“Okay,” I say softly. “I’ll hear him out.”
He plants a quick kiss on my cheek, a familiar smirk follows.
“Still scared to go into the living room?”
I roll my eyes.Oh hell, as if things couldn’t get worse.
We got ambushed by a handful of paparazzi when we arrived to Tom’s apartment building. Tom went into full McKennamode with his charming, cocky appearance, throwing out his usual witty bullshit to distract them so I could sneak inside. The second he pressed the keys into my hand, we realized the journalists hadn’t come for him.
They’d flown in all the way from the United States, for me.
They fired questions aggressively: where I’d been the past four years, why I’d disappeared, why I hadn’t clarified whether I was alive or not. They called me Joshua.Joshua Fennbrae. And then they asked Tom what it was like to be in a relationship withme.
I was this close to spiraling when Finn, sitting by his window upstairs, started throwing bananas, eggs and ripe tomatoes at everyone with a mic or camera. It was enough of a distraction for us to run inside.
“They’re still there?” I ask.
“Some of them. Damn, I’ve never seen papz this aggressive. Was it always like that for you?”
We walk into the living room. There’s tea waiting for me on the table, curtains closed.
“I tried my best to stay under the radar, but that’s a failed mission with my last name. It was always rich kid this, nepotism that whenever I achieved something. Sometimes there were photos of hook-ups, just like now. The only real headline came after my suicide attempt, but I never had a crowd waiting for me like this. I guess that’s what happens when you’re rumored dead and people find out you’re not.”
Tom opens the cookie jar, fishing out one of those mini-stroopwafels.
“So back in the States, they thought you’re dead?”
I hold up my hands. “That’s what the media made of it. I just changed my name and left.”
“Jay told me someone filmed us making out at the ice rink the other day, and now we’re going viral. The Dutch press has started digging—and let me tell you, they dig well. There was thisone time they recognised me from a certain art-house film shot in a Berlin fetish club. It was just one shot, but in that shot…yeah, I shot.”
My head tips back as I burst out laughing. “I need to see that.”
He waves it off. “Nah, you don’t want to see me banging a woman in a swing.”
“You’re right. I don’t even want to imagine that.”
Tom flashes me a mischievous grin. I jab his side, and he doubles over laughing when I hit his ticklish spot.
He begs for mercy, but I grab him tight around the ribs in a jiu-jitsu grip, ruffling his curls.
He loves that.
“Okay, but seriously now,” he says between laughs. “First it went viral because, yeah, apparently I’m gay now. But after some digging, they figured out my lover was you. The American outlets went crazy and sent their freelancers over the next day, Jay said. Insane, right?”
“Yeah, totally.”
I’m not sure whether to believe Jay’s version of all this. When it comes to me, he’s probably leaking more than the broken faucet in my pre-renovation kitchen. But that’s something I can’t tell for sure. He might hate me, but he probably hates the gossip press even more.
Tom licks his lips. “How about Tiffy, does she know about you?”
I sigh and look down at my phone, which is lighting up as we speak. Dozens of missed calls and twenty-six texts from her. I pick it up from the coffee table and show it to Tom; that’s already answer enough.
“Only Erin knew because she’s my psychiatrist and confidant.”
I bury my face in my hands, shaking my head. “I knew this was going to happen one day. Honestly, I thought it’d be sooner. But no one ever recognized me in Avalon. Not even the tourists.”
“I’m sorry, love. Can’t exactly undo my fame.”
