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“Well, I have heard Brits don’t exactly look at Americans fondly. Besides, I’m sure your life is a little more glamorous?”
He acted offended and then grinned. “If you think I sit around eating caviar all day, you’d be mistaken. It’s not that glamorous.”
“A little glamorous?” I asked, grinning.
He made a gesture that suggested just a little. I smiled.
“Have you talked to anyone back home? Let them know you’re here yet?” I asked after a long sip of my drink.
He shook his head. “Mom called right when I left, and I told her I was alright. But that’s it.”
“Do you feel bad disappearing?”
He paused for a long moment, and I thought I’d pushed him too far. He looked off into the distance, studying the two girls who were now singing karaoke.
“A little, if I’m being honest. We’re losing money each day I’m gone and, more importantly, reputation. You have to keep going while you’re hot, or so they tell me. At any second, it could all come crumbling down. But I don’t know. Did you ever just feel like you needed to escape the life you were in or you might just completely implode?”
I thought back to New York, to finding out Brad had been lying to me...and Scarlet, too.
“Yes. A hundred times yes. Even now a little bit,” I said, shrugging.
“And I know it’s selfish, but I just couldn’t handle that life for one more minute. The paparazzi, the media frenzy if I go outside. The constant rat race, and everyone depending on me to just keep things afloat. I wanted to sing because I love singing, but it feels like it’s so much more than that and also so much less than that at the same time.”
I could feel the pain coming through his words. It was crazy to me because to look at him on the cover of every magazine, you’d think he was the golden guy with the world at his feet. Now, sitting in a dive bar with him sipping his beer, I could see nothing but sadness.
“It’s not selfish to think of yourself,” I said. But could I believe those words? Hadn’t I spent so much of my adult life also feeling guilty for letting others down?
“Adult life is complicated,” Leo said, and I toasted to that. We clinked glass to bottle, simmering in the knowledge for a moment longer.
“Can I ask one more question?”
He eyed me suspiciously. “Go on.”
“Were you really with that supermodel last year?”
“So, you do follow me, huh?” he asked, seeming a little smug.
“No, I don’t.” My cheeks burned.
“Not at all?” he asked.
“No.”
“My music?”
I shook my head weakly. He gasped.
“Are you kidding? You don’t like my music?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s just not for me,” I admitted sheepishly.
“That stings,” he said, but he had a forgiving look in his eye. He feigned a stabbing motion to his heart. I laughed a little.
“I really am sorry.”
“What do you like?” he asked. “Music wise.”
“Country?” I said with a question. He pantomimed the stabbing again, except this time, it was more dramatic.
