“You had a drink.”
“I’m not drunk.” My steps tap-tap-tap on the concrete, far too loud in my impractical shoes.
“Katie.” His hand lands on my arm. “It’s okay. I didn’t drink. I’ll drive.”
I blow out air, then nod, and we slide into the quiet interior of the car. No music, just the rumble of the engine. I send a quick message to Nour, then one to Seth, telling him I have to go and apologizing profusely for ditching him.
“Are you okay?”
I startle and look at Tristan. He drums his fingers on the wheel, jaw locked. His full mouth is a tight slash.
“I should be asking you that.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. For tonight. For going to a place like that. For lying to you.”
“It’s okay.” I know why he did it. Living the way he does is oppressive.
“It’s not.” His mouth twists. “I’ve seen what fans like that can do. I put you in danger.”
I can’t help the scoff that comes from my mouth. “I did that just fine on my own.” My fingers curl against the fabric of my dress. I know what I need to do. I just don’t want to do it. I straighten my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I fucked up tonight.”
“What?”
We pull up to the stoplight on the corner of Main and Pond Lane. Tristan runs his tongue along his lower lip, like he’s remembering how I taste. I feel like I can’t get enough air as I watch him.
I want more than what we’ve been doing. I fist my hands in my dress. I absolutely cannot have more. The dancing, the kissing, the flirting—I take a short, sharp breath. Tristan is marrying someone else, and I owe him so much more than this.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“You’re sorry?” He sounds like he’s checking the texture of the word, his voice careful.
My face heats in the darkness. “I shouldn’t be kissing you in bars.” I press my forehead to the cool glass. “I should never have started practicing with you. Not like that. Do you know how unethical that is?”
“What?” He hits the brakes too hard at a stop sign, and we jerk forward. “Is this because I’m your boss?”
“No,” I exclaim. “I’m your bodyguard.”
The car behind us honks, and he turns onto Ocean. The silence in the car feels heavy, like Tristan is holding his breath, waiting for me to speak.
My hand opens and closes, folding and smoothing my dress. “Look at tonight. You were out alone, at a bar, and instead of protecting you, I was making out with you. We almost didmore.” My voice drops on the word, but I soldier on. “I was distracted.”
“I wasn’t in real danger.”
“But you could have been,” I insist. There’s a wild feeling inside me, pushing under my skin. “You could have been, and if you’d been hurt, it would have been all my fault.”
“Katie,” he starts, but then snaps his mouth shut. We’re at the gates of Crownhaven. It’s silent. Not a paparazzo in sight. “Where is everyone?”
“I alerted Nour to the people following you. We’re on lockdown.”
“Right.” His jaw flexes like he wants to say more.
As we roll through the gates and down the silent gravel drive, it’s a cold dose of reality.
Thisis why I shouldn’t be out dating and dancing and ignoring my responsibilities. Work comes first. I know that, and tonight I forgot it.
As we pull up to the parking area, Nour comes jogging around the corner of the security center. I slip my heels off in preparation.
“There you are.” The sentence tumbles out of her mouth as soon as my door opens. “What happened?”
