When we had  gotten back at the hotel, my hands were up in his hair, his clothes were on the floor. By the time we hit the bed, we crashed into one another. My lips were swollen and I was laughing out of my wits. His face was smothered leftover, faded lipstick marks and he was dry heaving for air.

Darren, the gentleman he was, plucked my shoes off my feet and threw them across the stuffy room. I moaned in satisfaction. Finally, my feet were out of those monstrous heels. He rolled off and laid beside me on the bed. I stretched my feet. "We're in deep shit," I said, breaking the silence between us. The only thing I could hear was the sound of my ragged breathing. After a while, it sounded funny. Like it wasn't real. I rolled on my side to face him. I brushed my hand over a strand of hair over his eye.

He cupped my free hand and pressed the back of it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "I know," he said through an evident smile.

I fluttered my lashes and yawned, covering my mouth in the process. God, what time was it? "What if we don't go back?" I proposed. If we didn't go back to the States, we'd have more time to relish our... we could sort out... we'd be able to...

We were royally fucked in the ass.

He scrunched his dark brows. "What?"

I pushed myself up, my back against the headboard. My hands were in my lap. I was still wearing my dress. "What if we stay in France a little longer? The people here, they don't recognize any of us. Including Emaad. We'd be able to have a clean slate before, you know, we'd have to go back for the tour."

I had completely forgotten about it up until now. Up until I was sucking the life out of my bodyguard's face. Up until my hands were in places they shouldn't have been touching. It was solely an idea, the offer was up for the taking.

I was itching for the quick fix of stalling, saying that it'd be good. Away from American Hollywood life traded for the French lifestyle, for a little while, at least. Truth was, I wasn't exactly ready to go back. Once we'd hit the boarder, news would break out.

My news. I couldn't allow myself the luxuries of getting my hands dirty in public.

A little voice in my head raged on: it'd just be a repeat of events. Everyone would hate on me and my family and friends by extension. When you're young, you pour so much of yourself into pleasing others and putting up the perfect image of yourself for the world to see. You refuse to let people in on the fact that you do stupid things because you're young and don't have the skills or life experiences to know any better. One wrong move, one misstep, and your peers and their families take it out on you. But who was there to warn you? To protect you? To teach you right from wrong?

Amma and Papa were always focused on Emaad and what he did, I was vessel left to fend for myself. The only time they even considered me for anything was for marriage prospects. Twenty-one was "old", and if you weren't at least engaged by twenty-five, you were kicking the casket, with yourself in it.

I was lucky enough that I had an excuse. I was a university student, and I refused to let go of the freedom it gave me. But after losing my job, I wasn't so sure what the future held for me.

I fell in love with somebody I shouldn't have. I was losing all sense of control. At least staying in France would bring me some sort of peace of mind before I had to return to normal life.

Darren sat up beside me. He reached on his side of the bed towards the nightstand, grabbing the book he subsequently stole. We closed the lights but one. "Before you get riled up, the door is closed and locked." He pushed his glasses up.

I didn't care about that. I ignored him. "Well? What do you say?" I couldn't believe he was reading right now.

He turned the page. "We leave tomorrow. It'd be short notice." he didn't sound pleased. What did I do wrong? Was it such a bad idea after all?

I pressed the side of my index finger to my lips. "I know," I said. "But I don't know what my life will be like once we return. I mean, my face is going to be plastered in the papers–they always are. Recently, they have been appearing a lot." I didn't have to go into detail into what that entailed.

"We can't stay in France for four months. The leg starts in September," he reasoned.

I rested my head against his shoulder. "I'm not asking for four months, I agree, that's way too long. Just a couple weeks, at most two."

He shot me a sideways glance. "What are we going to do for two weeks?"

I smiled at him. His eyes bulged at the realization. "We could, I don't know... be happy? You told me you didn't even like America, so why the push?"

He was so casual about this. My life was on the line. His life, too. I prayed to God no one saw us. But I kept getting bombarded with questions about my love life, it was getting harder and harder and deny everything. Because slowly, it all came down to the truth.

I was in love with Darren.

That wouldn't change.

"I hate the French, too," he commented. He flipped the page. What a snide remark. Asshole.

"I'm serious! Why don't you?" I flung out of bed, and his large arm slung over me, reeling me back in. idiot.

He set the book aside. "Too much time away causes unnecessary suspicion. And France is... well, France. It's still glitz and Hollywood-adjacent. People will talk if we aren't careful."

Oh, so that's what it was. He had the same suspicions as I did. Albeit, much worse. I couldn't blame him, he wasn't accustomed to this life like I had been for years. Compassion washed over me. Something else troubled him, too. I saw the worry in his eyes. I narrowed my eyes. "Something else is bothering you." It's you.

He snagged on his lip. He ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Did you have to tell your little friends? About us, the kiss?"

Embarrassment washed over me. Holy shit. I knew I shouldn't have spoke because it would bite me in the ass later. And Lord, it did.

"Oh." I swallowed. I fiddled with my fingers. "I'm sorry. Again. I didn't realize."

He closed his eyes. "Sometimes I think you forget that I don't know these people like you do. I'm not friends with any of them. Besides you." hurt cracked in his voice. He had a point. I was too quick to make choices and had a habit of proclaiming "quick fixes" to long, drawn out, complex problems.

This was one of them.

I pushed forward. "I understand that. I get why you're mad and you have every right to be. It's just the things that happen inside Hollywood don't translate at all, out in the real regular world. It's, like, some social rules don't apply to people in this part of society."

Darren stopped, puzzled.

I continued, "what I'm saying is, things that happen inside the bubble of Hollywood stay inside. The public knows one thing–a small thing–but a lot of people lie to cover their sorry asses."

He clicked his tongue. "And what we're doing isn't lying?"

I puckered my lips. "Not exactly, no. we're just not public about anything. And that's how I like it. No one is entitled to my private life, not even the public."

"How can I assure we're going to be safe? Protected from scandal?" his eyes pleaded. "How can I know you're going to be safe?" his whispered.

My lips parted, a wave of shock washed over me. "I don't know. All you can do is trust me on this. I won't tell them anything else unless you know, too. Okay?"

He played with my hair again for the millionth time that night. It felt like it was never going to end. I loved it. I hated it. I never wanted to leave. I wanted to scream, cry, and jump from joy. It was like life was new again. Scary, but exciting.

And I had Darren by my side every step of the way.

"Okay," he said at last. "Oh, and we are not staying in France."

I chalked up a laugh. "But we're not going back to the States, either, right?"

"Nope."

I freed myself from his grasp. I pulled him up, too. Or, well, attempted. I picked up my sleeping gown and walked to the attached washroom to change. "Then where?" I switched out my dress, watching it fall to the floor. I tried to keep it in good condition, but if the strap broke or seam ripped, that was okay, too. I'd just have Amma fix it.

"Have you ever been to the English countryside before?"

I got out of the washroom, brushing my hair midway. I sat at the edge of the bed. It was funny seeing him crawl to meet me. He grabbed the hairbrush from my hands and  did it for me. How sweet. "Oh, fancy! I'd never."

He planted a placid kiss to the nape of my neck. He smiled against my skin. "Oh, then, you're going to love the town Settle in Yorkshire Dales."

"What's over there?" I asked.

"My sister, Janet."