Yesterday was a lot.
Looking at him now, I’m pretty sure Derek hasn’t moved in the last twelve hours, which is impressive. I can’t get over how unguarded he looks. He’s on his back, one hand on his torso and the other stretched across the mattress toward me. From the second he lay down, I’ve been tempted to take hold of that hand, but I haven’t wanted to wake him when he clearly needs sleep. He needs this moment of peace.
Few people in the world get to see him at ease like this, if any, and something warm and comforting settles in my chest as I gaze at him. He trusts me. He wanted me to stay, and he has let me into the deepest corners of his heart because hetrusts me. From the sound of it, Derek doesn’t really trust anyone. He never said it out loud, but I’m pretty surehe realized that not trusting his friends with the darker parts of his life is partially to blame for the mess he’s found himself in. If they’d known his history with his mom, they might have helped him figure things out sooner.
Careful not to jostle the bed, I sit up and grab Derek’s phone from where I left it charging on the nightstand. I want to make sure Spencer hasn’t run into any trouble since yesterday, but I’m also curious ifHollywood Hot Scoophas said anything specific about me yet now that they’ve had half a day to work with whatever footage the paparazzi got them.
What kind of fame—or infamy—will I be walking into when I eventually leave this hotel room?
There’s nothing from my cousin, so I pull up Derek’s browser. It’s still open to the old story, the one that gave the internet the first real glimpse of the man behind the actor. I read through it, laughing at the way it hardly says anything at all. Nothing significant, anyway. Derek is as much of a mystery as he was the first day he showed up to Hollywood.
Pretty much the opposite of how I was.
Though I wish I had some sort of armor to wear, I hit the refresh button and brace myself. Even prepared for it, my breath catches in my throat when I see the headline of an article posted less than twenty minutes ago.
From Fame to the Fringe: The Untold Disappearance of Nova Tate
I gulp as my hand starts shaking. I knew this was coming, but seeing my stage name big and bold on a website that isn’t afraid to hold back fills me with dread. There’s a picture attached to the headline, a red carpet shot from one of my last premieres, and I can’t stop staring at the girl I used to be.
I barely recognize myself, and it’s more than the dyed dark shade of my hair I had back then. That girl wore designer dresses and bold makeup, and she carried herself with superiority and overconfidence, lookingthroughpeople instead ofatthem. She looks…haunted…in this picture. Empty. She was so caught up in the fame that she couldn’t see anything past the spotlight. No one else in the world mattered but her.
“It’s a good thing you died at fifteen,” I whisper to my old self.
I should read the story. It’ll be better if I know what to expect out there, but my thumb hovers over the link to open the article. Is this how Derek feels all the time? Terrified that something has come to light that he spent so much time and energy trying to keep buried?
A warm hand wraps around mine, startling me, but I relax the instant I meet Derek’s vividly blue gaze. His lips curl up in a lazy smile, and a fire sparks to life inside me at the sight.
“You stayed,” he says, his voice rough from sleep.
As if I could have left. I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who could resist this man’s smiles. “You snored,” I reply with a smirk.
Yawning, he rubs his eyes and then runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, see, I know you’re lying because I’ve done too much training with my breathing patterns, so I know for a fact that I don’t snore.”
I groan, rolling my eyes. “Of course you have. You know, some might wonder if you’ve been single this long because you’re way too close to perfect. The rest of us normal people can’t even begin to match up to your superhuman self.”
Derek snickers, and then he rolls toward me, wrapping his arm around my waist. He slides my body down to bring our faces closer, and his gaze is fixed so intently on me that the fire in my belly starts to spread.
“First of all,” he says in a voice so low and rumbly that I shiver despite feeling overheated, “you know better than anyone that I am far from perfect. Second, there is nothing normal about you, Donovan Tate. You are confident and beautiful and pay attention to the people around you.”His eyes grow dark as he studies me while inching closer to my mouth. “You see people for who they are. You’re strong and capable. You’re fearless.”
Pretty sure he’s stolen all the air from my lungs, and while we would both be better off keeping some space between us until I can get my hands on a toothbrush, I’m tempted to kiss him anyway. But that last trait he listed sticks in my head, and I can’t help but grimace and look down at the phone in my hand.
“I’m not fearless,” I murmur, needing to set him straight. Being able to stand tall in his world is important, and right now I don’t feel nearly as strong and capable as he thinks I am.
Derek’s eyes linger on me for a few more seconds, then he shifts his focus to the phone I pick up again. “They posted it.”
“I’m too scared to read it.”
He rests his head on my shoulder, and I assume he’s studying the picture of Nova Tate the same way I was a few minutes ago. He’s being a lot more physical than I expected him to be, though it’s not like I had any basis for how this man would act in a relationship. Neither can I say we’re evenina relationship. But strange as this closeness is for me, I am absolutely here for it. There’s something very calming about Derek’s hold. I feel safer than I ever have. And knowing he feels equally safe to be in a vulnerable position like this bolsters me in a way few things have before.
“No one says you have to read it,” he says after a moment. “Sometimes it’s better not to know.”
“Butyouwant to read it,” I guess.
His hand tightens around my waist as he lifts his head up to meet my gaze. “I want to know how angry I need to be at my mom when all this is said and done. Whether or not she is directly involved, this story exists because of me.”
He looks so apologetic that I drop the phone on the bed so I can push his hair from his forehead and kiss the wrinkles on his brow. “This isn’t your fault.”
“It absolutely is,” he argues. “No one would have given you a second glance if I hadn’t picked your company.”
