“And your car’s still at the studio.”
I’d forgotten about that.
“I’ll call an Uber.”
“Like hell you will.” His voice takes on a slightly menacing tone.
My eyes widen, and I’m not sure if my surprise is from the renewed bass in his voice or the way my nipples hardened from it.
“You’re not going anywhere, Ivy,” he says with the type of authority bestowed to CEOs or presidents of nations.
“What?”
“It’s the middle of the night and I’m not letting you get into a stranger’s car. All because you thought I was talking to a womanin the middle of the night. Especially, since I wasn’t speaking to a woman.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Then who were you talking to?”
“My brother,” he answers, looking me directly in the eye.
It pisses me off at how quickly my anger starts to deflate. But I can’t let him off that easily.
“What brother calls in the middle of the night?”
“The kind who has the type of job that takes him all over the world in secrecy,” he replies. “I don’t know exactly where he is right now, but it’s daytime in that part of the world. That’s what he told me, anyway.”
Andreas’ eyes meet mine. There’s an emotion there that I can’t readily identify. Sadness, maybe? Loneliness?
“He’s not always truthful about where he is.” He shrugs. “Safety precautions.”
The heaviness in his voice pulls on my heartstrings. He could be acting, but there’s a sincerity in his voice that renders me speechless. A vulnerability that I recognize from having shared with him earlier about having panic disorder.
My anger has completely dissolved. The emotion in his voice isn’t fake.
“You miss him,” I say, stroking his arm.
He gives me a half smile, but it lacks his typical humor.
“I do.” Andreas snorts. “The irony. I was the one who left home first. I came to California at fifteen and premiered in my first major role at sixteen. It’s been more than a decade since we’ve lived under the same roof, but he’s farther away than ever now.”
“I didn’t realize you had a brother.”
I think back to what I’ve read about Andreas online. A few blog posts mentioned he had siblings, but it was never clear how many or whether or not he had brothers or sisters.
“My management and public relations team work with my security to keep my family details as private as possible.”
That reminds me of what he revealed earlier tonight.
“Townsend,” I say. “That’s your real name.”
This time his smile is genuine as he reaches a hand out to push a wayward curl behind my ear. I allow it, even leaning into his hand as he runs the tip of his thumb along my jawline.
“Knight is what Hollywood calls me. But the people closest to me know my real name. Who I really am.”
His tone indicates that there’s a deeper meaning to his words.Now that I know his last name, am I included among the people who really know him?
I start to shake my head because it’s ridiculous to think that way. It’s way too soon.
“Yes, Ivy,” Andreas counters. “You are among one of them. I told you my real name because I want you to know it. So when you meet my family, you’ll know who we are.”
