“She does handle the center of attention rather well,” I reply. “I’ll give her your kind regards.”

The four of us converse easily, until Kennedy puts a hand over her belly, covered by a royal-blue silk gown.

“How far along are you?” Olivia asks.

“Not as far as you’d think,” Kennedy laments. “It’s twins this time.”

“How exciting,” Olivia says with ease. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Our daughter, Vivian, is thrilled. And I am, too—when I’m not too exhausted to feel anything.”

Mason shrugs. “That’s the risk you took when you married a man with superpowerful sperm.”

Kennedy covers her eyes. “Oh my God, Brent, will you stop! You’re speaking to a prince!” She turns to us. “Ever since we found out about the twins, that’s all he’s been talking about—his superhero sperm.”

Mason shrugs. “This is the one case where I believe, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.” He lifts his chin to me. “He gets it.”

And we laugh.

After the Masons move on to greet the rest of their guests, I ask Olivia to dance—because I want an excuse to put my arms around her, lean in close, and smell her sweet skin.

“I have no idea how to dance.” She eyes the large band and bustling dance floor. “Not like that.”

I take her hand. “I do. And I’m an excellent lead. Just hold on tight, and let me take you where you need to go.”

As with the helicopter, she’s hesitant at first—but her adventurous nature wins out.

“O-kay…but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I have a few drinks with dinner, so we decide to drive back to Manhattan in the limousine. Olivia nods off against my arm before we hit the halfway mark. By the time we arrive in the city, it’s so late—or early, depending on your point of view—there’s no point in heading to the suite, so I have Logan drive straight to Olivia’s apartment.

It’s a good thing she slept on the drive home—I don’t think she’ll be getting back to sleep tonight. Because outside the coffee shop door, over a hundred people are waiting.

For me—and now, her.

From the looks of the cameras, pictures, and posters, it’s a mix of fans, autograph seekers, and photographers. It’s safe to say Olivia’s identity—and address and occupation—are definitely out of the closet.

“Holy shit.” She blinks, looking out the car window at the crowd.

“Welcome to my world.” I wink.

“Hey, Lo, when are those extra men coming?” James asks from the front passenger seat.

“Tomorrow,” Logan replies.

“It’s a good thing, lads,” Tommy says. “’Cause like the Americans say, I think we’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED what overnight celebrity is like? Well, now I’m qualified to tell you. It’s like when those technically dead patients on medical shows get zapped by the paddles after the hot, young doctor screams, “Clear!”

It feels just how that looks: jarring, jolting.

It’s as if I’ve been knocked down a black hole into an alternate universe…knocked into someone else’s life.

And in a way I guess I have—I’ve been knocked into Nicholas’s.

It sweeps me up in its current, and all I can do is remember to breathe and try to enjoy the ride.

The beginning is the hardest. Isn’t it always? The first morning I took Bosco out to pee and was surrounded by people I didn’t know—asking me questions, taking my picture. James and Tommy stayed with me and I saw a different side to them. The way they moved and spoke—sharp and intimidating—backing the crowd up, just daring anyone to try to get past them.

It was hard for Nicholas to leave me that morning. His eyes were ravaged—because he wanted to stay, to be the lion who kept the hyenas at bay. But he knew his presence would just make it so much worse—turn the curious crowd into a frenzied mob.

The next day, Nicholas has his people—the Dark Suits, he calls them—contact the NYPD, to make sure there’s no loitering on the sidewalk in front of Amelia’s. We institute a “must purchase to stay” policy in the coffee shop, because most of the dozens and dozens of people who visit are more stalker than customer. In spite of that, there’s a definite uptick in business, which is a double-edged sword. Ellie starts to pitch in after school, taking opposite shifts with me, which is a huge help. And Marty, as always, is a calm, hilarious rock I can always count on. They both bask in the chaotic attention, posing for pictures and even signing the occasional autograph when requested—though I just think that’s weird. They’re both also able to keep their mouths closed when questions are asked—confirming nothing about me and Nicholas.

On the third day after all hell broke loose, I come upstairs to the apartment, finished with my shift and so looking forward to a hot shower. Well, lukewarm—but I’ll pretend it’s hot.

But when I pass Ellie’s room, I hear cursing—Linda Blair-Exorcist-head-spinning-around kind of cursing. I push open her door and spot my sister at her little desk, yelling at her laptop.

Even Bosco barks from the bed.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “I just came up but Marty’s down there on his own—he won’t last longer than ten minutes.”

“I know, I know.” She waves her hand. “I’m in a flame war with a toxic bitch on Twitter. Let me just huff and puff and burn her motherfucking house down…and then I’ll go sell some coffee.”