and wallet and keys into my pockets and offer her my arm. “Our chariot awaits, my lady.”

She slides her hand around my arm and curtsies. “Thank you, kind sir.”

Outside, a blacked-out Rolls Royce. Jen wasn’t messing around, clearly. Jolene’s eyes go wide, recognizing the logo. I just grin. “This is just phase one, babe.”

Inside, buttery soft leather, classical music playing softly, champagne, the works.

“A real limo,” she breathes, eyes wide as she takes in the interior. “You really went all out.”

“Full disclosure, and giving credit where it’s due: I told Jen what I wanted, and she made it happen. Perks of employing the most kick-ass manager ever.”

“No kidding,” she says. “You should probably give her a raise or a bonus or something.”

“Planning on it,” I laugh. “And like I said, this is just the ride to the first part of the day.”

“You called me babe,” she says, grinning and leaning into me.

“You okay with that?”

She nods. “More than okay.”

“What if I called you something like…like sugar dumpling?”

She snorts. “I mean, if that’s what’s meaningful to you, sure.”

“Teasing.”

“I know.” A grin. “My sweet duckling.”

I pull a face. “Yeah, no.”

The “shopping experience,”as Jen referred to it, is a curated selection of gowns for Jo, with accessories and shoes and everything, all in a private room in a nondescript tower in the middle of downtown LA. There’s a handful of tuxedo options for me, with a tailor on hand to customize them to my measurements, and whichever dress Jolene chooses. While our selections are being tailored, there’s a catered rooftop lunch. I wasn’t allowed to see what Jo chose, and apparently the plan is to change right before dinner, after the helicopter ride.

After lunch, the limo takes us, and the garment bags containing our outfits, to a private airfield outside LA. A small, sleek helicopter is waiting, and the day is calm and clear.

When Jolene emerges from the limo and sees the helicopter, she squeals and claps her hands, and then launches at me. “You remembered!”

“You think I’d forget? As if.”

She kisses my jaw. “Best ever.”

“It’s barely gotten started,” I say, laughing. “But I’ll take the kisses.”

Her kisses are soft and light, peppering up my jawline and back down. “Yeah? You’ll accept the kisses?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

Her lips find mine. “And this?”

“I’ll definitely accept that.”

Her hands slide up my chest. “I really missed you, you know.” Her breath is sweet, her lips soft. “I know it was hard for you to be away. But just…it made it easier for me to know that…that you’re not sacrificing everything you’ve worked for to get to where you are now, for me.”

She touches my lips to forestall my protest.

“I know you would,” she says. “And you wouldn’t complain when the consequences come due. And Wes, I appreciate that more than I know how to say. But I can’t let you, for several reasons. One, it’s not going to do any good. There’s nothing anyone can do for me. You blowing off the role of a lifetime isn’t going to add days or weeks to my life. I know that sounds harsh or whatever, but it’s the truth. Two, it really does help me focus on conserving my mental, physical, and emotional energy into feeling better if I know you’re okay. If I know you’re doing the things that you need to be doing. Which is not sitting at my bedside while I sleep, or holding my hair back while I throw up. As much as your presence comforts me—and it does, I promise on my soul—what comforts me more is knowing you’re going to have a future and be successful after this is all over. Three, and this one is harder for me to say—you’re not…accustomed to my bad days. Seeing me like that is new to you. You suffer through them. Not that my mom doesn’t—she does, she feels it every bit as much as she did the first time I got sick. But for you, it’s new and it’s fresh and it’s horrible. And I don’t want to cause you pain. There’s enough pain in this world, Wes. Too much. I don’t want you to see me like that. Not because I’m embarrassed or I don’t think you can handle it or because I’m trying to preserve the mystery in our relationship or anything. But because when I feel better, I want to see the light and the life and the joy and the energy and the zest for life that is so much a part of what I…” she pauses, swallows, keeps going, “what I’m falling for, about you. And every time you sit with me while I’m sick, some of that light dies a little. And I need that light. It comforts me. It gives me strength to get through the next bout.”

A long, slow, deep silence.