by Marian Tee
Dylan swore silently at the way Bree’s voice quivered even though he could tell she was doing her very best to sound light-hearted.
“I told you, remember?” he said very gently, not wanting to hurt her even more. “I have work.”
She tried not to feel hurt at his extremely lame excuse. He was Dylan freaking Charbonneau, the world’s sexiest rock star – in her opinion, not Saffi’s – and front man of the most popular lyrical rock band.
If he wanted to attend her graduation, he could.
She was normally not the type that did emotional blackmail, but this time…she was going to make an exception.
“If you’re not coming, I’m not ever going to talk to you again,” she told him in a rush…and then ended the call right after.
Oh. My. God. Bree breathed hard. Had she really done something that childish…and risky?
****
“I told you. This is a classic case of the apple not falling far from the tree.” The dark-haired man who spoke from the head of the table was exquisitely dressed in a handmade suit. He had the looks of a GQ model, but more often than not he appeared between the pages of the Wall Street Journal.
Bree tried not to wince at Steel March’s assessment, seeing as he was the head of the billion-dollar Beaufort-March business empire. If it had been Silver saying the words, she would have rolled her eyes. But this was Steel and, well, he was always right.
Seated across Bree, Staffan Aehrenthal gave his brother-in-law a droll look. “This is going to be a dig about me again, isn’t it?” he asked his wife. Tall, impossibly good-looking and once a notorious man-whore, Staffan was used to the occasional insults that came his way from Saffi’s overprotective brothers.
“I’m sure it’s…not?” Saffi was clearly playing it safe.
“Sapphire has bad taste in men and because you’ve spent so much time in her company, you’ve developed the same bad taste in men, too. You have Dylan Charbonneau, who is a rock star like Staffan. It’s hardcoded in their systems to break girls’ hearts.” Steel aimed this in Bree’s direction.
Staffan covered his son’s eyes just to mouth ‘fuck you’ at Steel.
“Papa,” Little Aleksis protested. Like his father, he was dressed spectacularly for a simple sit-down dinner.
Bree exchanged an amused look with Silver as they watched Staffan, normally known to be volatile, instantly transform himself into an indulgent parent as he murmured something to his son in Swedish.
Minus the patriarch and matriarch of the clan, with Pearl and Samuel currently enjoying a cruise to celebrate their thirtieth anniversary, the March family was in full force, and all of them had come back to their hometown to attend Bree’s graduation.
Seeing the worry that the younger girl was trying to hide, Saffi said staunchly, “Don’t listen to Steel, Bree. He’s always pessimistic like that. And besides, if Dylan’s going to follow in Staffan’s footsteps, then that’s good! He’ll be the best husband you can ever ask for!”
The undying adoration in Saffi’s voice made both March brothers groan simultaneously.
Staffan covered his son’s eyes again, this time to give Saffi a hot open-mouthed kiss. The March brothers groaned louder but Staffan ignored it, his entire attention focused on the lovely taste of his wife’s mouth.
“PAPA,” Aleksis bellowed.
With a sigh, Staffan reluctantly lifted his head and removed his hand from Aleksis’ eyes.
Watching the married couple exchange a sweet sexy look between them, Bree did her best not to sigh. She had known Dylan for about the same length of time as Staffan and Saffi knew each other and yet the current state of their relationships couldn’t be any more different.
Saffi loved Staffan, and he loved her back.
Bree loved Dylan, and he…cared for her.
The thought was depressing and she comforted herself with another forkful of her roasted sesame salad, the only thing she had been eating these past two months just to fit into her super-sexy prom dress.
It had been an impulse buy of sorts, but it had also been meant to challenge herself into losing weight. Bree knew she would always be curvy, but if that was so, then she wanted to be the right kind of curvy without any of the extra padding.
“What are you worried about, really?” Silver asked in a low tone as the other three got into a good-natured argument about Aleksis’ having the makings of a hardcore rock star with his impressive vocal chords.
Bree shrugged.
“You know, I’m not a big fan of rock stars either, but even I’ve noticed that Dylan dates you more often than anyone else.”
She groaned. “That’s supposed to be comforting? Yes, we date but we don’t date exclusively.” And that, she thought grumpily, was what kept her up most nights.
Silver still hadn’t answered.
Bree looked at him.
“Whoa, I’m not the bad guy here,” Silver said, throwing his hands up in an ‘I’m-not-guilty’ fashion. “I understand where you’re coming from, but…” He shrugged. “I’m a guy. In my book, if you’re not my girlfriend, you can’t expect exclusivity from me.”
“Spoken just like a playboy,” she grumbled.
“Did he make any promises?”
She gave him a stoic look.
“So he didn’t,” Silver translated.
“Why can’t he give us a chance?” It was the question that bugged her the most. All these years, Dylan had made her feel special – and sometimes, when he thought she wasn’t looking, he made her feel more than that. He made her feel like he wanted her to be his.
So why wasn’t he doing anything about it?
“Bree…”
Silver’s serious tone made her look at him.
“I don’t know him too well, but I’ve seen you guys together. I’m a hundred percent sure he would never want to hurt you.”
The words gave her hope, and when they moved to the living room to watch TV, the words were the only ones she could cling to when they saw Dylan on E! with a girl seated next to him inside his car.
Chapter Two
“Ready for your big day?” Saffi asked with a beam as Bree jumped inside the backseat of the Aehrenthals’ Porsche SUV.
Bree bent down to kiss the sleeping Aleksis on the cheek before answering. “I’m having trouble breathing,” she admitted, smiling ruefully.
“Because of having to make a speech as one of the Top 10 students in your class or because of someone coming to your graduation?”
Done loading Bree’s stuff in the back, Staffan caught his wife’s last words and kept his face impassive as he got into the driver’s seat. He would rather Saffi not say anything about Charbonneau but then he knew what a hopeless romantic she was. It would be like forcing the sun not to shine if he told her she ought to be careful about raising the younger girl’s hopes.
The fact of the matter was, Staffan was a man in love. He knew what a man in love looked like. Dylan looked like he was that, but right now…he wasn’t.
****
“…and now, a speech from one of our Top 10 students, who recently received a scholarship from the Christopoulos University. Ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Sabrina Wyle.”
She ascended the stage with a wildly beating heart. She had a feeling she would see him hidden somewhere in the crowd. Dylan had a flair for drama most times – again, the classic rock star syndrome that she and Saffi loved to talk about.
Clearing her throat as she stepped up to the podium, Bree started her speech.
Ten minutes came and went.
And yet, there was still no sign of Dylan.
****
The silence was strained inside the SUV. Even Aleksis, normally as charmingly entertaining as his mother, was quiet, as if he, too, was sensitive to the tension in the air.
Finally, she said, “He never said he’d come.”
The couple seated in front of her didn’t speak.
Bree stared resolutely out of the window, keeping her eyes wide open. One
tiny blink and the tears would trail down her face, ruin her mascara, and break down her every defense.
“But the other night, I sort of blackmailed him into coming. I told him I wouldn’t speak to him again if he didn’t.” She exhaled deeply, her fingers curling around the door handle. “Do you think he was making a stand of sorts, like he was telling me I can’t force him into making a decision?”
If he was, Staffan thought, then Charbonneau was an asshole.
He waited for Saffi to speak, to say something eternally optimistic, but when he took a look at his wife, he was stunned to find that she too was close to crying.
Sensing Staffan’s gaze on her, Saffi forced herself to smile, not wanting him to worry about her. Her heart ached for Bree, more so than Staffan would ever understand.
She saw her younger self in Bree. When a girl loved a rock star for so long, not caring what the others thought of it, only to find out sooner or later that he wasn’t perfect – it didn’t just hurt. It would break her heart, like Bree’s heart was broken now.
Bree’s phone buzzed. Looking down, she realized it was the Google alert she had subscribed to for the latest news about Dylan. Call her paranoid or a stalker, but she was masochistic enough to want to know who Dylan was dating, no – sleeping with – at the moment.
She pressed the link that would take her to the website with the latest report on Dylan.
And her heart shattered.
Bree could have forgiven him for not coming, could have forgiven him for making a stupid stand because of his stupid male ego, but she could never forgive him for this.
Her phone rang.
It was Dylan.
Of course he’d know she’d find out immediately. He was exactly like her that way. Paranoid. A stalker. Obsessed with making sure Bree continued loving him.
She canceled his call. He rang her again. She canceled it again. It was a cycle that went on until Staffan had slowed his SUV to a stop in front of one of the city’s most glamorous restaurants.
Her phone vibrated insistently against the confines of her bag. She took it out and dropped it to the floor before helping Aleksis unclasp his seatbelt.
His tiny fingers touched her wet cheek. “Don’t cry.”
She pressed a kiss to his forehead even as she started to cry harder.
****
“You weren’t just photographed with a woman, Dyl,” Ariadne said in disgust. “Did you really think she’d take it calmly like she usually does all the other crazy stuff you’ve been doing?”
As the only girl in Minuit Rouge, she had been exposed to a lot of shitty male stuff, but it was her cousin who was unfortunately the most appalling.
If she wasn’t such a tough chick herself, she’d probably be bawling her eyes out after what she had learned. She wasn’t in love with Dylan Charbonneau and she was this devastated. Bree had been the most adorable kid the first time Ariadne had met her. She found it terribly cute, the way Bree had tried so very hard to look at Dylan with puppy eyes only when he wasn’t looking her way.
She loved how Bree was the only one who never let Dylan get away with anything and everything, forcing him to keep his feet on the ground but also knowing when to give in and soothe his personal devils.
Bree was perfect for him and they all knew it – even Dylan. They all knew it except for Bree herself, because that was how Dylan wanted it.
And now—
It made Ariadne shudder, wondering how Bree had felt when she had seen the video that one of the women Dylan had bedded had secretly taken and then sold to the highest bidder.
It hadn’t been lewd, but it had been torrid. It could’ve passed as artistic porn – if you didn’t happen to be in love with the guy who was busy eating one girl’s pussy while fucking another with his cock and a third one with his hand.
The video was off the web now, of course, but it was too late. The damage had been done.
“Dylan?” She couldn’t stand how still he was.
Dylan didn’t answer. He was seated on the couch, his face inscrutable as he gazed down at his phone, fingers moving across the screen as if he was urging it to come to life.
But it didn’t – it hadn’t since this morning. The phone he held was for a private line that only Bree had the number to. The whole band knew that. Their manager knew that. The roadies knew that. Everyone in the tour knew that but Bree. It had always been like that.
Dylan’s other phone, however, was ringing madly – had been so since this morning. Everyone wanted to know if it was true – if Dylan had truly spent more than 24 hours lost in a delirium of ménage play.
“Give him a break,” Andre murmured quietly to his sister. Although he, too, did not at all approve of what Dylan had done, he was more inclined to believe that Dylan hadn’t meant to get…caught.
But he had been caught, and now he had to pay the price.
It was more than possible the girl who had loved Dylan patiently and faithfully all these years would never forgive him.
“You need to do something soon, mon ami.” This was from Elijah, the only married member of their band.
Everyone in his band – his family – kept talking, but Dylan didn’t really hear them. He was still staring at the phone in his hands, unable to stop waiting and just goddamn hoping that she would call. That she would give him one tiny sign all wasn’t lost.
And it wasn’t. It couldn’t.
Because he finally realized that he had been fighting a losing battle all along.
Even after everything he had done to prevent it, the fourteen-year-old awkward girl from the past had captured his heart from the very start…and he had never gotten it back.
Chapter Three
“Last shot now, I promise,” Saffi begged, holding her SLR up once more. Behind her, Staffan rolled his eyes. Trust his fangirl wife to have a need to take a thousand photos of Bree in her prom attire – and the younger girl hadn’t even stepped out of the living room yet.
Bree glanced at her date, Rob Cramer, and he returned her long-suffering look with a grin. But he gamely posed anyway, and with a shake of her head, Bree did the same, repositioning herself next to him.
“One, two—”
The doorbell of the main entrance rang, its chiming melody blaring through the house’s speakers and cutting Saffi off.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Saffi asked. Both of them lived in an exclusive community, and security didn’t just let anyone in.
Bree knew Saffi was referring to her alcoholic aunt, Christy Wyle, who also happened to be her legal guardian – or at least she had been until Bree had turned eighteen.
She shook her head. “I don’t think she’ll go against the TRO.”
“I’ll get it.” Staffan went to the door and used the peephole to check their unexpected caller’s identity. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at what – who – he saw.
He looked at Bree. “It’s Ariadne.”
Bree was stunned. “Ariadne?” She hated how her voice shook just because Ariadne was connected to Dylan. That part of her life was completely finished and she shouldn’t go back to it again.
“Shall I handle this?” Staffan asked quietly. He had no quarrel with Ariadne, but his loyalty was where his wife’s loyalties lay, and that was with Bree.
Bree said slowly, “No, I think I better talk to her.” She looked at Rob. “Could you excuse me for a moment?”
He nodded. “Take as much time as you need.” The understanding in his eyes almost made her wince. It was clear he knew about her and Dylan.
But then, why should that be a surprise? Neither of them had ever attempted to hide they…knew each other. Dylan had been photographed numerous times with her and to his credit, he had never denied her presence in his life.
She’s special. That had always been his answer.
And she believed him, not realizing that other women could be more special than she was.
Excusing herself with a mumble, she opened the door and mustered a smile
for Dylan’s cousin, the drummer of Minuit Rouge.
The incandescent light from the antique lamp post behind Ariadne made her look like an angel on fire, with her long auburn hair making a nice contrast against her tanned skin and white tank top paired with cropped shorts.
Ariadne’s eyes widened when she saw Bree’s attire. “Oh God. It’s prom night?” Dylan knew about this, she realized.
Despite everything, Bree couldn’t stop herself from grinning at the appalled tone. It was one of the reasons they enjoyed each other’s company. Normally, Ariadne hated anyone Andre or Dylan dated.
“I know,” she said wryly. “But it’s my last year in high school so I figured I should attend this.”
Ariadne was beginning to think her coming here was a bad idea. It just wasn’t fair to argue Dylan’s case when Bree was clearly doing her best to move on. In the less than two weeks that Dylan and Bree had been apart, the younger girl had noticeably lost weight and had dark bags under her eyes attesting to sleepless nights.
“You know what? I totally think this is the worst time for me to visit. Forget I came here.”
Bree grabbed the other girl’s hand as Ariadne turned away. “Why did you come?” Just asking the question made her feel anxious and she couldn’t understand why.
Ariadne shook her head. “It’s nothing. I was just really going to say I think Dylan’s a bastard for what he did, that’s all.”
But the other girl couldn’t look at her in the eye as she spoke. Bree said baldly, “You’re a horrible liar.”
“Look, just forget I said anything—” The look in Bree’s eyes made Ariadne squeeze hers shut. No, no, hell no. She wasn’t going to let Bree’s puppy brown eyes get to her—
“Ariadne, please.”
Hell.
Without opening her eyes, Ariadne said, “I wanted to say that…”
Bree held her breath.
Ariadne’s fingers clenched. “If you’re waiting for Dylan to come running to ask for forgiveness, he won’t.”
Before Bree could say anything about it, Ariadne raised her hand, a sick feeling on her face. “There’s something you have to know about Dyl – something he’d never tell you…”
