“Take a guess.”

“A few hundred a bottle.” He’s so flippant about it.

“Wrong, Griffin. This is a thousand-dollar bottle of champagne. A thousand dollars!”

“I felt a celebration was necessary.”

“What the hell are we celebrating?” I’m so confused right now. And I’m internally trying to figure out why I’m still angry with him, and if I reasonably should be.

“This new milestone in our relationship.” He’s smiling like he’s won the lottery as he comes to stand in front of me. Although I doubt winning the lottery would be a big deal for him.

“Are you high?”

“Are you?” He plucks the bottle of champagne from my hand.

“Oh my God, why are you being so . . . obtuse? What freaking milestone are we celebrating? The one where you made me come in the supply closet of a hotel you’re planning to buy with your vaults of money?”

“No, the one where you acknowledge that I’m your boyfriend and making sure weasels like Landon are aware you’re not available. Also, I believe this qualifies as our first fight as an official couple, so we have two milestones to celebrate—plural. Maybe I should order a second bottle.” He starts peeling the pretty gold foil.

“What are you doing? Don’t open that! I’m not drinking it; it’s too expensive.” I grab for the bottle, but he holds it out of reach.

His smile drops, mostly, and he looks almost awestruck, which I don’t get. “Look, Cosy, I understand that this might seem like an irrational amount of money to spend on a bottle of champagne to you, and maybe you’re right, but it’s really good champagne. If you want me to order up a bottle of Baby Duck so you can feel better about it, I can do that, but that stuff tastes like lighter fluid with bubbles, and the hangover is vile. Besides, I’m going to open this bottle regardless, and it’s unlikely I’ll drink all of it, so if you don’t help me, I’m going to dump five hundred dollars down the drain in the morning. Let me indulge you, please.”

I prop my fists on my hips. “What if I don’t want to be indulged?”

“Too fucking bad, I guess, since I don’t plan to stop. Get used to being pampered, Cosy, because that’s what it means when you’re my girlfriend.”

I pace the room, agitated and unnerved. Girlfriend means serious and that’s not what we are. At least that’s not what the plan has been, and since when does he get to decide what we are and what we aren’t without consulting me? “You’re leaving Vegas in a few weeks and I have an internship, so what’s the point of putting a label on something that can’t reasonably go anywhere?”

“This doesn’t have to end because I won’t be living in Vegas anymore. Besides, I’m fairly certain we’re going to buy the hotel, which means I’ll be back and likely staying for a while.”

That comment I made earlier was supposed to be a joke. A blossom of hope expands in my chest, which is so, so dangerous. It’s been easy to compartmentalize all of this. Make it into something pretty and finite, a precious memento kept in a box because I don’t want to share it with anyone else.

“And then what? You’ll go to the next place, and I’ll do my thing?” I don’t want to get used to being indulged, because I worry that one day the novelty of me will wear off, and I’ll be left with longing and memories of a time that will look rosy and perfect forever, encased in a glass bubble, and the snow inside will be the ashes of my ruined heart.

His expression softens along with his tone. “I don’t know what’s going to happen six months down the road, but I’d like to see if we can make it work.”

“But I’m still a twenty-two-year-old college student and you’re a hotel mogul.”

“So fucking what, Cosy? Why does that matter? Why are you so determined to find a way to make this impossible when it doesn’t have to be? You could be a twenty-seven-year-old college student.”

“A pretty bad one, obviously.”

“That’s not the point and you know it. This shouldn’t be about age, or the fact that you’re still in college, or my career, or my financial status, or yours, for that matter. This should be about us and whether we work as a couple. I think we do, very well, actually.”

“Our lives are so different,” I say meekly. This is what I’m afraid of, I realize. That these differences are too big and glaring to get past. It wasn’t something to worry about when we were just enjoying each other in the moment, but if we label it, I have to manage all the very real issues that will come with being with someone like Griffin, and he’ll have to do the same with me, which is pretty damn terrifying considering my lack of experience in trying to make things work.