“Just sit tight until I get that door open.”
Then he’s opening his own small door and stepping out as a roar of voices starts.
Before I left the Lodge, I had just enough time to pack up my stuff and call Stef from my laptop. I gave her the location of the marina and told her when to meet me. She had so many questions, but the plane was ready to go. I promised to tell her everything when I landed.
What I didn’t realize was that I’d have to find her among all the fans and media who are here to see Damian, and now I don’t know how I’ll manage it. It’s chaos outside. People are screaming. Cameras flash as the pilot walks along the float. A few pride flags are waving in the breeze, and one woman is holding up a sign that saysDamian, I Love Threesomes.
Shit, are they here to see me too?
“Stay here.”
I don’t realize Damian is speaking to me until I feel his hand on my wrist. The gesture isn’t aggressive, and my brain short-circuits again, pinging between leaning into him because I can’t seem to help myself when he touches me and pulling away as a wave of hurt feelings threatens to choke me.
His voice is soft. “Vin and I are going to get off. I’ll ask the pilot to close the door. Stay here until they all leave, okay?”
People can probably see me through the window. I shrink back, trying to pull the collar of my jacket up as high as it will go. Damian looks genuinely sad, and he brushes a thumb against the underside of my wrist. This is it. He’s leaving. I should be relieved. That much closer to ending this pointless chapter of my life. But suddenly I feel like there are more things we should say.
The door at the rear of the plane opens, and the screaming gets louder.
“Damian! Who was the man you were recorded with?”
“Damian! Are you seeking treatment for sex addiction?”
“Damian! Are you gay?”
“Damian! What do you have to say to your fans?”
“Damian! When’s the wedding?”
Vin mutters something, then slides his sunglasses into place and steps outside. The roar only grows as Damian appears in the doorway. He has to hunch to get through the door, and the questions get so frenzied I can’t even understand them anymore.
He doesn’t look back.
If anyone can still see me through the window, they don’t care. They surge toward him. A number of muscly men in dark sunglasses form a human chain around him, giving him room to make his slow way forward. Actual bodyguards. They don’t smile. They don’t speak. They’re all business, and it seems so naive to think Damian might have ever had that job. He keeps his head down as they go. All his easy friendliness is gone. He still stands a full head taller than everyone around him, and even as the crowd pushes inward and hurls their questions, somehow he looks very alone.
Soon enough, a car pulls away, and the reporters and photographers all rush to get into their own cars to chase after him. Fans linger in the chaos, but it starts to rain, and they move on pretty quickly.
Finally, when the marina is empty, I grab my bags and step down. A few fishermen on their boats lift their heads as I go by, but none of them give me a second look.
Stef is waiting in the parking lot. She’s leaning against the car, wearing her rain jacket and rubber boots, looking every inch like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
“How was your flight?”
“Bumpy,” I say. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting Graham?”
She flicks a hand. “Been there. Done that.”
“And?”
“I’ll tell you about it in the car. After you tell me about”—she gestures toward the main road where all the cars have disappeared over the next hill—“that.”
I groan. “Good thing it’s a long drive.”
She reaches up and pulls me close for a hug. It feels good. Normal.
I’m back to my old life. No more hotels. No more movie stars.
Hopefully I never have to think about Damian Marshall again.
