I hit Tristan’s contact.
He answers on the second ring, slurring slightly. “Bro? It’s almost midnight. Please tell me you’re not crying on the cliffs or some emo shit?—”
“I have an idea.”
“Here we go?—.”
“No, listen.” My pulse is hammering. “I want a video blog. My own. A series. A… digital love letter.”
Tristan goes silent.
Then—
“No f*cking way.”
“Yes way.”
“You want to go public? About Jade? About YOU and Jade? You want to hashtag your feelings?”
“Yes.”
Tristan screams into the phone. “HOLY SHIT. YOU’RE COPYCATTING HER.”
“No,” I say sharply. “I’m courting her.”
A beat.
“A modern old-school romance,” I say. “If her platform is her armor, then I need to show her my heart in the same arena. Stories. Posts. Videos. Straight-up declarations. No running. No hiding. No PR spin.”
Tristan is breathing like he just ran a mile.
“Bruh—this is… insane. This is genius. This is—this is going to blow the internet apart.”
“I don’t care about the internet.”
“Yeah, but the internet CARES ABOUT YOU TWO,” he shouts. “This is Romeo-and-Juliet-star-crossed-lovers-HBO-series-level shit.”
I close my eyes.
“I’m not doing it for them,” I say quietly.
“I know,” Tristan replies, just as quiet. “You’re doing it for her.”
Another voice joins on speaker: Xavier, apparently half-asleep.
“What’s happening. Why is Tristan yelling.”
“Leo’s about to become a global romantic icon,” Tristan blurts. “He wants to build Jade a digital love letter.”
Xavier grunts. “Finally. Something smart.”
I grip the steering wheel tighter. The waves crash below.
“Call your PR girl,” I tell Tristan. “I want to film the first one tonight.”
“Tonight? As in right now tonight??”
“Yes.”
