Her eyes gleaming, she says, “He needs the rush. He’s an adrenaline junkie, but instead of getting his kicks from jumping out of airplanes, he gets them by checking yet another goal off his list. That stunt with the missed connection? A rather unique ploy for him to find you after a one-night stand because you piqued his curiosity. But do you really think you’ll satisfy him for long? You have nothing in common. You’re not even from the same social stratosphere. He’s probably lucky you didn’t speak tonight because that hillbilly twang of yours would draw attention to just how backwoods you really are. It might be quaint when you’re doing an interview on country radio, but in Creighton’s world, you’re nothing but a liability.”

The blood rushing through my ears is back full force. I have no idea what she has to gain by flinging these hateful words at me, but she must have some motive.

I pretend I’m onstage after I’ve just messed up a lyric, and I push through, smoothing a smile on my face so no one will notice that I’m cringing inside at my mistake.

“Why are you telling me this? What reason could you possibly have?”

Annika lifts her chin, and I don’t know if her nose can get any higher in the air. “Consider it my public service announcement. I left him because I refused to be marginalized. You’ve got a good thing going with that country music shtick. I can only imagine it’s exactly what you’ve wanted since you were a little girl sitting in the trailer park listening to the radio in some broken-down car propped up on blocks.”

I wince. I don’t know where she got that image, but she’s altogether too close to the truth for comfort.

“And?” I prompt. I’m not willing to let her see me cower.

“And I thought, as a woman who’s known Creighton for twenty years, you’d want to know exactly what you’re getting in to. If you think it’s worth giving up your dreams, you might want to reassess. Because for girls like you,” she points her finger at me, as if I need to know who she’s talking about, “if you don’t jump on your once-in-a-lifetime chance, you may never get another one. If I were you, I’d do some serious thinking about whether it was my dream career or a man I should be chasing harder.”

My heart thuds in my chest when she lays it out so baldly. I have no idea why she thinks it’s her place to tell me this, but I’ve heard enough.

“Thanks for the warning. I think we’re done here.”

Annika smiles, all grace and elegance again. Not a single trace of malice to be found. “It was lovely to meet you, Holly. I hear you’ve got a great shot at the New Artist Award this year. Best of luck.” And with that, she turns, green dress swirling around her ankles, and makes the best exit I’ve ever seen outside of a movie.

I, on the other hand, want to sink into the exhibit chair, curl up into a ball, and lick the wounds she’s left me with.

She has to have a motive for her words; she would never bother with me if she didn’t. But do her motives really matter? Even if everything she said was bull, it’s nothing I haven’t thought myself.

It’s time for me to face facts. Fact number one, I’m falling for Creighton. Skip falling, I’ve fallen. It’s the first time I’ve acknowledged how deep I’ve gotten into this, and I swallow back the gut-wrenching fear it produces. Because what if she’s right? What if he gets bored as soon as the lipstick on the pig that’s me rubs off?

Absently staring at the beautiful works of art surrounding me, I wonder if this is how my future with him will always be. Evening after evening where I’m seen and not heard, and the only talent required of me is hanging off his arm without making a scene.

Is that all I have to look forward to as part of his life? That isn’t what I signed up for. I need to think, somewhere I’m not second-guessing every single move I make.

The crushing weight of everything—the grief and guilt and confusion and pressure and stress—bears down on me until my breathing shallows and dizziness hits me. I’ve felt off all night after my earlier breakdown, and now my forehead goes clammy and I stumble backward until I hit the wall and slide down it, not caring about the dress or how ridiculous I must look. I drop my head back against the wall, trying to breathe, but I just can’t get enough air into my lungs.

“Whoa. Are you okay? Shit. You don’t look so good.”

I don’t recognize the voice, and I don’t care. All I care about is trying to get enough oxygen into my body so I don’t pass out on this fancy floor.

The man barks out Creighton’s name. I don’t know how much time passes—it could be seconds or minutes or hours, but soon Creighton is crouching beside me, pressing my head between my knees, and saying softly, “Breathe, Holly. Just breathe. Slow down.”

I try to slow my breathing as he’s directed, trying to match him as he inhales and exhales. Eventually the clawing in my lungs subsides, and I raise my head slowly and stare into concerned brown eyes.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?”

His soothing tone evaporates. His questions are sharp and demanding. My breathing picks up speed again.

“Oh shit. Calm down, Holly. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . Let’s get you out of here.”

He reaches an arm behind my back, and I know he’s going to pick me up and carry me out of the museum. I’ll look like a complete idiot to everyone in attendance, and that’s not even including the pictures that will end up on the Internet. The next thing you know, TMZ will say I fainted because I’m pregnant, and I’ll be on baby-bump watch for the next six months.

I push his hand away. “I can walk.”

Creighton’s gaze narrows, but he holds out a hand and helps me to my feet.

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “Let’s go.”

I’ve barely gotten out of my dress and into a comfy T-shirt and pajama pants before Creighton knocks on the bedroom door.

The knocking throws me. He’s never done that before. The reason for it becomes apparent when the door swings open, and he walks in with a man I’ve never seen before.

I look sharply at Creighton. “Um . . . what’s going on?”

“This is Dr. Wylie. He’s my personal physician. I asked him to come check you out.”

Of course he did, and without even bothering to ask me if I need a doctor. Too bad Dr. Wylie made an unnecessary trip.