He pulls away and gives me a shy smile. “Okay. Bye.”
He jogs to the door and back to meet his mother. Even though it means my dad might catch me, I can't resist following just for a minute.
I poke my head out the door and watch as the boy and his mother join a tall man in a suit. He wraps his arm around the boy's mother and kisses her cheek softly, like she's the most precious thing in the world.
She whispers something to him and he chuckles before rustling the hair on the boy's head and guiding them all into the entrance hall. A real family. The kind I used to draw in my notebooks before I learned they weren't real.
But this one is.
This boy has parents who love each other, who lovehim, and suddenly I want that so badly it hurts.
I wonder if he knows how lucky he is. I wonder if someday, someone will look at me the way his father looks at his mother.
Probably not. Girls like me don't get fairy tale endings or forevers.
My throat burns when they vanish around the corner, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever see the boy again.
Oh no!
He didn’t tell me his name.
I step out the door to rush after them, but stop.
If I’m caught, my father will never bring me back here. So, instead, I shut the door and clench my fists. I hide the tray of sweets under a table in the corner and clench my fists as I go back to my notebook lying against the carpet.
I flip to a new page and try to draw the boy, just as I remember him. I don’t want to forget his face. It takes me a while to get it right, the way his mouth looks serious even when he smiles, the way his eyes are light under dark lashes.
When I’m done drawing him, I draw myself next to him.
Then, even though it’s stupid, I add a veil to my dress, and little band on my finger.
1
JAMES
“Is that really him?”
“It has to be! He’s wearing the same tie he had on at the premiere ofDeadly Love.”
The two women don’t bother to keep their voices down, despite the fact that I’m sitting two tables away from them.
“You’re such a stalker. You memorized his outfits?” one says.
“No, but there were pictures of him and Anne Hathawayeverywhere,” the other replies. “I’m not going to forget an outfit I saw in a zillion magazines. Do you think I should go over there?”
“Youhaveto. He’s there by himself. Maybe he wants company.”
My lips firm into a frown. When I’m in public, a certain amount of attention is unavoidable, but I can’t afford an interruption for the meeting I’m about to have. Especially not of the sort they’re suggesting.
I signal to the server lingering several feet away from me. He hurries to my side, shooting me a blinding white smile that screams “aspiring actor.” I grit my teeth and hope he’s not planning to pitch himself for my next Sequel Original.
“How may I help you, Mr. Keller?” he asks.
I tilt my head toward the young women behind me, who are openly taking photos of me on their smartphones like I’m a zoo animal. “Relocate them, please.”
“Right away, sir,” he says brightly.
The server might have dreams of acting, but he still works for the Ritz, and he’s been trained well. I half-listen as he smoothly offers the girls an open table closer to the fireplace, a coveted spot for social media photos. They coo in excitement, seeming only a little disappointed that they’ll need to move to the opposite side of the restaurant.
