“I feel like a groupie.” I huff a laugh. “All I need now is your signature.”
Tristan is grinning.
There’s a crash.
My head jerks up.
I amsonot supposed to be doing this. Reality is rushing in, cold and bracing.
Tristan’s still writing. Even from here I can see it’s his name.
Tristan Prince
Crownhaven
Hart’s Hill, Rhode Island
He rises to his full height, still towering over me but not threatening, never threatening, just right, from the warm wall of his chest to the cage of his arms to the slant of his smile.
“I’m not likely to forget where you live, Tristan.”
“You’re going back out there. To him.” He presses his forehead briefly to mine. “Come back to me, Katie Bailey.”
My pulse is leaping in my chest. I don’t know what this is. I haven’t felt this before. Does he feel it too? I don’t dare hope.
There’s a heavy pause. Tristan slides the strap of my dress up my arm.
There’s a gasp. My head whips around.
Two women are staring at us, eyes wide, phones out. I push Tristan behind me on instinct. “He’s back here,” one shouts. A paparazzi follows, bulb flashing.
Adrenaline trickles through my blood. I was kissing Tristan and ignoring the obvious consequences to him being on stage and the social media frenzy that has surrounded the spouse search.
Fool. I am a fool. I need to get him out of here.
“What’s your name?” the paparazzi shouts.
He doesn’t realize I’m not a spouse candidate.
They’re crowding us now, and I feel Tristan tense at my back.
I hold out an arm. “I need you to stay back.”
The paparazzi’s eyes flare. “You’re the bodyguard.” The bulb flashes, once, twice.
A woman reaches for Tristan, snags his elbow, rakes her fingers along his arm. I rip her hand away.
There’s another flash of the bulb. I use the distraction to whirl, shove Tristan in front of me, and run into the night.
37
KATIE
We burst from warm, beer-scented air into the cool darkness behind the bar. We stalk to the car in silence. My steps are too fast. I feel wild and restless and hyperfocused from the adrenaline.
How could I let this happen? How could I let my guard down like that?
“I’ll drive,” I say shortly.
