I tense, searching the sunny square for dangers. Gus squeezes my leg again. It’s not that I’m ashamed to be seenwith, of course I’m not. How could I be? It’s more that I have no idea what the damage of being seen with him right now would be to my world, my sisters, my dad.
“What are you doing after today?” I ask.
“I guess I’ll go home and start the process of kicking my bratty sister out of my house.”
“Will you be ok?”
He drops his head. “I’ve got lots to keep me busy.” Which isn’t really an answer, but it’s something.
At least he’ll be busy. He’ll forget about all this within days. I swallow as the pain of that thought lodges itself in my throat.
I don’t want him to forget me.
I don’t want to go back to my lonely apartment.
I don’t want toonlybe in his wildest dreams.
To distract myself, I jump back to my feet and brush myself down, even though nothing even fell on me. Gus blinks at me.
“Come on. Let’s get to Basilica before we miss our slot.” The cruise booked us specific times to meet there, organising the final tour of our trip before I’ll take a taxi back to the airport, my flight leaving later tonight.
We stroll side by side. He takes my arm and loops it through his. And I’m not sure if it’s because Gus has specifically brought it up and I’m now more aware, or whether I was simply completely blind before but I’m certain there are eyes tracking us. Or more specifically, tracking Gus.
Groups of young women. A few men. There’s a middle-aged lady too, who I’m convinced is following us with her phone out filming.
And it doesn’t become an issue until we arrive outside the cathedral, staring up at its magnificent architecture, when we’re essentially parked here like sitting ducks. A blonde girl, with a Spanish accent, marches up to Gus.
“Is ityou?” she says, her face disbelieving. “It is!”
And like some kind of superpower, I watch him turn it on. Suddenly he’s a famous popstar. He takes his sunglasses off, hanging them on his t-shirt, then he grabs something from his back pocket and places it in my palm without even looking at me. It’s his burner phone. I step away but watch the situation unfold. He’ll want to see the cathedral. Maybe she’ll go and…
Another person comes up to him. He signs a leaflet she’s given him. The Spanish girl asks him to sign her white t-shirt.
I glance around me to see if anyone is taking any interest in me. But no. I’m a nobody. Of course. What did I expect? They wouldn’t look at me and see a woman worthy of Gus from Just4Summer. It’s laughable really.
As more people huddle around, asking questions about the band splitting up and taking selfies with him, I realise I have no choice but to call his team.
My chest is tight as I open the phone and find the number. It rings once before a stern voice answers. “Yes?”
“Hi,” my voice is shaky. “Yeah. Erm,Roko?”
“Sara,” a gruff voice responds. “Did he tell you to call me?”
“I don’t actually know who you are.” I frown. Should Gus have told me that? Despite him briefing me on this exact scenario, I feel so unprepared. “But yes. We’re at the Basilica in…”
“Barcelona. I know. What’s the situation?”
“He’s surrounded by fans.”
“We’re two minutes away,” he says, his voice softening as if he can sense my tension. “Stay on the phone.”
I do as I’m told, listening to the engine revving, indicators clicking, then the sound of car doors opening and slamming shut. When I spot two large men, dressed in dark shirts and black trousers, striding towards Gus, I experience a wave of nausea.
Is this it?
Do I even get to say goodbye?
I suck in a sharp breath as they reach him. I’ve stepped away so much now that it feels like I’m only spectating. I hang up the phone and drop it into my bag.
