“Are you dead?” She repeats my words playfully.
Even though she already saw the tent in my pants, I bend the knee closest to her to hide the evidence. “Close, but not quite.”
Hearing her heavy pants and not reaching out to touch her is torture.
“I think I have a crush on you.”
“Please, as if.” She laughs like she thinks I’m joking.
But I’m really not.
What would she look like in a wedding dress or with her stomach swollen with my baby? All of that runs through my head.
“You should leave. Leonidas and Trinity are going to think we’re having sex,” she whispers, like the idea of us being intimate is scandalous.
Little does she know, I’ve been thinking about how that would feel with her since I was a teenager.
“You can’t get rid of me quite yet. I haven’t forgotten that you still haven’t told me why you’re hiding out in here.”
“It’s nothing really.” She brushes me off.
“That’s what girls always say when itreallyis something.”
She scolds, “Maybe I don’t want to put another weight on your shoulders.”
Lying on my side to face her, I tsk. “I’ll gladly take your weight, as long as you let me help you.”
Her eyes soften.
I tuck a lock of her black hair behind her ear.
Her voice shakes. “I knew coming on this tour would make me become vulnerable to the world. It would be kinda impossible not to be seen with all of you. But I didn’t anticipate how obsessed people would get and how nasty they’d become.”
Shit, shit. Double shit.
“You’ve been going online and reading everything they’ve been saying about you.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
Her shoulders sag in defeat. “That’s the last thing I should be doing—I know! But how can I not be curious when my face is being thrown around and people are saying whatever they want about me?”
Curiosity kills the cat—it’s a popular saying for a reason.
Moisture builds in her eyes before they trickle down her cheeks. Aggravated, she swipes them away.
“Sweetie, look at me,” I demand, never wanting to see her tears again.
“Please leave me alone.” Her voice is thick, and she refuses to turn my way.
“Don’t ever hide your tears from me.” I pull her chin so she meets my eyes. When we’re lying face-to-face, I cup her cheek and brush her tears away with the pad of my thumb. “I’ve been inthis profession for almost ten years, and I still struggle with the media. It put me in a deep state of depression until I went on a social media ban. Now I try to block all the noise, but I still hear it.”
“How do you avoid it if it’s everywhere? I can’t go on my phone without seeing a headline. It’s on the news, and, God,” she exclaims like she’s in pain, “I can’t even go outside now because the paparazzi are everywhere!”
Uneasiness pools in the pit of my gut. “If this is too much, say the word, and I’ll take you back personally myself.” The words kill me to say because I want nothing but for her to stay here. But I’m already broken by this world, and she isn’t. I can’t be selfish.
“N-no. I-I’m staying,” she stammers, panicked. She grips my fingers in her fist in a frenzy. “I’m not going to let them push me away. I need this job, Elijah.”
“It was just a suggestion,” I reassure, smiling softly. “The last thing I want you to feel is stuck.”
“I don’t.”
