An hour later, my driver is pulling up outside Kit’s house. Kit jogs down his drive with a huge grin on his face. He is wearing a zipped up leather jacket, it looks awful. As he slides in next to me, he catches my displeased look.
“I know, I’ll take it off in the car before we get out. I’m just a bit chilly.”
I frown at him. It’s nowhere near as chilly as his native London, but I let it lie. The familiar nausea that takes a hold of me before public events, already has a strong grip. I don’t want to puke on him, so I say nothing and pretend to look out of window.
We arrive far too soon. The driver has pulled up so the VIP entrance to the stadium is on my side, which means I have to get out first. I warily eye the crowd lining the short distance between the car and the door. There are quite a few members of the press and public but they are probably just opportunists, here to see what celebrities arrive. They might not be interested in me.
I grit my teeth, put my smile in place and head out.
Instantly everyone is calling my name and camera flashes are going off. I force myself into the role and get on with it. Shaking hands, signing autographs, answering inane questions. Posing for selfies with fans.
Eventually, I reach the doorway. Kit meets me there but before I can escape, he spins me around to face the crowd again and drapes his arm over my shoulder. I smile for the cameras and ignore how good he feels next to me. The way he is holding me is tricking my brain into wanting to feel safe and protected. I’m such a loser.
He turns me around again and leads me into the stadium. I follow like a docile little puppy.
Staff greet us and usher us to our front row seats. Kit’s insane urge to turn up stupidly early for everything, means the stadium is still fairly empty. We are going to have to sit here and wait like a pair of idiots.
“Want anything to eat or drink?” he asks.
I shake my head. There are press everywhere, I’m so not going to sit here shoving a hot dog into my face.
He takes my hand and gives it a little squeeze. I’m ashamed of the flinch that ricochets throughout my entire body. My first instinct is to snatch my hand back. Being touched is weird. A public display of affection is bewildering, even if it is fake. But I can’t pull myself free. People are watching. I concentrate on hiding my squirm. This is fine. It’s just hand holding. His hand even feels nice. Warm, comforting, soothing. It’s not actually bad at all. I could get used to this.
He turns in his seat to face me, whilst still keeping a hold of my hand.
“Are you okay?” he asks with concern in his soft brown eyes.
Damn it. Can he feel me shaking? I don’t want him to know what a mess I am. What kind of person thinks being in public is terrifying?
“I’m fine!” I snap.
My gaze is caught by the short sleeve of his white tee shirt straining over his bicep. He did take his jacket off and I didn’t even notice. The fabric of the top stretches enticingly over his chest as well. It’s a nice sight.
There is a stereotypical gray alien face on the front of his top. Like the sort you see everywhere in Roswell. The alien is holding up two fingers in a V sign and the words ‘I come in peace’ are scrawled in black.
I stare at it blankly for a moment while my brain slowly ticks over. My gaze goes to my own top, because for some reason I have to check. ‘Peace,’ looms at me. I look back at him in horror.
His grin is dazzling. His eyes are so full of mirth they practically glow. I have never seen anyone look so pleased with themself.
“Had to solve the ‘who’s the top argument’, once and for all,” he winks.
How could he? Cold ice replaces the blood in my veins. My head spins. There are thousands of people in the stadium. I can’t escape. I’m trapped. I can’t whip my top off. And it’s far too late anyway. All those photos that were taken outside? Especially the ones where he tricked me into posing together outside the door.
People have seen. People know. People are picturing me that way.
What is Mother going to say? Panic claws at me. My heart thuds in my chest. Cold sweat trickles down my spine. I’ve never been so betrayed in my life. How can he do this to me?
A lifetime of practice keeps my smile in place, but Kit’s grin has vanished and there is deep concern in his eyes. I hate that he can read me so well.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers forlornly. “It was meant to be funny.”
He can apologize all he likes. I am never, ever going to forgive him.
Chapter fourteen
Mackenzie
Thebasketballgamelastsforever. Kit is either enjoying it or using his excellent acting skills. I have a smile on my face too, everyone looking at me will think I’m happy, but my expression hides my misery, as usual. I don’t want to be here. I want to be home, alone.
