Mrs. Felix saves me from having to sort out my tumbling thoughts by snapping out, “Royce Devlin, you are lucky you apologized immediately. If I didn’t have to hold this baby, I would set you straight with a slap to your cheek. I’m surprised Robin didn’t do it herself. I fear the young ladies of today don’t utilize that move as they should. Royce, shame on your horrible words and manners. How dare you speak like that to any woman. And to suggest an inappropriate date after your show? This is untoward and uncalled for behavior. Explain yourself. Horrible rude, boy.”

“I asked for a hookup, not a date. That’s what I was suggesting if we’re being technical.” His widening smile makes me realize he’s now really amused. “I had to know how Robin would respond to my offer. Grandmother, you know all outsiders are to be properly vetted. This was the fastest way I could think to pull that off. Now she’s vetted.” He turns his still shadowed face toward me. “You passed. Okay?”

“Passed what? You had to know if I was willing to make out with you in front of your own grandmother? No girl would do that. Do I have to say ‘ew’ again? Or should I simply vomit on the floor mats? You just passed the suck-new-daddy test. You have a baby, and what are you, like pushing thirty? The mom of your child is missing, and you shouldn’t be hitting on anyone ever again. Ew. And ew.” I shiver again.

“Excellent points, but can you please stop saying that? It’s starting to get in my head.” He laughs.

Mrs. Felix laughs a little, too, then rubs a small crease out of the baby’s blanket. “Robin—when you know us better you’ll understand. The vetting process can be rather extreme. As for Royce’s age, Royce’s stylist tries to make him appear much older than he truly is to attract a wider fan base. It does work, but he’s only twenty-one, dear. He’s hardly older than you.”

“I’m a billion years older, than she is,” Royce says, voice returning to that low rumbling voice that I think is his normal voice. “Maybe two billion years older, considering her response to me. Or lack thereof.” He quirks one of those brows again and then, like this kind of odd, ping-pong insane interaction with strangers is normal, he bends to examine how I’ve threaded the belt through the holes in the base and asks, “Hmm. How does this thing work?”

I try not to, but I can’t stop analyzing the way his blue-black waves curl perfectly in a pattern across the top of his head. Again, I wonder if there’s anything on this guy that’s not naturally gorgeous and perfectly fashioned.

I startle a little as Royce drops to his knees, unbuckling and re-buckling the seat just how I did. He then repeats my motions of trying to pull the strap as tight as it can go. I’m struck frozen, holding my breath all over again against the brainwashing scent of what has to be million dollar cologne.

Without looking up, he asks, “Do you know you smell slightly like limes and...is that pineapple?”

I’m so shocked and newly embarrassed my mind screams the answer: Do you know you smell like leather and sexy-beautiful-everything?

While from somewhere far away I hear myself actually answering: “Usually I smell like lavender lotion, but I devoured this salad like a maniac and spilled some dressing on myself at lunch, so that’s what you’re smelling. Not me. Lunch. Yeah.”

I blink down at my lap as he cracks up again.

I want to die.

Did I truly say those words?

“No shit. I know that salad. It’s from the hotel menu, right?”

I nod.

“No wonder the smell was so familiar.” He laughs.

I quickly force out my own laugh and though I want to stop, I’m staring at him again!

But fine. Now he’s staring back.

Why?

Maybe he realizes we’re from different sides of the solar system.

He’s all stardust, and I’m…simply…dusty.

Dusty with a side of pineapple lime dressing.

He’s tilted his head to the side, causing flash of light to cross into his eyes for the first time.

“Your eyes…the color. Wow,” I whisper-gasp.

“Oh great. Not this topic.” He blinks the eyes in question sarcastically, shaking his head like I’ve disappointed him somehow.

“What’s the big deal? You talked about my eyes, why can’t I talk about yours?” I point. “I saw those in a poster in the hotel lobby today. The color was so astonishing I assumed they’d been photo edited. The fact that they’re not, caught me off guard, that’s all.” I frown, glancing at Mrs. Felix. “There’s no question Royce is the father of that baby, is there?”

“Not in my mind,” she answers.

His eyes go from me to his grandmother. “Hell yes, there’s questions. Hundreds of questions.” He’s tugging the strap on the car seat again. “Eyes don’t prove parentage.”

“Come on,” I protest. “Are you serious? They do.”

“That’s not my baby. Everyone will see, she’s not,” he answers quietly as molten silver locks onto my face. “Do your eyes match your father’s eyes?”

“Yes.” His question has made the taste of salt hit the back of my throat. “Exactly. Just like yours match your daughter’s.”

“Royce. You will need to stop denying her. Please.” Mrs. Felix’s expression flashes a new wave of utter disappointment in her grandson and both Royce and I catch a glimmer of tears in the old woman’s eyes.

“Grandmother. Please. Do not cry. Please.”

She sniffles and looks away from us both.

He sighs heavily and looks at me. “Maybe for once, this is all too difficult. Even for us.” He shakes his head and sits back on his knees. The fight rushes out of Royce’s voice as he runs two hands through his hair. “We’ve got sixty thousand screaming fans waiting on us in a stadium right now. How will I do it? How will I add in this baby how everyone wants? And I mean how without killing someone or dying of some sort of heart attack?”

He captures my gaze again. Those beautiful back-lit orbs are still in the slash of sunlight and they send lightning bolt question-marks directly into mine, like he thinks I may have answers for him.

His jaded, rock-star mask is completely gone and I can clearly see a young man who looks worried, almost haunted—and definitely exhausted from what has to be worry and stress.

I also sense that he, just like me, feels terrified of what move he’s going to make next.

Since I’m over a year into feeling exactly how he’s feeling, and because I know he’s got to face tomorrow, and the next day, and head into his new life as a surprise parent whether he likes it or not, I let the fight drain out of my voice as well. I decide that because he doesn’t know me, and because I’ve got nothing to lose here, I might be able to truly do something good. Help him a little.

Even though he told me not to touch him, I reach down and place my hand on top of one of his hands, and say gently, “Hey. Listen. I know what to do.”

“You? You know what to do?” He’s jumped a little at my touch and those eyes of his have narrowed to slits while his whole body has gone tense like he’s some sort of mistrusting panther who’d rather tear me apart than listen to what I have to say, but when he doesn’t pull away I nod encouragingly and he says, “Tell me, then. What to do.”

I nod like I’m proud of him for listening and give his hand a little encouraging squeeze as I launch in to sharing everything I’ve learned since the day my dad went missing: “You’re kind of in shock right now, and you feel like the weight of the world is crushing you. But even if you have moments like this, days where you think you can’t hardly breathe or move or make it through one more minute, well…you have to hang on. Because…you don’t have a choice.” I blink, pulling in a breath. “My dad taught me that. If you bring it in, to this one moment in front of you and just live that moment and try not to think too far ahead, and believe everything will be okay, you will eventually get there and you will be okay.”

A little line forms between his eyes and he shakes his head like he doesn’t believe me, so I place my other hand over his other hand and bring them together with another, extra strong hand squeeze. “With a kid counting on you, one that belongs to you, failure can’t be an option. See?” I smile as I look up deep into his eyes, trying to see if he understands.

“She’s right, Royce,” Mrs. Felix says, sounding a little choked up again.

Without a word, Royce pulls his hands out from under mine. Those alive-eyes of his going from incredulous back to shuttered ice-chips, all while he’s flexing his fingers and pulling a face that implies he might want to wash his hands way more than take my advice.

His disconnect stings a little but I shake it off, seeking solace in how I, at least tried to help. Unfortunately, reaching deep to give this entitled guy my father’s amazing life-advice was a huge mistake, mostly because it’s made me miss my father way, too, much.

All I want now, is to be with Sage. When my gaze next tangles with Royce’s I see him half through tears and half through my own worries. “Never mind. Let’s do this car seat base and get on with our lives. Okay? We both have places to be.”

I’ve faked brightness into my voice and decide I won’t be able to keep myself together if I have to look at his face again, so I don’t. I wonder how someone so beautiful could also suddenly seem so ugly to me at the same time? All business now, I order, “Could you put your knees on the center of the base and use your weight to force the seat down?” I point where I want him to balance. “I need the springs to really squish while I pull the belt.”

He does exactly what I ask, and it works. The seat collapses easily to where it needs to go under his weight, while I quickly clamber up next to him to pull the new slack he’s created through the base using all my might. “That’s it. Done.”

Reaching around Royce, I grab the empty, baby-carrier portion of the car seat and click it in place. I motion to the bundle of slumbering pink sweetness in Mrs. Felix’s arms. “Do you want me to show you how the baby goes in the first time?”

She nods. “Yes, please, dear. Thank you.”

I scoot forward to take the baby. When she’s squeaking in my arms and making little faces, like earlier in the afternoon, I can’t resist her sweetness. I pull her up to my chest and simply breathe in the addictive baby-soap smell of her before switching my grip to place her into the seat, whispering, “Shh. Shh…little one. Shh.”

She squeaks some more, but thankfully she stays asleep while I demonstrate how the split buckle works and show them how to make sure that belt is also tight.

“Thanks,” he whispers, examining what I’ve done.

I don’t answer, nor do I look at him. We all jump when the band returns and is rapidly knocking on the windows. The baby startles awake at the commotion while I fumble for the keys and hit the unlock button for them. They enter in a rush, as Royce tries to block the little car seat with his body. “Guys, take it easy,” he whispers, but it’s like only I can hear him over the commotion.

The brown haired guy calls out, “Can we get the keys back in the ignition? We need cold air fast. The heat’s melted my clothes onto my body. I’m going to need to change before I go on stage.”

“That was pure hell.” The blond guy vaults himself into the far corner seat Royce was sitting in earlier, then scoots around so the girl with the messy bun can have a seat nearest to me and Royce so they can all look at the baby.

“She’s awake. Hello beautiful baby.” The girl smiles down at the bright eyed infant before adding, “Gregory will be right in. The entourage and attorneys are staying in the other limos. Car seat all set?”

“Yep.” I nod, now avoiding everyone’s gazes while scooting toward my exit path.

The brown-haired guy calls out, “Anyone know where the diaper bag with the bottles is hiding? Do you think she’s going to be hungry now, or should we change her or what?”

“My guess is she will be hungry first,” I answer, throwing them one last baby-care bone.

“Robin,” Mrs. Felix says. “After tonight, the baby won’t leave our suites again until her mother is found. We shall work to get our attorneys, publicists, and press releases all lined up, so we will be very busy.”

“Okay. Um…I hope it works out.” I nod again, feeling awkward because they’re all staring at me, as well as telling me stuff I don’t need to know. I hold up the keys. “I’ll give these to the chauffeur so he can fire the engine. Nice meeting you all. Your secrets are safe with me. And… break a leg tonight, or whatever people say to bands before a concert,” I add, trying to keep the cheerful I-don’t-care voice going.

Reaching the door, I scoot my legs in front of me so I can hop out and toss a last comment to Royce, reminding him one last time: “You have a beautiful daughter. It’s going to work out great.”

“Wait,” Royce’s answers. “That’s it?”

I wince, because the baby has started to cry like she totally gets I’m leaving her alone with her clueless daddy. “Yes. Click in the seat, and remember to pull the straps.”

Just as I’m about to jump out, a huge hand locks itself around my upper arm and tries to tug me back. “Robin. Please. Hold up.”

It’s Royce. He’s holding me fast while whispering against the back of my neck. “We’re not quite finished and—we thought—I was wondering if you’d help us through the concert?”

“No.” Half out of the limo, I twist my arm against his grip, but it doesn’t budge. “Dude. I can’t. Let me go. I have somewhere to be.”

Instead, he holds my arm tighter and tugs me like he’s trying to get me to come back inside. “But what about…”

I don’t let him finish. “Let go or I’m going to clock you so hard you’re going to regret it.”

Luckily, Mrs. Hildebrandt’s back is to me so she has no idea I’m about to slip away from her, but I do lock eyes with Gregory and Angel, who appear to be alarmed at how hard I’m trying to shake Royce’s arm off.

Not wanting to cause a scene after how Mrs. Felix told me about the press always watching them, I pause to speak over my shoulder through one of my fake smiles. “I get that it’s possible you’ve never heard the word ‘no’ in your life before; but you’re making me mad.”

“I hear you. But what about…”

Again, I pull down against his iron grip. “What about nothing. This is my absolute, final warning.”

I tug again, and still his grip stays on my arm, so I launch into the self-defense, crooked elbow move my dad taught me way back when I was ten.

It connects to something with a perfect sounding smack and Royce releases me instantly, falling back into the limo with a grunt that sounds like: “Oof-ow! Shit.”

Keeping my face serene, I clear the door, then back-kick it so hard it slams behind me.