“I wasn’t aware wewerefriends.” She tugs up her strap angrily. “What about Abigail?”
I shake my head. Based on Lyra’s reaction, I don’t have time to go into details, but she deserves something. “Abigail saw that I had issues about you going on the show. We decided that I need the space to finally figure out what it is between us.”
While that may not be exactly what happened, it’s a good recap.
Lyra studies me for a long moment. There’s no hint of a smile or a welcome light in her eyes. She looks at me like I’m a stranger.
I’ve also been the recipient ofthatlook before and it’s not pretty.
“I wasn’t aware therewassomething between us,” she finally drawls in an icy voice.
Something snaps inside me. It’s one thing when we both have been denying a connection, but now that I’m here and willing to take a chance… “This—” I gesture to the space between us that seems to be shrinking since both of us have started leaning toward each other. “This is something. You’re lying to yourself if you think there’s nothing between us.”
“Apparentlyyou’vebeen lying to me for years, so what’s the difference?”
“I’ve never lied,” I tell her. “And I’m here now to find out once and for all if you have the same feelings for me that I do for you.”
Unless it’s just me. Oh god, please tell me it’s not just me.
For a moment, a heart-breaking moment that seems to drag on forever, I really do think that’s the case. Then Lyra opens her mouth.
And shuts it.
It seems like I’m not the only one at a loss for words.
“Why now?” she finally manages.
I can only shrug. “Has there been a better time?”
And that’s all I get to say.
The producers break us up, sweeping me aside as they whisk Lyra away from me.
From all the men.
At least they get hugs, and I grit my teeth at seeing Lyra being passed around from one pair of arms to the next, a few of the men managing to kiss her cheeks.
Whatever anger she feels toward me doesn’t transfer to them.
Lyra climbs into an SUV, leaving her guardians slowly circling me like they’re a pack of hyenas and I’m a wounded antelope.
At least the cameras are still rolling, so I think I’m safe enough.
“Who are you?” A tall, tattooed man wearing a black tank and pink, patterned shorts steps forward a growl. He looks like he enjoys snakes and motorcycles and possibly bar fights.
Maybe not safe enough.
“This is the fifth prince of Laandia.”
“You’re Leo Whyte,” I say with surprise, recognizing the speaker from a television show, some sit-com Abigail made me watch.
“I am.” But there’s no agreeable grin on his face like he always wore in the show. “What are you doing here?
“His Dad was in the band with the king,” comes another voice, and I give a start to see the drummer of the band Water Rhinos standing there, fingers drumming on his thigh. “Didn’t you grow up with the royal family?”
“You grew up with Lyra?” Scary guy demands.
“Kind of.”
