“I have one condition.” I smile mischievously.
He laughs. “Hit me with it.”
“Promise not to serenade me on stage every night?”
“What? Once is enough for you?” he says with mock affront.
“I’m sure someone got it on camera. So we can just relive the moment any time we want.”
“That’s cool. As long as we can relive the after party,” he quips and carries me back to bed.
When he kisses me, I don’t close my eyes, and neither does he and in his; I see forever.
City Of Lights
BETH
I’m woken up by Phil’s ring tone which has become synonymous with bad news. My dread only sharpens when I reach over and find Carter gone, long enough that his pillow has grown cold. I frown. This is the first time I’ve woken up to find him gone.
The tour has been amazing, it’s like being in a bubble where nothing exists. I’ve spent my days being a tourist in the cities we’ve stopped at and my nights watching Carter rocket from rising star to rock God. We’ve made love everywhere, eaten the most delicious food and fallen even more in love every night.
Paris is our last stop, and yesterday was their final show.
We ate a celebratory dinner with the rest of the band before he took me to the Eiffel tower. He gave me the necklace, a rope of gold and jewels he bought in Venice…so like the one I remember my mother wearing and told me how he’d been saving it for the perfect moment.
We made love in the car on our way back to our hotel. He built us a bed of blankets in front of the fireplace in our suite and made love until we fell asleep on a cloud of bliss and contentment.
So this is a rude awakening. I groan and swing my legs over the edge of the bed in a rush to get to my phone before I miss Phil’s call. I groan when I see it’s a Facetime video call and run my hands through my hair.
“Phil, what’s wrong?” I answer the phone without preamble.
“Clo, are you okay?” he breathes, his face a mask of relief and worry.
“I’m fine. What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Carter?” he asks in a clipped tone clearly not interested in niceties either.
“He’s already up, hold on. Let me check the living room. What’s going on?”
“He left you alone?” he barks, his brows drawing together.
“What do you mean? Wait,” I snap,annoyed with him but more focused on finding Carter.
I walk into the suite’s living area and it’s quiet. My stomach tightens and I look back at Phil’s expectant face.
“He’s not here. And you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”I demand.
“Haven’t you watched the news?” he asks and I shake my head slowly as my fear ratchets up.
Dean told us that his public declaration at the concert had gone viral and that we were the talk of the gossip machine. We were determined to lay low and enjoy being back together. We kept the television off and our phones were blocking calls from anyone who wasn’t in our contacts.
We knew the world was going crazy around us. But that was two weeks ago. I was sure it had all died down by now.
I push my hair out of my face and sit down on the coach, my legs suddenly not feeling so sturdy.
“What’s happening?” I ask and walk to the living room and grab the remote. I turn the TV on and flip to CNN.
“I told you lay low. Now they know where you are and they’re coming for you,” he snaps.
“Coming for me? I’m in Paris. They may be the law in Winsome, but they can’t do anything to me here,” I insist, reassuring myself more than anything else as my eyes scan the featured news items.
The headline says,“Runaway Heiress Found.”
I watch, my horror growing by the second. The segment starts with the clip of me pulling off my wig and wiping off my make up.”
The voiceover reporter says,“She left her fiancé at the altar and was thought to be living in Austin. Turns out, she disappeared without a word to her family. She’s living a new life, with a new identity and a new love.”
It cuts to the kiss Carter and I shared on stage the night of his show. The voice ends on an ominous, “After months of searching and suffering in silence, her family says they just want her to come back home. And they’re breaking their silence to try and reach her.”
“Breaking their silence? About what?” I yell, and turn the tv off, and throw the remote to the other end of the couch.
“I don’t know, maybe about you and Carter?”
My blood boils. “What about us? There’s nothing to tell. Not anymore.”
“You know that. But as far as he knows, Carter is his son, and you’re his daughter. You all have answers that he doesn’t. I don’t think he’ll out himself. I think he just wants you to make contact.
“I don’t have all the answers, Phil,” I rub my temple in firm circular strokes, trying to sooth my blooming headache.
Where the hell is Carter? I look around the suite for signs of him. His phone is gone, but wallet and watch are on the dresser.
All of the questions I’ve been avoiding since Carter and I got back together, the ones I thought I could ignore, have only grown more insistent.
“We know that Andrew Wolfe took you from Susan Kendicott because you’re his son. We know that you and Carter are full siblings. We know that I am not biologically related to either of you.”
“That doesn’t make you any less my sister, Clo. And I don’t want to hear you say anything like that.” Phil’s expression is fierce and I sigh impatiently.
“I know that. That’s not what I mean. Did he and mom take me from someone, too? I mean, I look like her. But I thought I had his eyes. If she knew Andrew Wolfe wasn’t, how mom could leave me with him?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Phil’s voice is gentle, sympathetic, but knowing.
Resignation and fear settle on my shoulders.
“Because, I’m afraid to hear the answer,” I admit.
“The Elisabeth Wolfe I know eats her fear for breakfast. So, I’m going to text you her number so you can call her. She’s in Geneva. Maybe since you’re so close, you should go see her.”
My heart leaps in my chest and I let out a big breath.
“You’re right.”
The beep of the door’s key card entry being disarmed, makes me nearly dizzy with relief.
“Carter’s back,” I tell Phil, but my eyes are trained on the door, a smile on my face now that he’s back.
Until I see his face. He’s drenched in sweat, dressed like he went for a run. And he looks unbearably sad. He stops short when he sees me, as if he’d forgotten I was here. He pulls his sweatshirt over his head and when his face comes back into view, all of the emotion is gone from his face.
Fear wraps an icy hand around my throat.
Instead of answering me, his eyes narrow on the phone in my hand and his jaw tightens,
“Who are you talking to,” he snaps. I’m so startled by the unbridled hostility in his voice that I don’t answer.
He snatches the phone before I even see him reach for it.
“Carter,” I gasp in shock.