Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
By the time we got to Paris and Stardust’s face glowed like a thousand fireflies, I’d forgotten who I was.
I’d forgotten my name was Alex Winslow.
I’d forgotten how it was going to explode in my fucking face.
And I’d forgotten all the mistakes I’d collected over the years since hitting it big.
Well, I was about to remember.
Paris, France.
How do you know you’re in love?
For me, it was in the kiss. I knew I was in love when I found myself opening my eyes when Alex and I were kissing. I no longer needed to close them to concentrate, to withdraw the curtain so I could feel the magic, so to speak. Alex was the magic. And every time we kissed with our eyes closed, I missed him. It was corny. Gag-worthy even, but nonetheless true.
It was under the Eiffel Tower that he’d told me his existence had felt different the past couple of weeks. Like his living and breathing were more significant, somehow. “Remember in Berlin, when I asked you to sit by the stage, where I could see you?” he’d asked. I’d nodded, taking a sip of my foam cup. The coffee was better in Paris. Come to think of it, everything was better in Paris. Alex had jerked me to his body with the collar of my coat, our lips touching as he’d spoken. “The way you look at me when I sing and play reminds me why I started doing it in the first place. It reminds me there’s nothing else I want to do—can do—and even though there’s something tragic in that, a man with one destiny, you take the edge off.”
“How does your soul feel these days?” I’d smiled.
“Pure,” he’d answered.
Had I known this was the last time Alex and I would be this way, peaceful and whole and unassuming, I would’ve spent a few more minutes sipping that coffee. A few more moments kissing him under the perfect blue sky. But I hadn’t known, and we’d had to go back to the hotel and get ready for the charity gala. I don’t know if he’d realized it, but Alex had had a smile on his face the entire time. Even when Blake had forced a disgusting herbal tea down his throat to help his vocal cords. Or when Lucas had sat between us and stared at him with the same kind of pained, pissed-off expression Lucas only produced when he looked at Alex. Hell, he’d even laughed at Alfie’s completely inappropriate jokes.
The last thing I remember from that afternoon was when we were in the snack room before the limousine came to pick us up for the gala. Alfie had been loitering by the entrance with a few fans, Blake had been on his phone to Jenna, and Alex, Lucas, and I had been sitting in the hotel lobby, sipping orange juice from champagne glasses. I remember the way Lucas had looked at me when Alex pulled me into his lap after I’d paid a quick visit to the bathroom. Alex had circled my waist with his arms and spread his lean thighs apart to accommodate me, his fingers playing with the hem of my dress as he’d talked shop with someone he openly referred to as French Suit Number Three.
I remember thinking I’d gotten it all wrong.
I even remember the sound the penny made when it dropped.
And most of all, I remember asking—why? How? And—for how long?
I didn’t know I’d be getting the answers to all of those questions the same night.
And that as soon as I’d make sense of them, I’d want to forget them. Forever.
“Do Re Mi” by Blackbear played as we sauntered through the huge double doors of the chateau. Ironic, considering the song was tailor-made for Fallon and Alex’s story. Fallon, the girl whom I hated without even knowing. We hadn’t seen her yet, but she was everywhere. The room was heavy with her presence, and I knew it wasn’t a matter of if, but when. The whole evening felt like a huge middle finger to me, and I didn’t even know why.
I wanted Paris.
I craved this ball.
I was dying to show off my dress. The Paris Dress, as all the guys referred to it.
Everyone was wearing masquerade-style masks. Silver, gold, black, and blue camouflaged the beautiful faces of the rich attendees. Mine was one of the rare white ones, lace curving over my eyes and forehead. Alex had a simple black Zorro mask that showcased his strong jawline even more. Alfie, of course, had opted for a flamboyant mask with feathers and glitter. His playfulness was growing on me.
“I’m going to head to the ladies’ room. Let me find Blake.” I put my hand on Alex’s arm, and he squeezed it, prompting me to look up and meet his gaze. We hadn’t spoken about Fallon, or about our very near future, but I didn’t want to let him out of my sight. Which was exactly the reason I should.