Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“But this isn’t America. I’m not saying you’re not famous here. Of course you are. But…”
“But in London, humans don’t have facial recognition?” I look up and smile at him.
He shoots me a grin. “I’m not saying that. Just…no one’s going to bother you.”
I let out a half-laugh. “If you say so, but if you don’t mind, I’m not going to risk it. Not at the moment. I’ve been in the news cycle a little too much for my liking recently.” It might have been okay pre-breakup but now, there are new stories about me every day. How I’m heartbroken. How I’m a witch who can’t keep a man. How I’m in hiding. How I’m having an affair with a married, older producer. How I’m desperate to date a Kennedy. The list is endless.
“Fair enough. So now you’ve come clean, what are you really doing in London?”
“I’m really taking a break between jobs. I’ve got a new album out in a few months and I’ll have to travel to promote it. I just wanted a break.”
“So you’ve come to London to have a break except you have to wear a disguise and you can’t go anywhere without being worried someone’s going to recognize you. I don’t see how that’s any kind of break.”
I get that’s how it looks. “You’d be surprised. It’s a break being hidden. No one knowing where you are.”
“Oh, so the break isn’t from work, it’s from the people in your life.”
I consider it. “Maybe.”
“That’s very sad. You should spend time with people you want to spend time with.”
“I do.” My tone is a little defensive. “Mainly.” The problem is, Matt was always my safe haven—my rock when I wanted to get away. Being with him, just the two of us—that was the vacation I so desperately craved every now and then. Relaxing with him, all the fears and frustrations would disappear and I’d be able to cope with the fact that everyone in my life was someone I paid to be there. Everyone except Matthew.
The fact that all along he’s been at the center of my betrayal makes me want to run away from the world and never come back.
“Maybe I don’t. I think if you like and trust everyone you spend time with, you must be very lucky.”
His expression is disconcerting, almost like he feels sorry for me. No one’s looked at me like that for a very long time. “I am very lucky,” he says. “I learned that lesson early and hard.” He nods down at the scars on his arm.
“How old were you?”
“Twelve. My brothers and I were chasing each other around the house like feral cats. We knew the kitchen was off-limits when we were acting like that. What can I say? I knew I was about to get caught and pummeled, and the kitchen was the only escape. I ran into my mother carrying a pan of boiling water.”
I wince. “Shit.”
“It was made worse because I was old enough to know I screwed up, so I ran from my mother because I knew she’d be so angry with me. The pain didn’t kick in straight away. By the time she caught up with me and the ambulance had arrived…well, the burns were second and third degree. I spent a lot of time in hospital.”
“God, I’m so sorry.” Without thinking, I reach for his arm and stroke a finger across the marks that peek out from under his t-shirt. I know from the coffee shop that the scars run over at least one half of his chest.
Our eyes lock and he gives me a small smile. I don’t know if it’s because he thinks it’s weird I’m touching him or because he likes it. I drop my hand, suddenly aware that he’s a stranger I probably shouldn’t be touching.
“I learned a lot. It made me appreciate life. Ever since, I’ve wanted to squeeze out every moment of every day. I consider myself incredibly lucky.”
I nod, trying to fully absorb what he’s saying. He’s describing the exact opposite of my life at the moment. “And then I go and pour hot coffee all over you. That must be triggering or something.”
“Ahh, it didn’t touch my skin. Just my shirt. It’s fine.” The path splits into two and he nods to the left. We continue walking in that direction. We’re deeper into the park now and I don’t know why, but I feel kind of protected here. People pass us, but they don’t seem to glance in our direction. I start to settle a little.
“So what’s it like being an international pop star?” Beau asks.
Lonely, I don’t say. I shrug. “I love writing music. And I like playing it for people who enjoy it. I’m very lucky to do what I love.”
He narrows his eyes. “That sounds rehearsed.”