For the next several days, I grind through the motions of daily life, showing up to class and studying at Starbucks and texting with Zoe, Victoria and Allison. I eat dinner with Griffin, watch TV with Griffin, make love to Griffin.

He's at my condo every night, probably because he's leaving for Amsterdam and knows I'm not happy about it.

Between his trip and Ashton—who's about to start chemo and radiation—I feel like I'm being suffocated by some invisible force. The strangest things have been happening to me physically this week. My mouth is always dry, my hands feel prickly and sometimes, my vision is as if I'm looking through a fisheye lens.

The night before Griffin's trip, I'm ravenous for him. For his body. I cannot get my fill of his smell, his taste, his touch. Each time we do it, my insides burn and coil. It's scary, how much I want him. How much I need him.

On the night before he's supposed to leave, we've finished a round of particularly urgent sex. We're on the sofa, panting and holding each other.

With a serious look, Griffin props himself up on his elbow. "I'm going to leave you something. A key."

I scrunch up my face. "A key? To what, your house? Do you need me to make sure the housekeeper comes on time?"

"No. To a safety deposit box at a bank on the beach. I'll write down the address and box number."

"Hunh? Why?"

"There's a hundred grand in cash there. I want you to be able to access it."

He sits up, and I do, too, pulling a fuzzy pink throw over my naked body. "Why would I need a hundred thousand in cash?"

He shrugs and gets up. I watch him walk to the kitchen, pull open the fridge and grab a beer.

"Are you going to answer me?"

He pops the beer open, takes a slug, and swallows. "Just in case."

"In case what?" My voice sounds shrill.

"In case something goes wrong. Which it won't."

And just like that, my heart rate spikes and I start sweating. My mouth, soft and wet from Griffin's kisses, turns dry.

It stays that way overnight, when I barely sleep. And early the next morning, when Griffin tells me for the tenth time that he doesn't want me to drive him and Zoe to the airport. And when I throw my arms around him and say goodbye.

"I love you. These six days are going to go so fast, angel."

I shiver. When he calls me by that nickname, it feels like the most amazing thing that's ever happened.

"I know," I mumble, and press my lips to the smooth skin of his neck. He smells like spicy limes.

"This is just a routine business trip, okay? Start planning our vacation, study hard for midterms, go out with Victoria and have some fun." He skims his hands down my back, then squeezes both of my butt cheeks. "Buy more of these pajamas, too. I love these little shorts on you."

I nod and lick my lips with a tongue that feels like it's made of sandpaper.

I pull away to stare at his handsome, hard face, as if to imprint it on my brain so I can take it out when I need to over the coming week.

"I left the info about the bank on the counter. There's some other stuff in there, too. I love you, Juliette. The minute I get back, we're going to focus on making sure Ashton gets well. And on us, okay? It'll be all about us when I get back."

"I love you."

He cups my face in his hands and puts his forehead to mine. "Bye," he whispers.

I will myself not to cry as he opens the door. I stay strong as I watch him walk down the hallway to the elevator. And I keep it together when I shut the door, the soft click echoing in the now-lonely condo.

It's only six-thirty and the orange Miami sun is filtering into the living room, signaling another scorchingly hot day. There's no way I can go back to sleep now, and I've got class at ten. I shudder in a breath and shuffle over to the counter, my flip flops making a shuffling noise against the floor.

I pick up the large, yellow envelope and open it. As promised, there's a piece of paper with an address and a box number, and a key. There's also a smaller envelope with two thousand in cash. And a card.

On the front, the words WILL YOU are written at the top, above two stick figures. One's a man, the other is a woman. The man is holding a pink heart toward the woman. Inside the heart, it says, "MARRY ME"

I gasp and open the card.

To Juliette, my angel:

I want you to know that I intend to spend the rest of my life with you.

You'll get a proper proposal when I return.

All of my love, Griffin

That's when I burst into tears.

"She's Griffin Davis' girlfriend!" Victoria's squeal is ear-splitting, especially combined with the low thump of the trance music's bass line.

The other girls in the booth look at me with wide-eyed wonder and slide over so I can sit.

Against my better judgement, I'm out with Victoria tonight. I should be home studying for my biology exam later in the week, but I figure that since I don't have any classes tomorrow, I can spend all day tomorrow studying.

It's been difficult to focus on school because I've been counting the minutes until Griffin gets back. But I'm doing well enough in classes and I'm not worried about grades.

A waiter sets a glass of champagne down in front of me. We're in the bar area of some swank restaurant on the beach. It looks so much like three other lounges I've been to in recent months that I've instantly forgotten the name. It probably won't be around long anyway. Victoria told me it's owned by some Italians who launder money.

Still, it's a sweet atmosphere, done up in dark wood and red leather. Victorian and I are with three of her girlfriends. Or I guess they're her friends, or maybe they're girls who "work" for her. She does that sometimes, connects girls with older, powerful men. It's a little weird, but everyone is over eighteen. Who am I to say what's right?

One of girls, a blonde who is probably ten years older than me, grins. "Wow, Griffin Davis. Impressive."

I nod and smile. I'm never sure how to respond to people who mention Griffin. Had he sold them drugs? Have they sold drugs for him? Has he slept with them?

I'll be so glad when he's back from Amsterdam and all of this is over. I'm looking forward to something of a normal life with Griffin. As an engaged couple. I get a charge every time I think about his card.

We won't move to the suburbs or anything boring like that. I fully expect we'll keep going out, but maybe not quite as much as we have been.

Every night is a marathon in nightclubbing endurance, or at least it had been until we went to Jacksonville to see Ash. I'd hoped for a rest while Griffin was gone but Victoria seems determined to take me out, probably to divert my mind off the fact that Griffin is halfway around the globe, doing whatever it is he's doing. She's become a friend, and tonight, I'm grateful for her laughter.

She's also taking my mind off Ash's situation. I'm still gutted every time I think of how sick he is.

"Where is Griff, anyway? Will he be joining us?" the blonde purrs. I've learned not to get jealous in these situations. Putting on my most secretive, cat-ate-the-canary smile, I say sweetly, "Unfortunately no. He's out of town on business."

Then I take a tiny sip of my champagne. I've learned by studying Victoria how I should do it: pick up the flute by the stem and take a small sip. Don't glug it like ice tea. Always sip from the same spot on the glass, so you don't have a ring of lipstick all the way around the rim.

"In speaking of our friend, have you heard from him today, Juliette?" Victoria shoots me a conspiratorial grin. She's told me to calm down, to not worry about him, at least a thousand times.

"I heard from him this afternoon. He and his sister are having a killer time in Europe."

That's what he'd said. Zoe and I are having a killer time. I'm not sure what that means.

He'd sounded happy and light, as if everything was going as planned. Of course, I couldn't ask any questions about the deal. Instead, he told me about museums and the Anne Frank House. Somehow, he and Zoe had made time to see them.

I take another dainty sip and zone out when the others start talking about the best place for body waxing. I'm still thinking about what he'd said earlier.

I miss you so fucking much. I hate waking up and you're not next to me.

I've been spending entire afternoons looking up vacation destinations for us. I'd decided on an all-inclusive resort in the Dominican Republic. Food, drink and everything is included, and it had gotten excellent reviews from luxury magazines.

And I hadn't even felt bad about charging fifteen thousand for the vacation on Griffin's card. This would be our week alone, together. Our fresh start. I could hardly wait.

"Daydream girl, what are you daydreaming about?" Victoria stretches her arm over the table and grabs my hand.

I shrug and smile.

"You miss him, don't you?" she asks, and all of the other girls make an awww sound.

I nod. "Can't wait until he gets back. Less than forty-eight hours." I pause. Normally I don't boast about anything, not about my good grades or Griffin's money and all that it buys. But tonight, I feel like showing off a little.

"He told me to plan a vacation for us," I say, tossing my hair. "He said to surprise him."

"Wow," one girl says, breathy. "Did he give you any spending limits?"

I shake my head and grin. I take another gulp, and it feels good to be out with other women. Around people who are smiling and laughing. I need a mental break, too.

The women all lean in and speak at once, asking me if I'd chosen a destination and offering suggestions.

"I decided on that new resort in Punta Cana. The one that's secluded and on an island. All inclusives, we get our own cabana."

"I saw that in Ocean Life magazine!" Victoria squeals. "That is serious luxury, girl."

"She's the luckiest woman in Miami," one of the others say, with a tinge of both jealousy and admiration in her voice.

It's true. I am the luckiest woman in Miami.

* * *

I've read the same sentence in my biology textbook five times, and if you ask me what it says, I wouldn't be able to tell you .

My hangover this morning is brutal. Why I drank all that champagne is a mystery. Victoria and I ended up at a club on the beach and switched to shots of Fireball, which blazed a path down my throat and into my stomach. We danced for hours. I groan out loud and try to calculate how long it's been since I took that last ibuprofen.

Crap, only two hours. If I take more, will I kill my liver? I think about calling my mom, but the idea of moving from my prone position in bed is too much to deal with. I don't want her to worry, not on top of what's happening with Ash.

I set the textbook at my side and try to shut my eyes, willing the headache away. Why did I drink so much? It seemed so fun at the time.

At one point, Victoria and I were on the street, tottering on our high heels, howling with laughter over...something. I can't remember what, probably because all the alcohol killed off some much-needed brain cells. When I got home at dawn, I'd thrown up in the toilet. The memory of that makes me groan, and the sound comes out raspy. That's what a night of drinking and shouting over loud music in clubs does to my voice.

I look at my phone. It's nearly five at night. I'd slept until three, and there's another reason I feel a little sick: I haven't heard from Griffin since yesterday, since the afternoon call where we talked about the vacation.

Before he left, he told me Wednesday—last night—was the night of the big meeting, so I didn't expect him to call or text last night. But I figured he'd call today, and before I passed out in my bed, had the presence of mind to put the phone on the pillow next to me.

He'd specifically said not to call or text unless it was an emergency. Now that it's been twenty-four hours, I'm starting to get worried. He said not to panic if I didn't hear from him every day, though. Something about the time difference.

My stomach does flip-flops when I think about all that could happen. But for all I know, his meeting is around a conference table in an office building.

Maybe his burner phone ran out of minutes. Or maybe their meeting was in a part of Amsterdam that doesn't have cell coverage. Unlikely, though, unless they went into the countryside.

I try to drift off, thinking about Holland. All I can imagine are tulip fields, so I visualize those. It's better than thinking about Griffin arrested or hurt.

When I peel my eyes open, I look at my phone again. Only ten minutes have gone by. Why is today going so slow? I'm teetering on the edge of a panic attack. Why hasn't he called?

I need to hear his voice.

Groaning, I slip out of bed, my head feeling like it's cracking open with every step. The curtains in the condo have been closed all day, and instead of turning on a light, I pull on the cord to slide one panel open.

Because it's Florida, I expect to be assaulted by sunshine, but instead, a blue-gray sky sends diffuse, soggy light into the living room. I peer out the window at the skyline, and see fog. It's drizzling.

In the kitchen I grab two more ibuprofen, liver be damned, and then I flick on the TV.

I feel so terrible that I'm going to stop drinking for a little while. I'm going to get fit, maybe go to a gym.

Or boot camp. They have those boot camp classes on the beach at dawn. I'd seen them from Griffin's balcony. Maybe I'll go tomorrow. By then my hangover will have subsided.

I imagine doing boot camp pushups and lunges in the rain and grimace. No, I won't go if it's raining. Maybe this rain will clear up by tomorrow.

I click over to WSVN, the main TV news channel in Miami. They've got a funny weatherman. I'm barely paying attention to the newscast music intro, but my attention perks up when the pretty brunette newscaster begins talking.

"Tonight on Seven News: an exclusive story about an international drug cartel war. And it has ties right here to Miami."

I'm standing at the island counter, gulping down the pills when her words grab me. I move into the living room, closer to the screen. Ever since I started dating Griffin, I always pay attention to drug stories on the news.

"Good evening, I'm Belkys Nerey. Tonight Seven News has learned exclusively about a shootout involving a rival drug gangs. And some of the victims have ties to Miami."

A surge of awareness shoots through my body and suddenly, my sinuses are clear and the pain in my head vanishes. I'm on the edge of the sofa cushion, my eyes suddenly peeled open.

"Let's go to Seven News reporter Josh Adams. Josh, what do you know, and how does Miami fit into all of this?"

My stomach instantly feels like a bottomless pit of doom.

The camera cuts to a young, dark haired guy in a suit. "This all started in Amsterdam."

I inhale and hold my breath, trying to trap all the fear inside.

"And it involves the club drug molly, also known as ecstasy."

I am no longer breathing.

"A group of molly dealers were meeting in a warehouse in Amsterdam last night..."

A map of The Netherlands flashes on the screen and I exhale, the fear exploding and invading every molecule in the air. My heart is beating so hard I think it might burst.

"...when a rival group of dealers threw explosives into the building. Witnesses also reported hearing gunfire. Authorities say that there were several casualties."

A little cry leaks out of my mouth. It's not Griffin. It can't be Griffin. Please no. Panic seizes my whole body, pulsing and beating erratically, as if something evil and unknown is controlling my heart and blood and organs.

"We spoke with the American consulate in The Netherlands, and they told us that at least two Americans were in the building. Both were from Miami. The consulate didn't release names but sources tell us that two men from Miami Beach, tentatively ID'd as Griffin Davis and Matthew Muñoz, are likely among the casualties. Davis is the son of Howell Davis, a mortgage broker who was sentenced to federal prison on fraud charges almost a decade ago, and Josefina Davis, the one-time fundraiser for the Miami Film Festival, who died in a car crash in Argentina..."

I don't hear a single word the reporter says after that, because I'm screaming the word no, over and over.

____