When was the last time I had to beg someone to give me what I want? When was the last time I was denied? Maybe Conner was right. Maybe my life has been too easy and when things get hard, I just bail and don’t know how to cope.

"OK," the manager says. "Five minutes. But if she makes a scene, I’ll have to call security and have both of you escorted out."

"Deal." I give him a we’re-all-in-this-together clap on the back as I move past him, straightening out my jacket. I head towards the bar and Grace isn’t even paying attention. She’s chatting up the bartender, who sees me coming and excuses himself as I take a seat two stools away from her.

"Hey," I say in a low voice. "I’m sorry for picking you up back there. It was presumptuous to think you’d talk to me tonight, let alone come up to my room."

"Another margarita," Grace calls out to the bartender.

I catch his eye and hold up a finger. "Scotch, please. Top shelf."

"I’m not interested in your excuse, Vaughn. Truly." She looks me in the eyes for the first time tonight. "Truly, I am not interested. I’m not playing a game with you. I’m not playing hard to get. I’m not pretending to be pissed. I’m not even pissed. I’m just not interested. You’re not the man I thought you were. And I get that I was invested in the fantasy version of you. OK?" she says, shaking her head a little. "I get that. It was my fault for turning you into some kind of Prince Charming. So it’s not fair that I had such high expectations of you. I’m sorry that I blamed you for something I caused."

The bartender delivers our drinks and takes Grace’s empty glass away. I take a sip of my Scotch, then gulp it all, and slide my glass on the bar. "Another, please." The bartender nods and moves off to get that. I put my head in my hands. "Grace," I say, rubbing my temples. "Just for the fun of it, tell me what that Prince Charming version of me was like. How do I not measure up?" I look up at her, but she’s staring down into her pink drink, playing with the paper umbrella. "Was I nicer? Was I more generous? What is the real Vaughn Asher missing?"

She meets my gaze for a moment, but it’s a fleeting one. Her eyes drop back down just as quickly and she shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. The fantasy was… charming. Not just in a princely way, either. But really, really charming. Saying witty things, and being at ease with himself and others. He jokes with me and makes me laugh. You…" She doesn’t look at me, just continues to stare into her drink. "You make me sad. You make me feel inadequate. You make me feel stupid and small and pathetic."

Fuck. "How though? How did I do that? Because that was not my intention. OK?" I reach out and cover her small hand with mine. "I never wanted to make you feel like that. I wanted to excite you."

She looks up at my eyes and I almost wish she hadn’t. Her expression is overflowing with disappointment and she looks tired. She does look sad. She looks like she cried very hard earlier and the makeup can’t quite hide that. "You wanted to excite yourself, Vaughn. You wanted to please yourself. Not me. Everything you did, from picking out those clothes to putting money in my bank account, all of it was for your benefit. You lie to yourself, I think. You’re one long string of self-serving lies. I don’t know how you do it, or how you get so many girls to play along. But all your best intentions were nothing but really good deceptions. And even though I know in my heart" —she clenches her fist and holds it over her chest—"that the fairy tale is fake, that it doesn’t exist and I’m setting myself up for disappointment, I don’t care. Because I deserve that happy ending, Vaughn. I do. You might not think so. You might think I’m just some silly girl who has no right to expect so much from a man. But I don’t care. Maybe that man doesn’t exist and maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life alone, waiting for my prince. I don’t care. I refuse to play this game with you."

And then she reaches into her little clutch purse to grab her credit card and wave it at the bartender. "I’m done, Vaughn. And for what it’s worth, I do believe you about that girl on the TV. Thank you for the charity money. I will make sure it goes to worthy organizations and send you the receipt so you can claim it on your taxes."

The bartender shakes his head at me as he takes her card and I cup my chin with my hand and rub the shadow covering my jaw. My mind races with ideas, desperately trying to find a way out of this.

But Grace has made it clear she’s not interested in my games.

"Grace," I say softly as she signs the credit card slip and tucks her card back into her purse. "Would you like to have dinner with me? Here?"

She stands up and straightens her dress and then looks me in the eye. "No, Vaughn. I would not."

I reach out and touch her shoulder, gently, and this is just enough to stop her from turning away. "Grace, please don’t leave. Just listen for one more minute, OK? Because… because… I might not be your prince, but I think you’re my princess. I swear, I never knew I was looking for one. I just always knew that the women I was with before didn’t mean anything to me. But Grace, when I was up in that private suite and you were sent away, I realized something. I realized that I like you. A lot. And I don’t know what that means or where that leads, but I like you and I want to keep seeing you. I want to know you better. I want a chance with you. I’d like another chance to be your prince. I realize I’m a pretty bad substitute, but I can be fun. I can joke. I can make you feel all those things you crave, Grace. I know I can."