I just can’t shake them. I can only see her in profile as she’s talking to someone through the kitchen pass, but it looks just like her.
Itreallylooks like her.
Iris?
It can’t be.
I must be mistaken. When she turns, I’ll realize it’s not my Iris. Then I might have to make an appointment to see a neurologist. Or a shrink or something.
I’m rooted to the spot, waiting for her to turn, waiting for my madness to be confirmed. I can’t move. I can’t even turn my head so I can focus on something else. It can’t actually be Iris. These goddamn hallucinations.
I’m vaguely aware of someone—Worth, I think—calling my name, but I can’t answer. I can’t focus on anything but the woman in front of me and the curve of her neck. The jut of her chin and her elegant profile. Itreallylooks like her.
The room tilts a little, and I can’t seem to get my breath. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not anymore.
The woman laughs and I want to reach out to her, move her to face me so I can see for certain that it’s not Iris.
What seems like hours later, she finally turns.
And screams.
Fruit hits me in the face and the chest and everyone around Iris and me charges into action.
It’s only me who doesn’t move.
Me and Iris.
ELEVEN
Iris
Two universes collide inside me and I can’t breathe as the energy from both crash together. Waves of confusion and excitement and horror collide. I’m hot. And cold. And I feel nothing and everything at the same time.
Jack’s here. Jack’s here. Jack’s here.
In Star Falls.
Right in front of me.
When I met him two weeks ago in New York, I thought he looked familiar. Jack isn’t a celebrity. Just a friend of Byron’s. People say it’s a small world. But it really isn’t. Not at all. How is he here?
Is it coincidence? Or fate?
“Sorry,” I say, bending to pick up the raspberries I’ve just thrown.
“It’s fine,” Donna says. “These guys are scary, I get it.”
The raspberries have been rescued from the floor, but as I straighten and stare back at Jack, I’m aware that he has splodges of raspberry juice all over his white shirt.
One of his friends pats him on the shoulder. “We’ll just take a seat, Donna.”
“Sure,” she says.
My gaze lifts and we lock eyes.
“Iris, you okay?” Donna asks.
Jack and I keep staring at each other.
