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"Have fun," he whispers, his breath sending tiny shockwaves across my face.
* * *
Dylan stridesthrough the open door and his presence fills the room, capturing the attention of everyone around. True stars like Dylan carry something intangible that pulls the world towards them. Whether this is an energy of a different nature to other people, or a sexuality they exude, something causes men like Dylan to shine in this world. I stiffen as the nearest people scrutinise us and register his proprietary arm around me, while stealing looks at my ridiculously inappropriate dress.
The party spans several rooms, guests draped across sumptuous black leather sofas in this room, and through the open door I see others spilling out to another terraced garden. I veer around them with Dylan's arm tightly around my waist; my anchor in this sea of brightly coloured fakery. Music blasts from the speakers in the next room we pass through, where bodies move and connect beneath the strobes.
"I didn’t expect so many people," I whisper to Dylan, as we step into a quieter room.
I meet the shocked expression of a skinny girl whose shining brown hair tumbles across her shoulders, skin stretched across high cheekbones in her pale mask of a face.
"We need a good audience, so Kim invited half of London's 'it' crowd. Now you need to go with this." He moves his arm to my shoulders, pulling me close as we cross the room towards a small group.
Aware of the scrutiny, I keep my eyes to the marble floor. When I look up, amusement and confusion fill people's expressions, and despite my nerves, I’m glad they don’t think I fit.
A guy as tall as Dylan stands against the grey wall, legs crossed at the ankles as he watches us approach. He's chosen the usual Blue Phoenix mix of T-shirt and jeans, and his unusual, dark red hair curls across his shoulders. After a glance at me, the guy gives a thumbs up to Dylan. Dylan’s grip on my shoulders tightens and I wriggle away, nervously brushing the front of my dress.
"Hey, sweetheart," says the guy. "Nice to meet you. Honey told me you were at the house."
Honey. Oh, great. I scan the room but there’re a few Honey clones, so I have no chance of spotting her.
"This is Liam," says Dylan. "He’s the bassist and an all-round nice guy."
Liam pushes Dylan. "Ruining my image, man."
"Hey, one of us has to be the nice guy."
Dylan attempts to take my hand, and Liam watches. "You need to show everyone here that you’re together, before you show the world you’re not." He winks at Dylan.
"Where’re the other guys?" asks Dylan.
"Jem's choosing a victim. No fucking clue where Bryn went." I shiver at the word victim and Liam smiles. "I don’t mean real victim. Girls usually don’t see things that way." He pulls himself from the wall. "I’d better find Honey—she’s high, so who knows what she might do? Nice to meet you, summer Sky."
As he walks away, I shake my head, hoping to shake some reality back in. "High?"
"Yeah. Want a drink?"
Dylan's nonchalance shocks me and builds back up the protective layers he stripped away. If Dylan is drinking again, is he doing drugs too?
I study his pupils and he holds my gaze. "I’m not high, Sky. I don’t do that shit anymore."
"Just drink?"
He snorts. "Says the girl who downed almost two bottles of wine the night we met."
The pink creeping up my neck is partly because he’s right, and partly because he’s reminding me about the night we met. That evening changed the course of my life for the second time in the same week.
"Well, I need a drink now," I tell him. "Another one. A big one."
"Sure thing."
I widen my eyes in alarm as Dylan’s mouth brushes mine, and I’m unprepared for the power of his lips on mine after our time apart. Predictably, my body’s reaction almost engulfs my common sense as I don’t move my face. Thankfully, Dylan steps away.
"Sorry, just keeping up the pretence." He runs a finger across my lips, smirking.
I touch my mouth, feeling as if I've just been electrified, as Dylan strides across the room. A girl with black pixie cut hair watches, and then turns empty eyes toward me. She’s far enough away I don’t need to acknowledge her. The way she studies me with a disdainful curve to her mouth should embarrass me. Instead, I lift my chin and stare right back.
No one here is any better than I am.
