“Bitter, are we, Bunny?” I asked, channeling all my disgust into my words. “We all know you had to write to Santa for those knockers.”

I squeezed Annie’s thigh to soothe her; but her cheeks had grown red, and her lashes shaded her eyes. She was upset and embarrassed.

“Can we leave now?” she whispered.

I was already standing. “Absolutely.”

Brona looked like she’d won, her chin raised high as she watched us leave. I had to resist the urge to bark out a laugh because she hadn’t won a thing. In fact, I’d won just by the fact that I wasn’t with her anymore. I’d won by the simple fact that I had Annie under my arm instead of her. I led us outside and into a waiting taxi. She stared out the window on the drive, her voice quiet when she said, “I don’t understand how you could ever be with someone like that. She’s horrible.”

I ran a hand down my face and tugged her closer. “Don’t let the shit she said in there get to you. You’re beautiful, and she’s jealous.” I paused, letting out a tired sigh. “She wasn’t always so horrible, but yeah, the seed must have been there. I was just too blind, too preoccupied perhaps, to see it.”

“People aren’t always what you think they are,” Annie murmured, her head lolling to the side. She was exhausted, and it wasn’t surprising. She’d been through so much in the last twenty-four hours alone.

Her words piqued my interest, and I wondered if she was referring to her secret identity as The Socialmedialite. My heart pounded. Would this be the moment when she came clean?

“No?”

She shook her head. “Human beings are really good at hiding stuff. You shouldn’t blame yourself for not seeing through Brona in the beginning.”

So maybe she wasn’t going to come clean, but at least she didn’t think I was an awful person for having been with someone like Brona. When we arrived at the hotel, I paid the taxi driver and tipped him handsomely. By the time we got to our suite, Annie looked just about ready to keel over from exhaustion. I fervently wished she wasn’t so exhausted because seeing her dolled up like she was tonight, wearing a dress that showcased her body to perfection, had me worked up like a sailor on his first day of leave.

I lifted her into my arms and strode through the suite, entering the bedroom and laying her down on the mattress. Tiredly, she thanked me before resting her head on the pillow and closing her eyes. A moment later, I heard her breathing deepen in slumber. Well, it didn’t look like I’d be getting any action tonight. Not that I would have gotten any even if she was awake. Annie was always a tricky one. You never quite knew if something was going to be make her scurry away or open up like a flower. Visions of her in the bath filled my head, how soft and silky and deliciously slippery she’d felt in my hands. How pliant she’d been to my demands, and how it had taken the willpower of a saint not to have her right there and then.

I was no saint, though.

The main reason I didn’t take her was because I wanted the first time I sank inside her to be perfect. I’d been fantasizing about it for weeks.

A little sigh escaped her, her long mahogany hair spread across the pillow like a dark halo. I sat down on a chair beside the bed, rested my elbows on my knees as I leant forward and just watched her. I let out a long, distracted breath. She was so beautiful, so perfect it was painful. I loved her thick, dark lashes, the delicate curve of her lips.

I loved her pale, flawless skin. I loved the way her eyes crinkled and lit up when she smiled. I loved her soft, rounded belly and her lush, curvaceous thighs. I loved the musical cadence of her voice when she spoke.

Shit, I just loved her.

Loved. Her.

I was in love with her.

And I was fucked.

Time passed as I imagined a hundred different ways of telling her how I felt. And every single time I saw her withdraw. I saw her tuck herself away into a tiny square of paper that I could never unfold. It terrified me. Then I thought of how much braver she was online. How she never minced her words or beat around the bush. How she was still Annie, just with the fear subtracted.

With trembling hands, I stood and walked out of the bedroom and into the lounge. My laptop sat on the desk waiting for me with all its potential for both creation and destruction. I opened it and began to type. I wasn’t even sure if I was going to send the message; it just felt freeing to get the words out in some way.

March 30

3:24 a.m.

Dear SML,

I know you’re away on holiday right now; but I need to talk to someone, and you seem like my best option. I’m all mixed up. If you’ve been following the “news,” you probably already know that I’m back home for a couple of days. Annie came with me. It’s been crazy. The press are twice as nasty and far more in your face over here, so it’s been really hard to keep calm. It’s been even harder for Annie. This isn’t the life she chose, and yet she’s doing it all for me. I’m not sure if I deserve it. She’s handling this shit better than I ever have—even though I know it must be twenty times more difficult for someone who’s unaccustomed to the limelight. And it’s a revelation because she’s actually so much stronger than I am. She’s handling it all so gracefully.

I’m in awe of her.

But here lies the rub: she’s all I think about. She’s the only person I want to spend time with. I’m fascinated by every little thing she does.

And the fact of the matter is, I’m in love with her. Heartbreakingly, soul-wrenchingly, earth-shatteringly in love with her.