She knows it.
The universe probably knows it too.
So, I use her mom and Bella as buffers.
Human shields.
Emotional airbags.
And I wow them—shamelessly—with all the celebrity perks I usually hate using.
But today?Screw it.
Today, they’re useful.
I get us whisked through the private terminal, ushered into a VIP lounge stocked with snacks shaped like gold stars, then checked into the new Vegas Stargazer, which, honestly, is mind-blowing.
I’ve been here and to the Manhattan one a few times.Usually I’m miserable, tired, or hiding.
But right now?
This is the happiest I’ve been in years.
Bella is an absolute delight.
Smart.
Funny.
Quick-witted.
Sarcastic in that dry Bosco way I remember so well.
And shockingly?She knows my music.
Most of my fans are older these days—people who discovered my first hit when they were in college and stuck around—so hearing a kid her age reference my B-side tracks nearly knocks me flat.
“So,” Bella says, swinging her legs from her spot on the plush velvet bench in the suite she’ll be sharing with her grandmother—which yes, is located way down the hall from mine and Adrianna’s suite, “how long have you known Aunt Ad?”
I’m double-checking the marriage license paperwork, making sure every last signature line is correct and that our ID copies are where they should be.
But her question halts me.
I sit down, leaning my elbows on my knees.
“I’ve known Adrianna since I was younger than you,” I tell her.
Bella’s eyes widen.“Really?”
I nod, curious.“Yeah.Why do you ask?What’s up, Bella?You can talk to me.”
She hesitates—not like she’s scared of me, but like she’s scared of the answer to her own question.
“Nothing.Well, it’s just that.”She twists her fingers in her lap.“Aunt Ad is, well, she’s like my mom.And if you guys get married, I was wondering,” she continues, her voice dropping even smaller.“What happens to me?”
Jesus Christ.
My chest caves in.
