I feel Rainer’s hand on my wrist and then his fingers at my hip as he’s moving me toward the dance floor. The music blares around us—a techno version of some pop song I have been hearing on the radio constantly. It’s so loud it vibrates through me—like my muscle fibers are a sound system—inputting every beat.
The crowd doesn’t seem to notice us as we move through the pulsing bodies. I feel anonymous in this mass, and it’s delicious, heady, like I could be anyone and do anything. By the time we get to the center of the dance floor, I’ve forgotten we’re famous.
I pull Rainer close and loop my arms around his neck. He drops his lips down until they hover over mine. I dig my fingers into his shoulders. I feel the muscles there move as he presses his hands flat against my back and draws me in closer.
My heart is hammering—trying to keep up with the music and his hands as they trace over me like stencils, creating patterns and shapes in their wake.
I can hear Rainer’s breath in my ear, and his hand finds mine. He makes an impatient sound, and then he’s dragging me back out the way we came. I don’t bother to look back—to see where Jordan is, whether he’s found Alexis in that dark mass the way Rainer has found me.
The paparazzi have evidently found all of us because when we leave, there is a sea of photographers—so many flashes it feels like daylight. Rainer tucks me to his side, and two bodyguards usher us into a waiting town car. I bury my face in Rainer’s shoulder and let his arms circle around me.
“Drive,” I hear him say. His tone is tense, frayed around the edges with what we’ve taken with us from that dance floor.
We speed away, but I keep myself fastened to Rainer’s side. We find each other in the back of that town car the way we did in the dark club. I’m so caught up in Rainer, in what it feels like to be this close to him, that I’m barely aware of coming home and Rainer carrying me through the door.
When we get into the bedroom, he hesitates. We’ve slept in the same bed before—here, and on tour—but never exactly like this. Never with the air crackling between us like it’s something live—something with a heartbeat and pulse all its own.
“It’s okay,” I say.
His eyes float over me—like the blue in them has turned from ice to water. It swims around his pupils—liquid velvet. He lays me down on the bed. “I’m so glad we’re here,” he says. He tucks my hair behind my ear, and then we’re kissing. My fingers find the edge of his shirt, and I’m inching it up his torso and then taking it off. I see his chest—his golden muscles working. I’ve seen him without a shirt on so many times before—countless shoots, the beach, for months, and the familiarity of it, of the little indent he has on the right side of his rib cage and the birthmark right above his belly button, fills me with a joy I can’t quite describe. I know him, now, and he knows me—in a way no one else does or ever will. Because he’s in this with me. It’s just the two of us. And it’s this that makes me kiss him back harder, fiercer.
His hands are in my hair, and then they slide down my body. I feel his fingers on my waist then down to my hips, and I arch up against his lips. He moves to the zipper on my dress, and I realize I don’t have a bra on underneath. I didn’t wear one. The straps showed.
The realization makes me edge back, just a tiny bit, but it’s enough for Rainer’s hands to stop what they’re doing.
“Are you okay?” he asks me. His voice is ragged, and I can feel his heartbeat through his skin—as haphazard as my own.
I nod, except I’m not sure. If my dress is opened then so is this whole new dimension, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that. It’s like I’m seeing myself outside of myself—watching me. The way everyone else is. And I don’t want them to see this. I don’t want them to know. Suddenly something Jessica showed me months ago on set comes flashing back to me—she read me some fan fiction about us. Not August and Noah—me and Rainer. It was meant to be silly, but now it all comes hurling back. The paragraphs of us together, just like this. The remembered sentences come one after the other—they pile on top of my chest until I can feel their weight physically. It’s like we’re in somebody else’s fantasy. I thought we were alone tonight, but we’re not. The whole universe is in bed with us.
“What is it?” Rainer asks. I can see the concern in his eyes, and it lessens the pressure, just a little. “What’s wrong?” His palm finds my cheek, and he holds it there. “Talk to me.”
But I don’t know what to say. How can I explain that being with him right now, like this, feels like we’re fulfilling some public wish?
“I’m scared,” I say, because it’s true.
“Of me?”
I shake my head. I can feel my face get hot, am sure his hand on my cheek feels it, too. My eyes fill with tears, and I bite my lip to keep them from spilling over. I feel so stupid in this bed with him, so small—I don’t know why I can’t just be here. Turn my brain off and stop thinking.
“Hey,” he says. “It’s okay.” He moves his hand from my cheek to my temple and rubs his thumb back and forth there. “We have plenty of time. There is no rush here.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Good,” he says. He slides us down so we’re lying against the pillows. He tucks an arm around me and holds my hand against his chest. “Just relax,” he says. “Get some sleep.” He threads a hand through my hair, and I feel his heartbeat slow along with mine.
CHAPTER 4
The next morningwe go to breakfast at the Beverly Glen. The Beverly Glen is a little shopping center close to the Bel Air house that celebrities often frequent because no one seems to care that you’re there. It’s hidden up in the hills—just a few boutiques, a restaurant, a salon, and a Starbucks.
Cassandra is chattering about how amazing last night was while Rainer is in line to get us all coffees and eggs and muffins and French toast. “I’m glad there are no paps here,” Cassandra says. “My hair is having a day.”
Jake rolls his eyes at me. I laugh. “What time is your flight?”
“Too soon.” Cassandra pouts. She shuffles some papers around in the booth and then squeals. I see a story about us. There is a photo of us from last night, leaving the club, and my left hand is circled in red. The headline reads:RAINER GIVES PAIGE A PROMISE RING.
I look down at my hand. How do they know he gave me that ring? I make a move to grab for the paper, but Cassandra is already reading. “For her birthday, Rainer gave his beloved Paige, or ‘PG,’ as he affectionately calls her, a promise ring. ‘They’re too young to get engaged,’ a source tells us. ‘But Rainer wanted Paige to know he’s in it for the long haul. He adores her.’”
Adores her.I grit my teeth. Another private moment made public, and then twisted. A promise ring? I shiver thinking about last night, about what almost happened but didn’t because of this ungranted access.
