Early the next morning, for the first time ever, I dined like a tourist at an open-air café on the Champs-Élysées. With Dylan. I’d never hear the end of it if I left without saying goodbye. So, despite my puffy eyes and the pain in my heart, I sucked it up.

“This isn’t how I thought things would turn out,” Dylan said as he traced a finger around the rim of his coffee cup. “I’ve spent less time with you during this tour than I do at home.” Lifting his gaze, piercing gray eyes dug tiny holes into the wall I’d put between us over the last couple of months. “Why is that, Belle?”

Dylan knew about Logan. I was sure. Nothing in our “inner” inner circle remained a secret for long.

So I smiled and gave him the truth he could take. “I was trying to spread my wings and break away a little.” I squeezed his hand. “But you’re still one of my favorite people.”

His lips parted, but he looked away when the waitress came by to fill my cup and drop off more croissants.

“You know,” I mused, looking around at the people on the busy street. “I’ve never even walked the Champs-Élysées. Let alone eaten at one of these little cafés. This is like a major deal, right?”

Daryl stood sentry a few yards away, along with Dylan’s regular bodyguard. But we were tucked so far back into a corner, nobody noticed us.

Sitting back in his seat, Dylan scrubbed a hand over his face. “You hate Paris. So I doubt this ever made your bucket list. Are you going to quit dancing around the issue and tell me why you’re going home early? And don’t give me some bullshit about the press. What did Cage do?”

He got a better offer.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah right.” He scoffed into his next sip of coffee.

I sighed, brushing off his rancor. “You were the one who pushed me to sign Caged in the first place. You never had a bad thing to say about Logan. Do you know why?”

“Because I didn’t really know him,” Dylan shot back with a bitter smile, saluting me with his coffee cup.

“You do know him, though.” I searched the table for jam, unable to look him in the eyes. “He’s a lot like Rhenn.”

The knife with the strawberry preserves shook in my hand when Dylan tipped forward and growled, “How can you even say that? He’s nothing like Rhenn!” I met his gaze, and his face twisted in disgust. “But then I guess there are things you know about them that I don’t, huh?”

Of course, he would go there.

I set down my knife and folded my hands in my lap. “That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about his ambition. That focus that Rhenn had. Logan has it too.”

He snorted. “I don’t see it.”

Reminding Dylan that Rhenn, his best friend, had kicked him and Beckett out of the band and put Paige and me in their place was too painful to bring up. It wasn’t an easy decision, but Mac had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in signing Damaged unless there was something different about the band. Extra.

“You gotta bring something else to the table. Something to make the band stand out.”

That “something else” turned out to be a smoking hot female guitarist and a fairy-tale couple singing lead. And up until a few hours ago, I’d never thought about how much that must’ve hurt Dylan.

But if Dylan could forgive Rhenn, maybe I could forgive Logan too. Eventually. Even if he decided to take Mac up on his offer like I suspected he would.

“What time’s your flight?” Dylan asked, tearing off a piece of my untouched pastry.

I gazed around the city I hoped I’d never have to see again. So much magic, but not a drop to spare for me.

“As soon as you can get me to the airport.”