He looks so different from the gawky teenage boy I remember. He’s filled out a lot, and his brown curly hair has been cut short, slicked back with gel. Either puberty has been exceptionally kind to him, or he’s invested in some jaw filler.
The fairy lights twinkle in his eyes and set a soft glow over his skin as he smiles at me tentatively. I feel a pang in my chest. The last time I had a proper conversation with him, I was sixteen years old, sobbing on his doorstep, begging him to make a statement to the press.
It’s odd. I always thought if I ever had to speak to him again, I’d be mad. But instead, a wave of longing washes over me. He used to be my best friend, before he utterly ruined my life. I’ve never had a friend since. Not one friend in the thirteen years since I lost him.
How depressing.
A ruffle goes around the crowd. I can already hear the whispers starting as people see the two of us together. As I stand there stupidly, a nearby model turns to her friend and loudly hisses, “Isn’t he the guy she cheated on? Think they still have beef?”
“Thom,” I croak. “What are you doing here? I thought you lived in LA, now.”
He shrugs easily. “I’ll be heading back tomorrow. I’m on a business trip, and I didn’t have anything better to do tonight. Hope you don’t mind me dropping by.”
Yes, I want to say. I do mind. Get the fuck out.
“Just make sure to donate,” I mutter.
He laughs, his shoulders easing slightly, and grabs a flute of champagne off the table. “Sure thing. And who’s this?” He turns to Matt with a broad smile. “You’re dating, now?”
Matt practically transforms next to me. One minute, he’s silent and stoic, and the next, he’s the picture of friendliness. He clasps Thom’s hand between both of his, grinning.
“The name’s Matt Carter. It’s great to meet you, man. Briar’s told me all about you.”
I stare at him.
Thom snorts. “I doubt you’ll have a very good impression of me, then. What was it you said to Goss magazine?” He shoots me an amused look. “That I ate you out like a Saint Bernard?”
Matt waves him off before I can respond. “She told me you two used to be friends on the Hollywood House set.”
Thom blinks. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “We were. B and I were really good friends.” He shakes his head slightly. “What do you do, again?”
Matt’s smile gets wider. “I work in weapons manufacture, mate.”
Thom sputters on his champagne. “Excuse me?”
“Military stuff, mostly. Guns, bombs, rocket launchers—you name it, we make it. Huh, princess?” Matt takes my hand and looks down at me, his blue eyes twinkling. I don’t say anything, weirded out by his odd behaviour. He just laughs. “Sorry, sorry. I know you hate when I talk about work. Tonight is about you, baby.”
Then he puts a hand on my jaw, tilts my chin up gently, and bends to give me a kiss.
He doesn’t actually kiss me; he just traces his lips over my cheek, nuzzling into me. But with his hand blocking Thom’s view, it should look to him like he’s just grabbed me and snogged me, right on the lips.
Electricity forks through me like lightning as his slightly stubbled cheek rasps against mine, and I breathe in a huge lungful of his warm, lemony cologne. My mouth falls open, my lips accidentally brushing the side of his throat. I can feel his pulse battering like a jack-hammer under the sensitive skin. He freezes for a moment, then slowly pulls back. As I blink stars out of my eyes, he grabs Thom’s hand and gives it another firm shake. “Listen, we’ve got to go, but it’s good meeting you, man. We should hang out sometime.”
“Um. Yeah.” Thom gives me one more glance, and then takes the hint and leaves, disappearing around the corner. Matt keeps holding my hand until he’s out of sight. I notice several people in the crowd around us lowering their phone cameras disappointedly. They were clearly hoping for some kind of bust-up.
For a second, I feel absurdly grateful. It would’ve been so easy for Matt to drop the act, or just stand there silently as I fumbled through an awkward interaction. Instead, he maintained his cover perfectly, just so I would look good. It was uncharacteristically nice of him.
Kenta steps forward behind me, and I jump. I hadn’t realised he was so close. Matt drops my hand like it’s a bit of nuclear waste, wiping it on his jacket. “Petty seems benign.”
“Agreed,” Kenta says. “He didn’t show any strong emotional reaction when you kissed her.”
“Well, that’s one down, I suppose,” Matt mutters.
I look between the two men. “Wait, what? What just happened?
“Petty was on the list of potential subjects,” Matt grinds out, sounding bored. “Your scorned, cheated-on first love. I needed to speak with him face-to-face to assess the risk he posed.”
“That…” My head rushes, trying to keep up.
He turns cold eyes on me. “What, you thought I was just trying to make you look good?”
I open my mouth, then close it again. My brain is throbbing. “I didn’t cheat on him.”
“So? The whole world thinks you did. And that’s all that matters, right?” He waves a hand around the garden. “It’s like this whole event. Everything is just for show. A bunch of obscenely rich people coming together once a year to have a damn party to help the homeless. For God’s sake—” He points at the melting ice sculpture. “How much did all of this cost? These drinks you’re serving could be paying for those kids to have a roof over their heads!”
I can’t even argue, because he’s right. He’s right, and I hate it too. “It’s not about the event, it’s about the money it brings in—”
I trail off as something catches my eye. Standing in the corner of the garden, illuminated by a paper lantern hanging from one of the trees, is a man in a grey hoodie. He’s facing away from me, talking to another guest, but immediately, my mind flashes back to the CCTV footage of X outside my house. He was wearing a hoodie. Black or grey, the police said. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears as a wave of anxiety rushes over me.
Oh God.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a panic attack. Years. I’d hoped that I was over them. I close my eyes, trying to keep my breathing steady, but I can’t stop my chest tightening painfully. Crap.
I really don’t know why people call it ‘anxiety’. It doesn’t feel like being anxious, it feels like I’m about to have a fucking stroke. My vision swims. All of the colours around me seem too bright. I rub my fingers together, but they’re so numb I can’t feel anything at all.
Forcing myself to ignore the rising sensations, I look around, scanning the crowds for the man in the hoodie. He’s gone. Oh, God. I spin, but I can’t see him anywhere. The shadows behind the trees seem unnaturally dark and deep.
Matt grabs my arm, and I flinch. “Shouldn’t we go talk to the press, then?” He asks loudly. “I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”
I don’t answer. Kenta frowns, looking at me closely. “Are you okay, Briar?”
“I—” I rub my face. A little boy I don’t recognise runs past, slamming into my hip. He smiles up at me apologetically, holding up a napkin and a sharpie. I can’t pick out what he’s saying from the noise around me. I’m gasping for air. I’m going to faint. Oh, God, I can’t faint here, with all of the cameras and the press and other celebrities, I can’t. It’s too much. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t breathe. Forcing back tears, I slip away from the kid and stagger through the crowd, making a beeline for the nearest bathroom.
