A buzzing pulled me out of a deep sleep. The curtains kept out all but the slivers of sun bordering them. The blanket and sheets were hanging halfway off our king-size bed. My dress had fallen off the chair onto the floor, joining Jiyong’s suit that was scattered all over the room, and I could only see one of my high heels.

My body was tangled with Jiyong’s, after the third time we consummated our marriage we passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Again with the buzzing. It was my phone on the nightstand. I reached over Jiyong and flipped it over, seeing Jo’s name.

Daesung arrested.

Song Mino on the list of dead.

That was all he said. I felt sick as I deleted the messages, worried that maybe Jo didn’t offer more because the police were at Hyun Suk’s now, maybe even telling their dad that Jiyong might be involved. I glanced at the time on my phone. It was ten o’clock.

Song Mino was one less person to investigate. One more death for Jiyong to feel guilty about. I tried to remember if I’d seen Mino after the fire broke out. He was knocked out. Maybe he’d never gotten up. I thought of those frightened girls Jo and I saw in the hall of the basement. I thought about Lee Harin, who I knew from calc class, and was smiling as she stood next to her new boyfriend near the opposite wall of Keaton Hall five minutes before the fire. How long the list of the dead really was and who was on it was something I’d tried not to think about.

Maybe we should all be punished. The truth was, we were all responsible, because we were all irresponsible. There is a reason why fire marshals clear these kinds of events and safety precautions are taken. We ignored all of that. Turning on a radio or the television without seeing the images on the news was impossible, so Jiyong and I avoided them when possible. But all this media attention meant investigators would be all the more motivated to find someone to blame. I wondered if their hunt would stop with Daesung, or if they were out for blood. If I were a parent of one of those dead students, I might be.

I didn’t want to see Jiyong go to jail for everyone’s irresponsible behavior, and right or wrong, that wouldn’t bring anyone back. I had done everything I could think of to keep him out of trouble, and I would deny his presence in Keaton Hall that night to my dying breath.

People had done worse for those they loved.

“Jiyong,” I said, nudging him. He was facedown with his head buried under a pillow.

“Uggggghhhhh,” he groaned. “You want me to make breakfast? You want eggs?”

“It’s just after ten.”

“Still qualifies as brunch.” When I didn’t respond, he offered again. “Okay, an egg sandwich?”

I paused, and then looked over at him with a smile. “Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re in Vegas.”

Jiyong’s head popped up and he flipped on the lamp. Once the last twenty-four hours finally set in, his hand emerged from under his pillow and he hooked his arm around me, pulling me beneath him. He nestled his hips between my thighs, and then bent his head down to kiss me; softly, tenderly, letting his lips linger on mine until they were warm and tingly

“I can still get you eggs. Want me to call room service?”

“We actually have a plane to catch.”

His face fell. “How much time do we have?”

“Our flight is at four. Checkout is at eleven.”

Jiyong frowned, and looked over at the window. “I should have booked an extra day. We should be lying in bed or by the pool.”

I kissed his cheek. “We have classes tomorrow. We’ll save up and go somewhere later. I don’t want to spend our honeymoon in Vegas, anyway.”

His face screwed into disgust. “I definitely don’t wanna spend it in Seoul.”

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