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.