I called it a crush. An annoyance. A pain-point. Then I called it fun. I even called it falling.
All those words were safe. I could be a friend or a fuck buddy. I could even have a crush without getting my heart broken.
But what I feel, what I’ve always felt, for Sebastian Blake is love. It’s big and beautiful and scary.
Because at his core, Sebastian Blake is a shooting star: brilliant, ephemeral. And I’m a girl who has spent years looking up and wishing on him.
This weekend, I’ve been flying—high on life and love and my fake fiancé. And he’s promising that despite the distance, we can remain in the air.
Except, what happens if I don’t actually belong in the sky? I’ve never been the glowing girl destined to be next to him on the red carpet. The woman he needs, the woman he deserves, thrives in the limelight and the public eye. I’m not her. I’m the one in the background, carrying a clipboard making sure everyone and everything is organized.
I want to have faith that this wasn’t just a fantasy weekend.
And I yearn to believe that out of sight won’t be out of mind, like it has been before. I pray that I’m not Sebastian’s latest hyper-focus, only for him to lose interest and turn to the next shiny thing.
I worry about all that, even as my heart reminds me of his loyalty to the people in his life.
All too soon, I’ll be landing. And my feet will be firmly back on the ground. I can only pray that my wishes on a star won’t just be a brilliant memory. I guess the first indication will be if Sebastian texts or calls, like he promised.
Then I think of what he said about phone sex. And my thoughts turn in another direction entirely.
I havefive texts from Sebastian when the plane lands.
Sebastian:
I told you I’d text.
Sebastian:
You didn’t believe that I could be steadfast. Like that word? The British dude I’m playing next is very steadfast. It’s noted multiple times in the screenplay. But I’m going to prove to you I’m the most steadfast person you’ve ever met. So there.
Sebastian:
Emma? Where are you? You should have landed by now, according to the plane tracker.
Sebastian:
I arranged for Duncan to pick you up at the airport. He should have texted you already to coordinate.
Sebastian:
Em, you better message back or I’ll worry. And you know what happens when I worry. Well, I don’t usually worry about anything. But when I do, I get even more extra. So my worrying should worry you. Which is why you should message.
Me:
You’re ridiculous. And I’m fine. I’m just leaving the airport.
Sebastian:
How do you feel about Tuscany in September?
Me:
Do you want my thoughts in general? Or is there a particular reason you’re asking?
We textthroughout the drive home. When I arrive at my apartment, I can’t help but notice how much smaller and shabbier it looks after living in basically a castle this last week. My entire apartment could fit in the bedroom Sebastian and I shared. But I remind myself that anywhere would look shabby in comparison. Even a multimillion-dollar home.
It also feels… lonely. How is it possible that I’ve already gotten used to Sebastian’s all-consuming presence in a little over a week? So much so that being by myself doesn’t feel like it used to.
