I psych myself up to go in.
Tigger is inside. He might be on his deathbed.
Why can’t I be normal just this once? Why do I need a hazmat suit to enter a hospital?
Actually, the last time, even the suit didn’t help.
I’m not just the worst friend, I’m also the shittiest girlfriend ever—and yes, I just upgraded myself to girlfriend to make this argument.
How about just one step?
I will my feet to move and shuffle a few inches toward the door.
Okay, this is the farthest I’ve gotten yet, but I’m still not inside.
Kaz comes back, holding a surgical mask. “Here.” He thrusts it at me. “I figured the clean pool and your reluctance to enter might be related.”
“Thank you.” I grab the mask gratefully and put it on my face.
“I’m going,” he says. “See you inside.”
Sure. Inside. So simple.
I clench my fists.
My feet don’t move.
I clench my teeth.
My feet stay glued to the ground.
I clench my sphincter and Kegel muscles and everything else that’s clenchable, and take a step.
And another.
Then one more.
By Houdini’s immune system, I’m actually doing it.
I clear the door.
Yes!
I’m inside the hospital now.
My next step is more surefooted. The one after that is almost confident.
Before I know it, I’m speed walking—except I have no idea where I’m going.
Crap.
Where is Kaz?
I guess I’ll have to circle back to the administrative—
My phone dings. It’s a text from Blue:
He was admitted because of food poisoning.
I nearly bump into a passing nurse.
Food poisoning? I bet it was that bitch Matilda with her unpasteurized milk. Fucking cow. Wait, is that fat shaming? No, she is a cow, so it’s okay. All I know is, she’d better hope we never meet, or I just might punch her cow face. And if Tigger doesn’t make it, I’ll eat her liver with some fucking fava beans and a nice Chianti.
I shoot Blue a text back:
Where is he?
She replies immediately:
Second floor. Room 2E.
I sprint for the elevator and stab the second-floor button.
“He should be okay,” I tell myself.
Then again, maybe not. Only the most severe cases of food poisoning require hospitalization, especially so soon after he was perfectly fine.
No.
He’s okay.
Has to be.
When I exit the elevator, a new text arrives:
This is weird. He just checked out.
A wave of relief hits me, hard.
You don’t check out if you’re not okay.
I look down the corridor, and the wave of relief grows into a tsunami. There is Kaz with a couple of pantalooned bodyguard types—and with them is Tigger.
He looks faintly green but is able to walk on his own—something his entourage seems to be arguing with him about.
I rush forward.
Spotting me, Tigger narrows his eyes, and I realize I might be hard to recognize because of the mask.
“Gia?” he asks.
“It’s me,” I say breathlessly. “Please tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” He gives the pantalooned guys a querulous look. “Someone overreacted by bringing me here. You go into a coma once, and everyone starts to treat you like you’re made of porcelain.”
I lunge forward and tackle-hug him. “No more unpasteurized milk,” I say sternly. “Ever.”
He chuckles weakly. “That’s easy. I don’t think I’ll ever want to eat or drink anything that I’ve had today.”
Huh. So far, he’s acting like he hasn’t gotten my insane messages.
If that’s the case, I could make it so he never finds out.
Entering pickpocket mode, I snatch his phone from his pocket as I pull away. “When did this happen? I was trying to reach you.”
“I’m not sure how long it’s been,” he says. “I haven’t had a chance to check my phone on account of all the unmentionable activity I’ve been engaged in.” He looks even greener at the memory. “Let’s just say I’m never watching The Exorcist again.”
“Say no more.” Since we’re by the elevator, I summon it for us. “I’m just happy I didn’t lose you.”
There. If he’s listened to my messages, his reaction will show it.
“No, myodik, you can’t get rid of me so easily.”
As I hoped. He has no idea about the messages.
We walk into a crowded elevator, and I stand behind everyone.
This is my chance.
I know his pin and I’ve got his phone.
I can unlock the phone, delete what I need, and he’ll never be the wiser.
Except something stops me.
Guilt.
And not the dismissible magician’s guilt.
This guilt is of the kind that’s hard to ignore.
Given everything Tigger’s done for me and how I feel about him, I shouldn’t invade his privacy like this. Or lie to him.
I don’t want our relationship to be based on deceit.
By Houdini’s conscience. It seems like I’ll have to give him the phone back—as well as come clean about my lack of breathing expertise.
Which means I might still lose him.
The elevator opens and I walk through the hospital lobby in tense silence as the others converse in Ruskovian.
Once we’re outside, I spot not one but two limos.
Tigger looks at his pantalooned companions. “Go with Kaz, please.”
They nod.
Great. We have some privacy.
“Bye, Kazimir.” I remove my surgical mask. “Or should I say, ‘Bye, Your Royal Highness?’”
For the first time in our acquaintance, a hint of a smile touches the man’s eyes. “After today, you may call me Kaz.”
Tigger whistles mockingly. “What an honor.”
Ignoring his brother, Kaz gives me a courtly nod and disappears into his limo.
Tigger opens the door for me. “Ready?”
“Thanks.” Using a kiss on his cheek as misdirection, I put-pocket the phone back into his pocket.
Just because I’ve grown a conscience doesn’t mean I’m a saint.
Climbing in, Tigger cozies up next to me and asks the driver to put up the privacy partition.
“So,” he says when the thing is up. “As much as I appreciate you coming to check on me at the hospital, I’m not sure how you knew to do so. Kaz was my emergency contact, and he doesn’t have your number.”
I sigh. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
He cocks his head. “I had a feeling you might.”
I take off my glove and grab his hand. The tingly pleasure of his touch makes me braver. “After you left and didn’t call for a while, I thought we were over.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Over? Why?”
I squeeze his hand. “I thought I was an Everest.”
“What?” He looks at me like said mountain has just landed on my head. “What are you talking about?”
My grip tightens further. “I was worried that once we had sex, you’d lose interest in me. You never climbed Everest for a second time, so I thought maybe—”
“Stop.” He covers my hand with his. “You couldn’t be more wrong, myodik. With you, it’s more like I got to the top of Everest, planted the Ruskovian flag there, and decided to stay for good.”
The dule of doves in my belly throws a tantrum. “In that case, can you ignore the messages I left you? There was this thing with Waldo and—”
I stop at the dark expression on Tigger’s face and hasten to clarify, “Nothing happened. It’s just that you were right. He did come on to me—but first, he tried to trick me into thinking you were engaged.”
“What?”
He looks ready to rip Waldo to shreds, so I explain what happened and how I exacted my revenge.
That seems to appease him slightly. He no longer seems ready to commit homicide.
“Here.” He unlocks his phone and hands it to me. “Delete whatever you want.”
Wow. I’m sure glad I didn’t do this stealthily before. This is so much better.
I wipe my slate clean and hand the phone back. Now for the real toughie. I gather my courage. “There’s one more thing you should know.”
Wait, should I go through with this? What if he breaks up with me after all?
I have to say, if I were a psychopath, my life would be so much simpler.
He pockets the phone and gives me a concerned look. “What is it?”
“It’s about the training.” Dropping my gaze, I examine the fancy floor mat. “You know how you thought I could hold my breath for twenty minutes?”
Cautiously, I look up, only to find him smirking.
“Did I?”
I narrow my eyes. “Well, yeah. You hired me because—”
“I hired you to be close to you,” he says. “I knew your underwater stunt was just a trick. In your defense, you never looked me in the eyes and claimed otherwise.”
I feel like a cow’s just been removed from my shoulders. An evil one too, like Matilda.
He knew.
All this time, he just wanted an excuse to be with me.
And what a perfect excuse. He made me feel good about one of my illusions.
“Wait,” I say. “What about free diving into that lake? Was that just a cover story?”
Should I be upset that he’s been deceiving me?
Nah. That would be mega hypocritical.
He shakes his head. “I would like to do that one day. But if you don’t mind, I’ll get training from some real experts before I attempt it.”
I grin. “I insist you do that. Most of my training revolved around seeing you with as little clothing as possible.”
The limo stops and he opens the door for me. His feline eyes gleam. “Want to stop by my place, watch some Netflix and chill?”
“Can Houdini pick a lock?” I grab his hand and leap out of the car.
We step into The Palace hand in hand, though I feel like I’m floating through the lobby.
Which reminds me: I’ll be putting on a show in this very hotel soon. Tigger made it possible.
With the hospital scare and the rest, I haven’t gotten a chance to fully process that fact, but I do now—and if it weren’t for his hand, I’d float to the ceiling like a helium balloon.
That gives me an idea. I should dedicate an illusion to today. Do my take on a classic—flying. I already have some ideas heavily inspired by David Copperfield’s version of this amazing illusion.
When we face the door of his suite, I realize I’ve been lost in my magic fantasies the entire way here.
I turn and scan Tigger’s face.
“You’re looking better,” I say and mean it. That green hue is gone without a trace.
“Thanks.” He opens the door. “I guess one good thing about that trip to the stupid hospital is a quicker recovery.”
Loud barking stops me from a reply.
Mephistopheles is at our feet, wagging his tail and body with enough energy to power all of Manhattan for a week. Caradog is also happy to see us, but his tail-wagging is very tempered in comparison to the younger bear—I mean, dog.
The strange part of this welcome is that Caradog is holding a stick in his maw. Walking over to me, he stands on his hind legs, his body language clear as crystal: take the stick, human.
“You want to play fetch?” I grab the stick and look at Tigger. “Is it safe to toss?”
He grins. “Do it here in the corridor. My flower arrangements are fragile.”
I throw the stick.
Caradog doesn’t move, but Mephistopheles chases the stick like the fate of the world depends on it.
I look at the bigger dog. “Are you teaching him to fetch?”
Those intelligent eyes behind the goggles seem to say, Yup, fetch.
“Can you play with them while I shower and brush my teeth?” Tigger asks.
I nod, and Tigger hands me a few dog cookies before he departs.
I toss the stick a few more times, then repeat my coin-magic moves using the dog cookies—to the delight of both canines.
“How do you do that?” Tigger asks, catching me just as I vanish another cookie.
“Expertly,” I say, looking up.
Instantly, my mouth fills with saliva, Pavlovian-dog style.
Tigger is only wearing a towel, and his sickliness is but a distant memory. In fact, he’s the epitome of health… and virility.
“Raincheck, guys,” I say to the doggies.
Tigger leads me to the bedroom, locks the door, and puts on music.
I grin and begin to strip. “Is that ‘The Final Countdown?’”
“Yeah.” He drops the towel. “I figured it helps you.”
I point at His Royal Hardness. “That works better.”
He grins back, then yanks me to him and crushes his lips against mine.
Before I know it, he does his magic move, getting me on the bed in a heartbeat. Pausing only to cover His Royal Hardness’s nudity with a latex surcoat, we join as one, and this time, his thrusts into me are slow and contemplative. Covering me with his body, he interlaces his fingers with mine, like the day I first touched him, and what we’re doing doesn’t feel like sex but rather something that starts with the letter ‘L’.
We come together, and my orgasm is more potent than all the prior day’s combined. As we lie there, spent and deeply content, he pushes up onto his elbow and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before curving his palm over my cheek. His hazel eyes are soft and warm as he murmurs, “I have to tell you something.”
My heart rate skyrockets again, the adrenaline from before still coursing through my system. “What is it?”
“The day we met, you didn’t just steal my belt,” he says softly. “You also stole my heart.”
By Houdini’s oxytocin production.
My chest feels like it’s going to burst from joy.
“When I thought I lost you today, it felt like I’d lost oxygen,” I admit, turning my head to kiss his palm.
The warm glow in his eyes intensifies. “That’s because you and I fit together. Like lupines and peonies.”
“No,” I say breathlessly. “Like top hats and rabbits.”
He nods. “Like base jumping and parachutes.”
I cover his hand with mine. “I love you.”
I hadn’t admitted it to myself until I said it, but it’s true.
Wholeheartedly true.
“I love you too,” he says. “You’re the only mountain I want to climb.”
Beaming, I glance at His Royal Hardness as it awakens anew. “Actually, it looks like you’ll be mounting me, and I’ll be climbing you.”