She struggled against him, did her best to pull away, but Ryan only tightened his hold.
“Don’t.” His gaze deepened, demanding she meet it. “Please don’t. You have no idea how good it is to see you.”
Her laugh was derisive, but again, he stopped her cold.
“I mean it. You have no idea how much I . . .”
Don’tsayitdon’tsayitdon’tsayitdon’tsayit—Don’t you dare say it!
To stop him from speaking the words she was neither ready nor willing to hear, she kissed him.
The move was reckless. Yet another promise she’d made to herself now broken.
And yet she pressed hard against him, no longer caring that she was standing out in the open, kissing Ryan Hawthorne as though she had no intention of ever doing anything else.
For those few glorious moments when his lips were sealed against hers, his arms clasped snugly around her, Aster felt safe, secure, protected, and wholly insulated from a hostile world.
Then the elevator doors swooshed open and a group of gawkers stood staring at her.
Instantly, Aster broke the embrace, ducked her chin low, and marched past the group and into the second elevator waiting beside them.
Seconds before the doors closed, Ryan slipped in and joined her.
“Aster—” Ryan started, but Aster nodded toward the camera pointing down from the corner and discreetly shook her head.
While it was definitely a relief to be out of jail, she was under no illusion as to how the rest of the world viewed her. As the most hated girl in America, she knew there was no shortage of people who were willing to sell her out to the nearest tabloid. Kissing Ryan in an elevator was out of the question. Talking was too.
She turned her back to the camera, waited for the car to arrive at her floor, then strode purposefully down the hall, keeping a safe distance from Ryan, who slowly followed along.
Tears stung her eyes as she let herself inside. How much longer would she have to live like this—overly cautious and paranoid?
One look at her apartment told her there was no end in sight.
The cops had gone there right before she’d been arrested in Joshua Tree. They’d found her little brother Javen and hauled him in for questioning; then they took the opportunity to ransack the place. Though Ira had assured her the maids had since cleaned up the mess, the thought of that creepy detective Larsen picking through her belongings left Aster uneasy.
Had he gone through her underwear drawer?
She briefly considered burning everything she owned and starting over.
“You okay?” Ryan regarded her with concern, but Aster had no idea how to answer. Her only real goal was to remain upright and breathing. Aiming for okay seemed like too big a reach.
“I think I’ll take a shower,” she said, heading for her bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable, order from room service if you want. I’ll be out in a bit.”
With the bedroom door shut, she tugged off her clothes, eager to rid herself of any physical traces of her time spent in jail. She removed her jeans and kicked them into the far corner. They’d once been her favorites, but no more. She was busy pulling off her T-shirt when she noticed someone had written on the mirror that hung over her dressing table.
From a distance, the words were a scrawled pink blur. Her heart racing, she made a tentative approach.
Someone had used her favorite Charlotte Tilbury lipstick and left the empty gold tube discarded on the dresser.
At the sound of her scream, Ryan barged inside her room and stared in confusion.
Aster gazed down at herself. In her panic, she’d forgotten she’d stripped down to her bra and underpants, but there was no time for false modesty now.
Wordlessly, she pointed at the mirror. She had no idea what to make of it, much less who might’ve done it. There was no telling how many people had been there while she’d been in jail. Even Ira had a key that allowed him to come and go as he pleased.
It was a rhyme—like the ones in the threatening notes Layla had received. Only instead of a cartoon cat, someone had drawn a circle of broken hearts all around it.
Aster heaved a tremulous breath and began to read.