Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“Huh,” I say. “What does your brother do? Is he an art collector or something?”
“Definitely not an art collector. Honestly, I’m not quite sure what he does. I know it’s something to do with finance.” He winces as he speaks.
I laugh because it’s exactly how I’d describe what my brother does for a living.
“You have a beautiful smile,” he says, and I’m suddenly self-conscious under his stare.
“Thanks,” I say, a little flustered by the compliment because it feels so genuine. I have plenty of people in my life who blow smoke up my ass, but this guy? He doesn’t seem to know me. He’s not on my payroll and it feels good to be noticed by him. I feel special—not because of my singing voice or my songwriting, but because I’m me.
“You have any brothers or sisters?” he asks.
I clear my throat. I don’t like lying to the guy, but I don’t want to give anything away either. He doesn’t need to know who I am. I just want to enjoy this walk through the park and get home. “Yeah. I have a brother.” It feels nice to be honest, but I don’t add that I have a sister too.
A group of young women come toward us and I turn away, feigning interest in the sculpture again, my heart pounding in my chest. One of them shouts, “Oh. My. God.”
Fuck. I knew I should have gone straight home. I can’t be more than a hundred meters from the edge of the park. I could probably run and be home in just a few minutes.
“You okay?” Beau asks from beside me.
I dare to glance around and realize the girls have passed me by. They can’t have noticed me. The must have been oh my god-ing about something else.
“You seem jumpy,” he says.
I manage a fake smile. “I’m fine. Let’s keep walking. But let’s keep to the edge of the park if that’s okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” He has to run to catch up to me, but I don’t want those girls to figure it out and come back to see if it really is who they thought it was.
“You come here a lot?” I ask. I think if I really lived in Chester Terrace, and I wasn’t a celebrity, I would come here a lot. In fact, even given I am a celebrity, I would come here if I lived in London. Just not at the moment. I feel like I have a bounty on my head. It will blow over. It has to.
“I’m staying with my brother at the moment. So, I walk through the park to get to work every day. What about you? Where are you staying?”
“Oh, just back there?” I indicate over my right shoulder with my thumb.
“In King’s Cross?” he asks.
“Kinda.”
“You never said why you were in town. You here for work?”
“A bit of a break between jobs.”
He nods. “Nice. It’s such a great city, isn’t it?”
Unfortunately, I’ve not seen much of it. There are lots of benefits to being famous. But there are downsides too. Not being able to just go out wherever you want is one of them. If I’m on a publicity tour or I’m going out for dinner or something, I make sure I take security. I don’t want to have to deal with that right now. Not here. I just need some time to myself. I can’t arrange security without telling people where I am. At the very least my assistant would have to know. And at the moment, no one knows. Not even this very attractive man I’m walking through the park with.
“It’s a great city,” I say. “I like that anyone can be anyone here.”
He grins, and I look over at him and then away, because I get a warm buzz in my stomach that feels a little…dangerous. “I love that you see that. That’s it exactly. There’s space for you, whoever you are.”
My heart flitters in my chest—not at the sentiment, however great it is to be able to be yourself, but at his compliment, and the way he’s so pleased with what I’ve said. I nod as we go through a particularly shady spot on the path. I can barely see because of my sunglasses. It doesn’t help that clouds have filled the sky.
“You know there’s no sun here, right?” Beau says. I glance at him and realize he’s kind of asking me to take off my sunglasses.
“I know,” I say. These sunglasses feel like armor. With these on, it feels like I’m a few feet away from the world and it’s the only way I can handle it.
“As long as you’re okay,” he says.
He probably thinks someone’s punched me in the face and I’m trying to hide a black eye.
“I’m fine. I just don’t like…bright lights.” My ex-fiancé would always accuse me of liking the bright lights a little too much. In the end, I think he enjoyed the fame more than I ever did.