The ritzy hotel around the corner didn't even ask for our names when we checked in. Sy passed them an embossed black business card to the receptionist and told them to call for billing. No questions were asked. Card keys were handed over. The gleam and elegance of the hotel slipped around me like another element of the enchantment. Too perfect to be real. Untouchable.
Except that he was beside me. And this was very real. Very touchable.
The air in the elevator seemed to buzz between us. My mortal flesh was electric with desire. But there was one thing I needed to get out of the way.
“Sy," I said, turning the sound of his name over on my tongue. Names were precious things in the hands of our people. He must feel the intention I put into his name—the authenticity. And he did: I could tel
