As the limo parks at the concert stadium in front of the back entrance where we go inside, I lock gazes with Adam and Hunter, and then with Vere. They’re shifting in their seats, helping my uncle Gregory get my grandmother’s wheelchair set up outside so she can exit first. Adam’s unbuckling the little car-seat-baby-carrier thing that’s holding his baby daughter, Apple, inside of it. Just like me, heck just like everyone besides the baby, he also seems to be freaking out about this plan.

I ponder the last time the baby came into the stadium.

It was the first day I’d ever met Robin. Hell, it was also the first day I’d met Adam’s baby and wife in person, for that matter.

One week ago is when this all started—hell, let me rephrase that. One week and nine months, plus the months it took for Adam to fall in love, then derail our whole lives by lying to everyone he loves for over a year, and then appearing with a baby and a wife! That is when it started for him. Way back when we’d rented a castle in Wales to record the same album the band is now about to take on world tour. Way back when he ran away from that castle.

My part—or should I say my part with Robin—the part where we almost destroyed her entire future? That all started a week ago.

Everyone else, was also only ramped in to the real truth—about the baby—and the stupid ‘first plan’ that Adam and I had made to protect the baby, only a few days ago.

Meaning, Adam, Hunter, Vere and I only told my grandmother and uncle the truth about the baby when our stupid first plan spiraled out of control. But that’s the problem with stupid plans. They require another plan to Band-Aid the stupidity. Often, the next plan is stupid as well, but eventually it all works out.

The baby appeared in our lives when Adam showed up to me and Hunter with a wife and a baby, and told me he wanted to out his family to the press and to the world, in a big surprise reveal. After we got over the shock of actually meeting them in person—that’s the direction we were heading.

TA-DA, Adam is married and he’s got a family.

Sadly, instead things going as Adam and Evie had planned, Evie had to turn around the day she arrived, and go tend to her very sick mom back in the UK.

Adam and I had thought, no problem—we could just pause the plan.

We figured the situation would only be for a few days, so we let people—my grandmother especially, assume the baby was mine. See, my grandmother talks too much. She would have slipped up and exposed the truth to the press too soon. We didn’t want Evie getting mauled and stalked by paparazzi while she travelled back to Wales. That result is exactly what would have happened to the poor girl if her story had leaked—and the UK paparazzi—they are way more intense than the US paparazzi. Adam had worried they would have been all over the hospital.

All over Evie. But…Evie? She’s got a messed up past of her own. She’s really afraid of crowds, public attention, people—she’s nearly claustrophobic. To top that off, she’s kind of afraid of everything—unless Adam is by her side—so that’s why we came up with the idea to lie, thinking…that she’d just be back. Really fast.

Only, of course we weren’t thinking—about shit like Wales is really far to travel to and back from, and we weren’t thinking about Evie’s mom taking a turn for the worse, which—sadly, she had for awhile, delaying Evie’s return to her baby. And…fine, this is the first baby we’ve ever involved in any of our schemes, so we didn’t know what the hell we were doing.

On that first day, because no one knew their heads from their asses, my grandmother saw that the baby had blue eyes, and assumed the baby was mine—and so Adam and I just rolled with that assumption. Worse, my grandmother became like an insane granny-mamma-bear and she became hell bent on me being an instant-good-father, so she followed me to my concert along with the baby so my new family could stay together. Which is why we had to hide the poor kid that day. We’d placed her in a big box so we could sneak her inside without anyone catching on to the fact that we were hanging with a baby.

Tonight has the same feeling as that night had, one week ago.

Utter and complete madness.

Only, tonight, the world and our ‘mission’ with the baby has flipped upside down.

This baby is not going inside while hiding in a box.

She’s about to be waved around like a little ginger-headed, toothless, adorable, look-at-me, press magnet. Adam, has stepped up to the plate and will finally do his big reveal, and her mom, Evie, despite how difficult this will be for her, will soon be asked to play along with this scheme, too. Because, thank God, she’s back, and she’s arriving to the stadium from the airport as we speak.

I can only hope that the press will love Adam, Evie and the baby as much as they fall for Robin and Sage. Have to just keep believing that this plan and this wedding party, one made up of my family and my closest friends is going to soar. Even if Robin and I crash and burn and no one buys into this fake relationship I’m not alone.

I. Am. Not. Alone.

As I repeat that, I look over at Robin and my chest twists with guilt and sadness, and hell even remorse. Worse, I also feel like I’ve just failed Robin, because—this girl is heading into this fake wedding completely alone, not counting her thirteen year old brother, that is.

I have to remember that Robin has me now, and though she doesn’t quite know us all very well yet, it also means she’s got every single person who comes along with me as well—and together we are quite a force.

If only she knew us better already…

As I look up, I almost laugh at everyone’s expressions, including my grandmother’s expression, because they’re suddenly all acting fierce and glancing at Robin, as the bodyguards take their places around the limo. I swear it’s as though these people just read my mind.

Everyone seems to be just where I am. Scared. Resolute. Protective—very protective of Robin.

Hoping my friends and family can read the gratitude inside my own stapled on smile, I signal to them that Robin and I need a moment alone as they help hand my grandmother out to my uncle and settle her into the waiting wheelchair.

I can’t ask them out loud because of Sage’s presence, so, as Hunter and Vere try to leave, I reach and tap their backs. When they turn back, I signal for them to make sure Sage is watched over.

I don’t include Adam in this request, because he’s got the baby to deal with and she is probably seconds from one of her wake-and-wail diaper-needs-changing-feed-me sessions. Adam will have to handle that mini-crisis and he will also be searching for his wife who is supposed to be hidden in the stadium somewhere. One he, and the baby, hardly survived one week living without.

Hunter tosses me a look that says Sage won’t be left alone for a minute. Quickly he calls out to Sage before Sage hops out, “First thing’s first, Sage-little-bro.” The kid smiles back at Hunter calling him ‘little-bro’ and the kid looks so happy Robin’s worried expression slips into a happy smile. “We have to get you a backstage pass and clearance so you can go anywhere you want backstage. So, dude, stick right by me, no matter who is shoving us around.”

“Or hold my hand, if you want,” Vere adds.

I can’t hear Sage’s response as he darts out behind Hunter and Vere, but we watch as he’s happily sandwiched between Hunter and Vere, and hell yes he’s holding Vere’s hand as they enter the stage door, because Robin told me he’s got a crush on Vere. She’s saying something into the kid’s upturned, smiling face, and Sage is so star-struck as he glances at the crowd gone wild that’s waiting outside, he has no clue he’s left his sister behind.

* * *

Robin tries to follow but I whisper out, “Wait…I need to… talk. Sage will meet you in the dressing room.”

“Just another minute,” I call out to the bodyguards, then pull the limo doors closed again. They all nod, then escort everyone inside the stage door safely, and return to the limo to wait patiently outside the door for us to exit.

Robin pulls back so she can look up into my face, then speaks before I can get my words together. “I was wondering when you would come to your senses. You don’t want to go through with it, and that’s okay?”

“What?” I frown, shaking my head, distracted by the way her wide blue eyes pick up light, even in dark limos.

Like I did to her hand while we were driving, she reaches over and picks up mine, smoothing out the tense fist I’ve unconsciously made out of my hand. “Royce. I was thinking it over and playing out how it might go, today, tonight…week after week.”

“You were?” I chuckle. “Shit. I couldn’t even play out how it’s going to go in the next hour. What did you come up with?”

“You’ll be stuck for months—or longer. And I mean stuck. You—this is too much of a sacrifice. What if you don’t want—?”

“But that’s just it, Robin,” I butt in. “I don’t think you understand how much I do want—I mean—shit.”

I stop myself as my stomach drops like a lead-weight and then clenches when I realize I almost said things out loud that I haven’t even said to myself yet—and I mean things about her, and things about those damn feelings I don’t ever want to talk about.

Dude. Say something more.

You just told her that you do want…what? Tell her. What, exactly, do you want?

Should I just come clean. Tell her that I do want this wedding to happen, because all other options make her leave my life which is unacceptable.

Can I say that to her?

Can I?

“No. No,” are the only words that come out of my mouth. Making it more awkward, I think I almost shouted them. Then, as she frowns up at me, like she’s waiting for the rest of what isn’t there, I shake my head and recover myself, finishing lamely with a half-chuckle and: “Uh—I don’t know what I’m trying to say. It’s not too much out of my life, and we’ve been over this, too. I agreed to this wedding so did you. Once the crazy part is over where they make us wear hellish, fancy outfits we wouldn’t be caught dead in, it’s maybe even going to be fun.”

I tug at her veil, trying to bring some laughter and what I hope looks like a sparkling-twinkle into my eyes.

When she doesn’t answer or even smile, I take my hand out of hers and press one finger into the deep creases forming between her eyes. “Are you really so worried about me? Really?”

“Yes.” She nods her head once. “And ‘fun’ is not what your eyes are saying to me right now. You’re worried, I see it, and…” The crease between her eyes deepens under my finger. “And you’re…something else. What? What is that look on your face that I don’t recognize?”

“You also have a look on your face that I don’t recognize,” I counter. “You tell me what yours means first.” I add in a shrug, because—holy shit, why is she so damn perceptive?

“Okay.” She blinks, and shrugs back. “I’m scared. My stomach feels like it’s swishing around some bad soup I ate two weeks ago. And… I’m pondering how I need about twenty layers of new deodorant, because I think I sweated twice the normal amount, and for the entire limo ride. I’m also wondering in the back of my head if my little brother is meeting groupies right now, oh, and now I’m also kind of stressed about the bad outfits you mentioned. And… like I already said, I’m really worried about you going through with this for the long term. That’s what the look on my face means. Now, you. Go.”

She pulls back away from me and looks up again—into me how she does. So far I feel the hair on my forearms standing up as I get goose bumps all over my body.

“Okay. I’ll go…I’m, uh... I’m scared, too. Same. All the way up to the need for some quality deodorant,” I throw out, quickly hooding my gaze away from hers to make her stop staring into my eyes.

I’m suddenly embarrassed. Alarmed. Humbled. Because just like since the day we met, this amazing girl feels like she can be completely honest bear her heart, reveal all details stored in her head including crap like sweat and deodorant, all while I feel the need to hide my true self from her.

I am hardly even worthy of being friends with a girl who’s so noble, generous…honest. Real. I also can’t talk about whatever my face is revealing to her, because I suddenly think I know what it is she’s seeing. My new expression might have something to do with how, in the last twenty-four hours, combined with how this very conversation is unfolding right now…each moment, leading to this very moment, I think it’s all made me fall in love with her when I swore to God and the whole universe that I’d never love anyone again.

But here she is, being Robin—earnest, bossy, amazing—brave as usual despite the terrible odds stacked against her, and once again, she’s trying to save me.

And…damn, I love her for it.

Love.

Is that what is going on?

Am I? Is this love? As in, I’m in love? Oh fuck, no. No I’m not.

I’m so undone by this idea that I have to lean back into the limo seat, because, damn… my head hurts, and my chest hurts, and all of my fucking skin… hurts. Only, it is not a bad hurt, it’s just this unwinding of my very soul. A slightly scary feeling that’s making very pore on me feels like some sort of invisible, micro-needle-prick is hitting it, over and over again. It’s like I’m being electrocuted with a singular cat hair, or maybe pelted with tiny, warm snowflakes, if that could be a thing.

Which it isn’t. Because just how warm snowflakes can’t exist, I can’t actually be ‘in love’ with anyone. Maybe I’m having a stroke or a full-on heart attack, or maybe this is a case of Poison Ivy setting in? Sadly, for me, I’m pretty sure it’s not anything like that. It’s coming from how my heart just cartoon-Grinch-style, doubled in size, combined with how I’m vowing inside never to touch her how I want to right now, and vowing to never to kiss her how I kissed her back in my closet a few days ago. And I mean, not ever again, while at the same time looking forward to how I will get to kiss her after we say ‘I do.’

I am in so much trouble here. And now I can’t stop, staring at her lips.

So, again, hell-no, I’m not going to talk to her about my current temporary breach of insanity. But I will try to breathe in and out, and get control of myself while I try to fix the expression on my face to one that will not make her question me or scare the shit out of her. Definitely I need to come up with one that makes her stop staring at me back like she’s going to crawl inside of my head and start flipping the crazy-rocks that have replaced my brain during this lapse.

I realize I’ve placed my hand over the spot where my heart still won’t let up, and for some reason that, plus how I’m acting, makes me laugh out loud.

Damn this runaway heart.

“Robin…” I utter out again, and pull my hand away from my chest, fast like it’s been burned. “I’m sorry I can’t stop my trash mouth, and I’m also sorry because I don’t mean to laugh right now. But a guy can’t expect to be exactly acting right or anywhere near who he’s supposed to be on his surprise wedding day, huh?” I ask, acknowledging it’s a question geared more to make myself feel better than for her.

“It’s okay.” She laughs, too. “I feel the same, and I know you suck at lying, and you’re probably trying to sort out what to say to me because I don’t know what to say to you, either, but I want to clarify that if you did change your mind during that limo ride, I want you to know I don’t care, and that we’re cool. And like…whatever happens, I will only think good things about you. Forever. This, I promise. Come on now. Answer me. What do you want to do right now. Really. Be as honest as possible.”

I breathe out, contemplating her flushed face. Then I breathe in, because I’m not ready and I’m not good at this; and because I’m covering up the pin-pricks and the perplexing feelings, coursing back through me. I breathe out all over again, all while searching for whole sentences that don’t begin with me cursing non-stop this time.

“Okay,” I start finally, running both hands through my hair with the next breath. “Really, I want to marry you, but…” I chuckle again at her skeptical expression, “I do,” I insist. “I want to, and this exact conversation between us is why. Because ever since the day you met me, and even when I was playing the part of a complete jackass and pushing you away so hard, you only ever did, somehow, think good thoughts about me.”

She shakes her head once. “At the time, I didn’t think good things, but I thought you had tons of potential.”

“There. You see? Ever honest. That’s more than anyone else ever thought about me and I like it.”

I grin at her second head shake and small glower.

“To answer the rest of your question?” I sigh out, tracking the dark circles marring the skin under her eyes. “What do I want to do right now? Honestly? It’s this. I honestly want to wrap you up in to in my arms like I did back in the garden when I first asked you to marry me and squelch your worries. I have this urge to hold you until that hunted exhausted look on your face disappears, and until you know me well enough to know that I am, very much, okay with this plan. Long enough for you to know me enough to understand that you don’t have to step up to save me, at all ever again.”

She wrinkles her nose like she hates that I’ve said those words, but quickly I press on, “Those shots of us kissing after I proposed are probably already hitting the Internet, adding fuel to the fire that has already scorched us all. We’re on the razor’s edge of our reputations here, remember? At the end of this day you will be permanently branded either as a proper respected wife, or as some kind of trashy prostitute with an irreparable scandal attached to your good name forever.” I hold up my hands. “That last bit is made up of all of my grandmother’s words, by the way. But she’s right. We’ve got no other choice here.”

I place both hands on her shoulders and give her a little shake.

When her eyes meet mine, I lock onto hers. “We chose wife. Remember? We chose for the press to report that our band doesn’t pay underage girls to come up to our hotel suites for special ‘work’ nor do you participate in that kind of work and we won’t let anyone say that you did. Once this wedding happens and my name is connected to your name legally, then Sage is beyond safe.”

I jerk one thumb over my shoulder to the arena. “To boot, he’s out of his mind happy right now, which is all you ever wanted for the kid, right? That he stays with you and happy, yes? That dream is all coming true if you could just hold steady.”

She nods and looks away, as I continue, “I’m probably going to suck at the husband role, but I want to do this. I do,” I insist again. “But if you’ve changed your mind, then of course, we don’t have to go through with anything. Okay? But…please. Let me carry some of the weight and worries for you. I’m good at that, at least. I caused so much of your current problems, please let me fix what I can. It’s not going to be difficult for me. I swear.”

“But for this whole limo ride, you’ve looked different. I don’t know…like you were tormented or something…and even now, you look…a mess.”

“I am… a mess.” I reach forward and let a finger twine into one of the long curls that’s escaping the veil by her temples. “Don’t you not know me even a little, yet? Worrying is my essence and my personal curse. I’m always a mess and always worried all the time about something or someone I care about. Right now, it’s about how you looked so worried on the limo ride, too. Which is why I stopped you from going out there. We have to fix our faces.”

She blinks, eyes back on mine but this time I’m ready for her to look inside. “You mean because we can’t go out there if we don’t match on our expressions?”

“Exactly.” I point outside the limo. “If you get out of this limo and walk in there with me it’s going to be under my arm, and we will both need to be smiling into each other’s eyes. I’ll be slinging an arm over your shoulder, or twining my hands even more into your beautiful curls, or running a finger along one of your cheeks because…girl…” I lower my voice and raise one brow. “I find that I love your curls, and hell-yes, I adore the shape of your face.”

Finally she laughs, cheeks going fire-truck red. “Oh God. Wow. You say that so convincingly my heart actually started galloping.”

She puts both hands up to hide the flush, and I have to smile.

“I say it because it’s true. I love the curls. The shape of your face—hell your whole face is charming. I’m going to tell everyone that I think so, that’s the easy part because it’s true.”

She shakes her head as I forge on with what she needs to remember when we step out of this car. “You need to get used to me saying it though. You also have to figure out some stuff to say about me that’s true for you as well, because out there—it needs to come off the lips easy and sound real. It needs to happen while your hand must either be entwined into mine, or if that’s too awkward, then find exactly where your arm fits best around my waist. Because out there, we are so insanely in love,” I wink. “That from this point forward, we can’t keep our eyes from meeting with real smiles, not worried ones. We also can’t keep our hands off each other,” I add in a wicked grin. “And I mean, we simply can’t get enough of exploring the heat coming off each other’s skin, because… that’s the way love looks and how newlyweds act.” I toss her a small hopeful look. “You probably also love the shape of my face as much as I love yours?”

She laughs again, seeming to get control of her blushing as she processes the words I’ve said. “As a matter of fact, I actually do admire how you’re made, or I wouldn’t have been able to paint you so well today. You’re a study of perfect angles.” She points. “That chin alone—all square planes and intriguing textures. Your cheekbones, would have sent Picasso to the happy moon.”

I shake my head and sigh. “You make me sound like an inanimate object. Not that I’m fishing for compliments or anything, but it’s okay to add in normal words like handsome or…hot? If I’m not that to you then, charming or funny could work? Or, you could say you fell for my big heart. Heck, even use my OCD-worrying thing. Say that was your fall-for-me tipping point? Whatever—sounds believable to the press, and as long as it rings passionate and all kinds of true-love somehow?”

She nods. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Hot. I can say. And you’re big hearted for sure. Because you are that, and again, very handsome and yeah. Yes. Of course I can do that.” She taps at her temple. “Making note to turn off the artist inside of my head before speaking about your beauty. Check.”

I shake my head, and frown because she’s really far off of where she needs to be, but I can’t press her because I know she’ll feel sad about her lack of knowledge. I’m just going to need to be ready for her to falter and cover by camera-hogging or cracking random jokes or asking the reporters my own questions until she’s used to how things work with the press.

She flushes again like she’s read my mind, then swallows so hard I wince, wondering if that hurt her, as she adds, “I’ll get it right. I promise.”

I nod and lie, “Not worried. I know you will. I’ve already sent a snapshot of that painting you did of me off to the PR group. I told them that you made it as a wedding present for me. They went nuts. Hope you don’t mind, but it’s going on my Instagram in a few, meaning millions of people are going to see your art.”

She swallows another time, again wincing but covering it with a nod.

“And, crap.” I pull in a breath, thinking of where the painting will be posted. “I better follow you on Instagram. Do you know I haven’t followed anyone for over a year. This will be oddly news worthy to the vultures, I’m sure,” I say sarcastically. “You’ll need to follow me back okay? And…shoot. I guess I’ll need to get a wedding present for you, don’t I?”

She shakes her head, but I hold up my hand, not letting her answer. “Details, so many details we’ve all forgotten and that I hope no one catches onto,” I mutter scrolling through Instagram, showing her my feed. “I’m @GarderobeDevil. Later, if you have time, follow Vere and the others. ‘Like’ a bunch of their new posts. Comment some if you can. If you have time.”

She takes her phone and opens Instagram. While she’s scrolling through that, I quickly text Vere: Tell someone I need a wedding present for Robin.

I glance at Robing adding: “How about a small…very nice traveling watercolor kit. And an oil paint kit? Maybe a little folding easel?” I breathe out, looking at her again. No. Hold on. That’s not good enough. I want to build her a studio, a real art studio in the NYC apartment. That’s what I’m getting her. What do you think? We need to hire a design team ASAP, and see if we can get it in place before we arrive next week? Is that too much? I’m thinking it’s only a matter of getting the right furniture. She can take over the dining area over by the windows. What do you think? Ditch the table I never use anyhow and add in art studio stuff?

Vere answers: Aww. That’s just perfectly sweet, Royce. How about I get the fancy traveling art kits anyhow—and we will use those and a card to announce the studio to her. I’ll tell Mrs. Felix about the studio. She will know who to hire fast.

I reply: Perfect. thank you.

“Found you.” Robin says, unaware that I’ve just ordered an apartment remodel on her behalf. “I’m @RobinLove12. If the PR guys do post the painting, then I’m going to comment that I made it as a wedding present for myself so I can have my handsome, sexy husband hanging on the wall whenever you’re on tour. How does that sound?” She looks up at me, eyes hopeful.

I nod approvingly, and wonder how she will feel after that post has twenty million likes but that two million replies will probably hate-speak because she married me. “Sounds perfect,” I answer. “And remember. Why did you paint it? Not because my chin is square.”

Quickly I answer for her, fluttering my lashes and making a girly voice. “Well, it’s because Royce and I, are head-over-heels, desperately, utterly and irrevocably in love.” I laugh. “Right? Can you be that? Can you do that?” I switch to a low, wedding officiant’s voice. “From this point forward, Robin Love, will you be easily and naturally in love with Royce, and fake-attracted to him, and gush all about his accomplishments and also do it with abandon on all social media platforms, now and forever…or…until divorce—you- do-part?” My voice cracks suddenly, but I cover it with a grin and another laugh.

“Sure. Got you. I c-can absolutely do and be irrevocably—good word by the way—in love. Yes.…and all that stuff you just said, forever and ever or until divorce we-do-part. I do.”

She’s pulling a face and those cheeks have colored again.

Suddenly we’re both laughing.

“Good that we talked about all of this?” I ask, turning my phone back on.

“Yes. Very.”

“Good. Because we are going to need to take a selfie.”

“Of course we are.” She laughs again, scooting into my phone space. “Remember when I wondered who would ever want to take one of these with you?”

“I’ll never forget that day. Or that comment.” I laugh more, and snap the photo thinking of how we met in this same limo only a week ago.

Quickly I post the selfie to my Instagram while she watches me type #lovethisgirl, #love, and #Guarderobe.

“Oh wow,” she whispers.

“Ready?” I ask her.

She nods, but I just tracked a flash of panic crossing her face. I drop my eyes to glance away, pretending I need to tap the window to signal the bodyguards that we’re coming out, but really, it’s because I’m scared as shit my face may have reverted back to whatever face I was making before—because the damn pin-prick-my-soul thing has started up with a vengeance again.

“We’ve got this, Robin Love, and I’ve got you,” I add, waiting for security to clear a path.

She pulls in a last, long, shaking breath, answering, “And I’ve got you right back, Royce Devlin. I really do.”

“I love that about you,” I whisper going first out the door, then turn to her out. The fans who couldn’t get tickets to our show, but who’ve come down to say hello anyhow, roar with cheers as they spot me.

Her small hand grips into mine so tightly the contact has made me suddenly feel fiercely protective of her. I smile and wave to the fog of faces, drawing another cheer, all while my worrying habits have my eyes tracking all around me. I track the crowd’s movements, the faces of the bodyguards, the person holding the door for us as well as the movement of the limo pulling away behind us. Why does suddenly everything in the world seem threatening?

Robin smiles up at me like she’s completely unafraid, but just in case, I’ve pulled her closer. Responding easily and trustingly to the adjustment of the space between us, she nestles right under my arm and settles her other hand around my waist just how we’d talked about moments before.

I’m cheering silently for her fearlessness, as the crowd simultaneously cheers for us to turn back and give them another wave. Accommodating them, we both turn and wave again, then I shout out, “Who’s up for some free tickets? Anyone want to see the show tonight?”

The guy who’s been tasked at every concert to choose a few lucky people to come inside and see the concert steps forward waving a thick stack of tickets high above his head. He announces that today, we’ve created a last minute, standing mosh pit for this very special concert, the small crowd goes nuts. It pulls the attention off of us some, as the those in the crowd try to get noticed and chosen.

I glance down at Robin, noting she’s not shaking at all anymore, just as she glances up again. She’s watching me as though waiting for signals for what to do next, but her face doesn’t seem anything but calm, happy and, I pull in a breath. Calm, happy, and—hell—by the way her eyes are shining up at me, she really does look like she’s in love.

In love with me.

It’s cute as hell, it’s also sort of mind-melting-hot. Because, damn. I raise my brows and grin down at her. She raises her brows high in response. then winks as if to say, I told you I’d get it.

I shake my head and actually laugh out loud, because I’m again flooded with too many overwhelming feelings for this amazing girl.

Her responding laugh makes me feel as though, suddenly she and I now speak a secret language—or like, she I have suddenly discovered the capacity to fly through the stage door instead of walk.

I’m not sure how it happened, but in one limo ride and these few short moments, Robin and I have transformed into this symbiotic, unconquerable, shiny-new, set of two.

And she and I, or wait—!

We. I mean, we.

We might be invincible.