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We break apart and we just stand there, our bodies melded to each other, soaking in the music and breathing together until I don’t feel I can smell the death and loss of that little cabin anymore. Marco just keeps holding me. He never lets go, even for a second.
Not even when Angel leans down between us to whisper in my ear, otherwise known as, to interrupt us. Again. Like a giant ass.
“See that guy?” Angel leans down to whisper in my ear, his jaw tickling my cheek. I swat away at his face, and he just laughs.
“What guy? You’ll have to be more specific, there are more than seventy thousand people here.” Can he tell I’m literally not interested?
He can’t. Angel just smiles indulgently and points at the huge screen that takes up half the sky above Issy Woo’s stage.
“That guy,” he says smugly. “THE guy.”
Oh.
Oh.Suddenly, he has my full attention. Well, the screen does.
“It’s Weston Spencer,” I murmur. “My dream guy.”
Marco coughs loudly, murmuring something like ‘hello?’ and I elbow him in the ribs. I can feel him shaking with laughter, still… It’s nice that he got jealous, I have to admit. Even if it’s of Weston freaking Spencer. I mean, he literally took me to see Wes shoot that mouth-watering Regency wet-shirt scene in Vermont. Gosh, I love this man.
“He is everyone’s dream guy,” I whisper to him.
“He’s not mine,” Marco retorts.
“What do you want to tell me about him?” I ask Angel, who is just sitting there, smiling smugly at Wes’ giant face on the screen.
“I called him,” Angel shrugs. “I’m a prince now, so I can do things like calling Hollywood’s golden boy, can’t I?”
“You can, but it’s weird,” I reply.
“Not weird,” he says. “Smart. You’ll need someone to film your campaign once you start taking on your father’s role.”
I squirm. Marco’s eyes snap to Angel’s with a ‘stop it’ kind of expression in them. Angel lifts his hands up in surrender. I think he’s scared of Marco, but he would rather die than admit it.
“I will what?” I ask him, finally, because he has literally stopped talking. Angel never stops talking. If he’s alive, he’s talking.
“Weston Spencer is also a director,” he says. “An award-winning director. But he’s young, like near our age, so I thought he might be perfect for when orif”, with a glance at Marco, “you decide to take your image public again. On your terms this time.”
“I hadn’t thought…” I stop. Of course I had thought about it, but it seems so concrete when he puts it like this.
So… possible.
As if I could do it.
Tonight, if I wanted to. Weston Spencer is here, at this concert.
“Hey, look at me,” Marco’s warm voice grounds me. “You are never, for one second, ever going to be alone. No matter what. You know that, right?”
I nod. His arm tightens around my shoulders.
“That goes without saying,” Angel adds with a hint of indignation in his voice. Also, pride.
“We’re here for you,” Hector adds from his other side. He’s been listening in the whole time, no doubt about it. “We’ll be here all the way. We the Royals.”
Ugh.
And then, something unexpected happens.
On the stage in front of us, Issy Woo falls to his knees.
