Ash woke me up so I could see the lights of Vegas from the plane. I’d never been there before, but I’d seen the shot so many times on TV, in movies, it almost looked familiar. The reds and blues and even greens from some of the larger buildings, set among a smaller constellation of tiny white lights. He pointed out a giant one as The Palazzo, and said we were staying at the MGM where he’d be playing that night, the last day of the year. The night we’d get engaged.

For such a momentous event, I’d spent very little time thinking about it. Ash had me on such a wild ride, showing me all around Paris, then feasting on me and fucking me in the hotel room like he couldn’t get enough. Every sense in my body, every thought in my brain had locked into him, the feel of him, the way he touched me, breathed me in as if I were oxygen. I knew this was all kinds of crazy, the way we consumed each other, almost violent in our need to extract pleasure from each other.

I’d certainly never felt that way before. I’d always thought that I had a healthy sexual appetite. Honestly, there were a lot of times with my ex-boyfriend Stan when I’d felt like I had sex on my mind more than he did. At night, alone with my fantasies, I certainly always made myself come with ease and gusto.

But this with Ash was next level. He made me want to do all kinds of things. I’d always approached everything in my life with caution, weighing pros and cons. But when Ash talked about tying me up, binding me and making me beg? His words alone made me so wet I could barely speak let alone think rational thoughts, working my way through deliberations. Because I knew he could do it, torturing me, giving me so many orgasms I’d absolutely lose my mind.

With him by my side, touching me, nuzzling into me, whispering how he couldn’t get enough of me, it felt amazing to fly so free. Without a roadmap, surrendering to new experiences was a rush. I’d always played it safe, but I sure wasn’t now.

But as the plane descended, some worry did as well, tugging at my elated thoughts. We were re-entering reality, Ash’s reality, with fawning groupies and aggressive PR reps and lecherous band mates. Back in the spotlight, under the glare, I couldn’t help wonder what it would do to us? Alone, I didn’t wonder if things were good and real between us. I just knew. But surrounded by all that teeming mess, how could anyone survive? Celebrities were notorious for their tumultuous love lives, bouncing from one person to the next. I could see why, when they had nothing real around them, just hype piled up on hype.

Plus there was the fact that Ash and I hadn’t even begun this with real intentions. What were the chances we could keep this going? Slim to none.

As if he could sense the doubts tumbling up inside of me, Ash slipped an arm around me and drew me close to him. His presence was like a drug, and I relaxed into it, his scent, his strength. He held my hand as we exited the plane, entwined his arms around me as we rode over in the limo.

A few men with cameras greeted us upon arrival at the hotel, even at the early dawn hour. He steered me through it all, strong and sure, up to the hotel room. There in the dark, he led me into the bedroom, drew me into bed and rested my head against his chest. No one there, just the two of us, I listened to the beat of his heart and knew. I knew how we felt about each other.

Hours later, the ringing of my phone blended into my dreams. Ash and I were out to dinner back in Paris. But every time either of us tried to say something, our phones would ring. And ring.

Opening an eye, I realized my phone on the bedside table was ringing.

“Hello?” I rubbed my eyes, my voice heavy laden and groggy with sleep.

“Are you up yet?” Lola’s voice exploded through the phone. “You’ve got to start getting ready!”

“What?” I sat up more, snapping on the lamp. Vegas, right, I was in Vegas. With Ash, only he wasn’t there beside me anymore. Hadn’t we fallen asleep together that morning? But apparently he’d already gotten up and headed out.

“Are you still sleeping?”

“Um…” I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake myself up. Apparently massive amounts of sex required massive amounts of sleep for recovery.

Lola swore like a sailor on the other end. “Get in the shower. I’ll send the girls up in 10.”

True to her word, the girls were up in 10 minutes, exactly when I emerged from the shower to a knock at the door. Three of them, a team to prepare me for Vegas, the show, the cameras, the engagement. It was a lot.

There was plenty of room in our VIP suite for them to spread out and this time, I welcomed their attention. It felt like suiting up in armor for the big fight. Out in the coliseum, I’d get displayed to the masses. I needed everything they could give me.

They did not disappoint. Vegas required over-the-top and they shot right on over with glitter and gold. The dress they squeezed me into had thin straps and cups that barely covered my breasts leading down into a deep V. They used some sort of invisible tape to bring my breasts together right at the base, a trade secret I guessed. It held the cups in place and gave me X-rated cleavage.

The dress technically ended mid-thigh, but really it ended even further up than that. The hemline of the cloth was barely legal, and then it sort of melted into jewels, fading away into a few glittery gems and then nothing but leg.

I’d never worn anything like it before. I’d never even seen anyone in person wearing anything like it. I was bedazzled and bedazzling.

The blowout took about 15 hours. I tried not to get impatient, but it was hard when the woman styling me seemed to work the same strand around her roller brush again and again and again. She must have picked up on my impatience because she explained,

“It’s got to last. You’re not on stage until midnight.”

Right. Lola had planned this all out down to the second. She’d sent me an email with an agenda requiring military precision. She’d missed her true calling as a SWAT team commander. I could really picture her in camo yelling at troops to move it on out at O-Four-Hundred Hours!

Tonight, Ash’s show started late, a New Year’s special, and I was the finale. Or his proposal to me was, at least. After their set, Ash was supposed to disappear for longer than usual. The rest of the band would go back on stage and noodle around, build anticipation, looking at each other and shrugging like ‘where is he, man?’

Then Ash would strut back on stage with me in tow. There, under the klieg lights, he’d introduce me to the crowd as the love of his life. Then he’d bend down on one knee, offer up a ring and ask me to marry him.

Whew. It made my knees week and I was already sitting down in the privacy of my hotel room. Getting up on stage in front of thousands of people, that made me want to vomit right there. But then coupling it with The Question? From Ash Black? My head swirled in so many different directions, again I felt grateful to be sitting down. Eager to see him again, excited to have that moment with him, let down that it was all for show. But I couldn’t really be wanting him to ask me something like that for real, could I? We hadn’t even known each other for a full three weeks yet.

But there was something about how we clicked. Stranger things had happened, hadn’t they? People seemed to fall fast when it was right. Look at my ex, he’d found someone soon after me and they’d already tied the knot. Ash and I had met each other’s families. Taken a trip to Paris together. Been to each other’s places of work.

But who was I kidding? We’d barely scratched the surface with each other, and this was all for show anyway. Better to just enjoy the ride and stop asking so many questions.

I didn’t have time for more ruminations, anyway, because thank God the blowout finally stopped and I was ushered down into a VIP lounge for VIP apps and photos. Lola passed me around like an hor d’oeuvre on a plate, introducing me as Ash’s girl, the one you’ve been hearing so much about, etc. I smiled and laughed and tried to make chit chat, playing it cool even when I spoke to celebrities so famous their faces had graced magazine covers in the past month. Like me.

“You’re so cute!” one starlet gushed at me, seeming overly bright. I didn’t know enough about drugs to take a guess about what she was on, but she made perky look boring. “I love your dress!” she exclaimed, all exclamation points all the time.

“I liked you in that movie with Seth Rogan.” I wasn’t sure if that was the right kind of thing to say to her. Was it weird to talk to movie stars about the movies they’d been in? But it was true. She’d been funny.

“You are so sweet!” She leaned into me, modulating her voice yet still seeming to speak in exclamations. “You have to tell me who did your breasts! They’re supes amaze!”

“Oh, thanks.” I found myself feeling myself up in the middle of the party. Were my breasts supes amaze? I hadn’t thought they were that special.

“Perfect size!” she complimented me. And reached out for a quick grab herself. “Oh, and they feel so real!”

“Well, they are real.”

She tossed her head back in a bright gale of laughter, as if I’d said the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Then her eyes narrowed slightly and she looked me straight in the eye. “I’ll find out who did them.” The moment was over almost before it began and she was off with the next partygoer.

New Year’s Eve and Vegas was already hopping, overflowing with money and people wanting to see and be seen. But the one man I wanted to see was nowhere. I’d texted him, but hadn’t heard anything back.

Then Ash and the band splashed into the room, the door banging open at their arrival. Surrounded by an entourage, they drew everyone’s attention, the men of the hour. Now that Ash was in the room, I felt even further away from him.

He looked amazing. He’d shaved and he looked like he’d gotten a trim, then had his locks styled just so in a rock star tousle. He wore black shit-kicking boots and rocked some black leather pants that hugged his broad, muscular thighs and spectacular ass. Slung low, you could see the start of his V on his abdomen and I knew I wasn’t the only one looking. I didn’t know how he did it, but he managed to take a page right out of 1986 Bon Jovi’s Rock God bible without looking cheesy. Maybe it was because he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. It was as if he were saying, tell me you wouldn’t dress like this if you were me?

On top, he wore a black shirt unbuttoned the whole way down, exposing his muscles and tattoos and necklaces. If he weren’t so hot, you might roll your eyes. But he looked so fucking good, and he wore it all with such strut and confidence, a ‘feast your eyes, ladies’ devilish attitude. You had to love it.

I know I did. But I found myself taking a step back, shyly hugging the wall. That couldn’t be the man I’d just spent every waking second of the last few days with, inhaling him, riding him, feeling so connected and amazed.

But he found me. Ash searched the room over until he zeroed in on me, standing in the corner. The crowd literally parted as he walked straight to my side. He took me in his arms, swept me up and kissed me like he’d missed me as much as I’d missed him. The room erupted in cheers, enjoying the show. My cheeks burned.

“I wish we were back in Paris,” he murmured to me, but he turned and raised up his hand, the Roman emperor accepting the adulation of his subjects. He did it so naturally, I almost wondered if I’d heard him correctly. He looked down at me and gave me a wink. “You ready for a wild night?” he asked.

Before I could answer, adoring fans were on us, wanting to hear about Paris, wanting to talk about the show tonight. I let it all wash over me, letting the circus play out without phasing me because through it all, Ash held my hand. That constant connection, the warm pressure of his skin against mine, I didn’t know how it could ground me so much but it did.

“This one here’s the singer,” Ash insisted with one woman who couldn’t take her eyes off of him, even as he pointed her attention directly at me. “You should hear her sing.”

“I don’t know about that,” I protested. In fact, I did know about that—my voice was fine, but it was nowhere near as distinctive or strong as Ash’s. He was just smitten with me. Wait, was he really smitten with me?

“There’s Yoko!” An arm snaked its way around my shoulders, the touch having the opposite effect of Ash’s.

“Hi, Connor.” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as unhappy to see him as I felt. After all, he was Ash’s closest band mate and best buddy.

“How’s our little Yoko Ono doing tonight?”

I smiled weakly. He meant I was breaking up the band, like Yoko did to The Beatles. Ash clapped him on the back, letting his hand rest for a moment at Connor’s neck, grabbing him there. “You’re a funny one, Connor.” His voice definitely had an edge.

“You guys sure heated things up in Paris!” Connor congratulated us. Then he leaned in, just for me. “I liked what I saw in that video of you up against the wall. I’d like to see more later.”

But then more people rushed in, snapping photos, wanting a moment with Ash, a moment with Connor. I brushed off his creepiness and tried to enjoy myself, at the epicenter of celebrity stardom, affixed to a constellation so bright even other genuine stars in their own right were there to worship at his feet.

I guessed it made sense so many were there tonight. What did celebrities do on New Year’s Eve? Did they hang out with their parents like I’d done more than a few times over the years, sipping wine on the couch, debating the relative merits of Dick Clark vs. Ryan Seacrest? No, celebrities PARTIED! And who did they party with? Other celebrities!

Before I knew it, Ash was leaning in to give me a quick goodbye kiss. Show time! Sparkling from champagne, I let Lola lead me away to get a touch-up from stylists, then go hang out backstage where I could watch the show.

From the second the band started up, Ash was on. He’d been amazing in concert when I’d seen him before, but tonight he was on fire. He had such energy, such power in his vocals, such a raw, live pulse pounding out of him. Whatever he had, it was contagious, and I found myself singing along with every word, raising my fist up in the air along with him at the choruses, screaming for more along with the crowd after every song. Every now and then, he’d look backstage right at me and give me a nod or a smile or a wink, letting me know he was thinking of me. He might be out on stage, but he knew I was right there with him.

“He’s the sexiest fucking man on the whole fucking planet,” a girl next to me exclaimed with her tongue practically lolling out onto the floor. I wanted to tell her to roll that tongue right back up into her mouth, that was my man. But I really had to agree, he was the sexiest fucking man on the whole fucking planet. The way that unbuttoned shirt teased the crowd, sometimes slipping down one of his broad, tattooed, muscular shoulders. The shoulders I’d bit and dug my nails into. The way he thrust his hips, rolling them, probably sending half the audience into heat. It was worse knowing how good it felt when he did that hard rocketing straight into me.

By the time they’d finished their set, I’d practically melted into a puddle on the damn floor. Ash rushed off, electric adrenaline practically shooting off of him. A guy took his guitar from him, another removed his microphone, and another handed him a towel, but he locked his eyes on me and never looked away. He grabbed my hand and pulled me, fast and urgent, through the backstage crowd and into a room for the band.

“You’re driving me crazy!” He dragged me in and locked the door after us. “Dancing backstage in that dress.” He was on me in an instant, his lips crushing mine, licking, sucking, biting down my throat. What did I do? I did what every woman and half the men in that audience had wanted to do for the last hour and a half. I reached up, grabbed that damn shirt and ripped it right off of him, baring his magnificent chest for me to devour.

I sank into him like a starving woman, running my tongue along his pecs, licking the hollow of his neck. He tasted like salt and man, all power and sex.

He grabbed my hips and pulled me with him, over where he leaned back against a table. “Are you worked up, Ana?” he growled in that low, sexy voice he’d just used to make thousands of people go wild.

“Yes!” I growled right back, grinding my hips into him. My dress was short enough that his hands instantly found my bare upper thighs, then pulled it up for more. After having watched him on stage, felt his magnetic presence, let him get me worked up the way he did everyone, I couldn’t believe I got to sink my teeth into him. So I did just that, right at his shoulder, the one he’d occasionally flashed to the crowd. Now it was mine.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He pressed me against him, loving every second of it. He pushed my panties to the side and found my wet heat, melting liquid for him. “Oh, you want it, don’t you, Ana? You want my cock?”

“Yes!” Hands down at the waistband of his pants, I tore at them. I could see the bulge of him, pressing against the leather. He’d been teasing us all with that. Teasing time was over.

“Do you want to come on my cock, Ana?”

“Yes!” Finally, I got his pants unzipped, finally down off of him and wrapped my hands around the most delicious cock I’d ever fantasized about in my life. “Ash, I need you.”

“That’s right,” he groaned as I stroked him, admiring his long, thick shaft. He was so big and knew exactly what to do with every inch.

“I need you inside me.” I grasped him more firmly now, swirling a drop of precome around his wide crown.

“Ride my cock, baby.” He rested back against the table and watched as I stripped off my panties, stepping out of them in my heels. He took out a condom and rolled it out over his length. Then he brought a large hand to my thigh and helped me straddle him, bringing my wet sex right up to where I needed it. I stood up at my full height, a hand at his shoulder to steady myself.

Looking him full in the eye, I impaled my wet pussy down over his rock-hard cock.

“Ash!” I called out, throwing my head back at how much he filled me, the intense stretch of his huge shaft going into me deep.

“More,” he bit out, and I realized I hadn’t taken him all the way in, not yet. I straddled him wider and sank myself down full into his lap, taking him in to the hilt. I screamed out at the feel, almost painful, as he pushed into me so deep.

“Ride me, baby.” Ash brought his hands to my hips and I couldn’t have stayed still if I’d tried. I didn’t try. I wanted to move so I did, thrusting myself against him, working myself up and down his long, hard cock. I could angle him exactly right so he hit my sweet spot every time. I panted as I worked, sinking myself down onto him again and again.

“Use my cock, Ana.” Ash panted, sweaty, watching me work my pussy along his slick length again and again. “I want you to make yourself come on my cock.”

Grunting, I clung onto him for leverage, straddling him wide and moving faster. Pushing the strap of my dress to the side, he took my breast out so he could squeeze it in his large hand. I moaned as I bucked against him, frenzied.

“So hot, you like this.” With one hand at my waist, Ash kept his eyes fixed on where our bodies joined, where my slick juices lubricated our fucking. I’d never felt so crazed, so uninhibited, so overcome with animal lust. I was using his cock just like he’d told me and it felt so good.

Fixated on my pussy coming down again and again on his huge cock, Ash asked me, husky, “Are you my little slut, Ana? Are you my slut for me, getting off on my cock?”

“Yes,” I moaned, so close, the throbbing in my sex pushing me so close.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I’m your slut, Ash!” I cried, thrusting down on him. He squeezed my breast hard and dug his fingers into my ass, pushing me down even harder.

“Show me,” he commanded.

When I came, it felt like every fantasy I’d ever had engulfing me, backstage with this rock god, and together we exploded. He clasped his hand over my mouth as I screamed, muffling my cries of ecstasy as I felt him shudder and come inside of me. He buried his mouth in my neck, on my throat, a visceral, guttural groan coming out of him as he brought his cock up deep, so deep inside of me.

A knock sounded on the door. Panting, the roaring tide still rushing around us, we both still heard it.

“One minute, Ash.”

That’s right. He still had more of his show to do. He’d finished his set, but still there was more. And I played a starring role.

“You know what’s next?” he asked me. He brought his forehead against mine and we sat there, panting, our faces so close together. I nodded.

“Are you ready?” he asked me. I pulled back and we looked into each other’s eyes. But before I could answer, there was another knock.

“OK, coming,” Ash answered. He helped me climb off of him and pointed out where I’d flung my panties, over in the corner.

“Thanks,” I said as I hustled over to put them on.

“I always try to be a gentleman.” Ash winked at me and I had to laugh as he buttoned up his leather pants and I straightened out my sparkly dress after our nasty, dirty, backstage quickie.

We stepped out and Lola stood there next to the bouncer who’d summoned us. Her eyes shot out daggers.

“Christ! Look at you!” She was talking to me. It didn’t matter if Ash Black had the just-fucked look, but I was supposed to be a goddamned librarian. Lola snapped her fingers up in the air. Two ladies came at her beck and call. “Tame it!” she demanded and they set to work on my hair, brushing and combing and spraying while also moving me toward the stage with Ash.

One of the girls whispered in my ear, “Is he as good as he looks?”

The other girl answered for me. “I’ve heard he’s huge. Aimee had him last year.”

Oh, that felt great. I wondered how many women had shared my Ash in the past? How many would in the future? But now wasn’t the time for wondering, now was the time to stand up in front of thousands and put on a show.

“You ready?” Ash took my hand, looking into my eyes. I wish I could say that everything else fell away as I stared into his twin pools of liquid love. But that wouldn’t be true. I was about to go out on stage in front of tens of thousands of people. I felt like I was going to throw up. But I swallowed and nodded yes, even though I really felt like yelling, “No!”

But then it happened. He pulled me out on my wobbling legs onto the stage. The band was already in place, just like Lola had told me. Everything was going as planned.

“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” Ash spoke into the microphone he had attached to his earpiece, apologizing to his screaming fans. “I couldn’t keep my lady waiting. If you know what I mean.”

The crowd roared its bawdy approval and my cheeks turned a bright shade of scarlet because not only had he just made a dirty reference to me, it was 100% true.

“Tonight’s a big night! It’s New Year’s Eve, people!” The crowd went wild. I stood, deer in headlights, a broad fake smile plastered to my face. Ash was as natural as I’d ever seen him, though, talking to the huge audience like it was no big deal. Like he wasn’t being photographed and videotaped and viewed by thousands, make that millions by the time this video spent some time up on YouTube.

“Now how many of you have heard about my girl, Ana?” He held up my hand, making me step forward with him in the spotlight. Thankfully, he then wrapped his arm securely around my waist, propping me up. I wondered if he could tell how close I was to toppling over.

“She’s too good for me, I know that. But tonight, I have a very special question I want to ask her.” The crowd’s fevered pitched cranked up another notch I hadn’t even thought possible.

Then Ash bent down on one knee. We were flanked by four huge cameras trained right on us with their wide, black, blank lenses. I broke out in a sweat, trembling, feeling the seconds drag on, endless.

Ash took out a box and held it in the palm of his hand. Then he lifted up the top. Two cameramen rushed in to get an up-close shot. With so many flashing lights, the sparkles and shimmers practically shot off of the rock.

Ash looked up at me. Speaking clearly, he asked the question, “Ana, will you marry me?”

Right then, more than anything I wanted off that stage. It suddenly felt like everything was too much, the ring, the crowd, the cameramen, even the calm and composed way in which Ash displayed our fake romance. That was all this was, a big, public display for his image, and yet I’d just climbed up and humped him backstage like a monkey in heat.

A flicker of nerves passed over Ash’s face. “She’s making me wait,” he told the crowd.

Right, I was supposed to respond. I nodded my head like a good girl. “Yes,” I whispered. They hadn’t fixed me up with a headset, though. Smart of them. They knew I was a wildcard.

So Ash had to announce it. “She said yes, people!” he declared to thunderous roars of approval. He took my hand and pushed a ring with a gigantic, cockroach-sized diamond sticking out of it onto my finger. He held it up for the cameras.

I might have managed to still smile. If I did, it was merely because I could no longer feel my face. Whatever expression had been on it a minute or so ago was the one I still had on, might have on for the rest of the night. I didn’t see this shock wearing off any time soon.

“You’ve made me a happy man!” he exclaimed to me, for the crowd, then sent me packing with a kiss so he could launch into a few more songs.

I stumbled off the stage, my legs wooden, my head throbbing. Lola was there to meet me. I was now wearing a nice chunk of the Ash Black asset portfolio.

“Don’t you fucking lose that,” she said with a smile, her arm around me protectively. “Look, don’t touch, ladies.” She offered my hand up like I was a marionette to the surrounding throng of groupies, all clustered around to see my rock.

“I’m so jealous I could kill you!” one of them exploded in admiration.

“I hate you!” another offered.

“Thanks,” I managed. With friends like these…

Lola posed me for a few photos, displaying my rock. I felt like a Barbie doll in the hands of a five-year-old, only we were having much less fun.

“You’re doing good,” she encouraged me as she swept me down into an after-party. “Now work the crowd. Show me you’re worth every penny.”

Ick. Now I felt like a pole dancer with a twenty stuffed into my thong.

“Ash’ll be here in a few,” Lola told me as she disappeared into the crowd.

So many celebrities, so little time. Had I thought I’d seen some big names earlier? That was before the show. Now, things really exploded. Faces from TV, movies, hip hop stars, popstars, a few guys I figured had to be professional basketball players, nearly seven feet tall and built like brick shithouses.

“Ten, nine, eight!” the crowd started chanting. It was seconds away from midnight. Ash must still be on stage, counting it down with the fans.

“I want to kiss Ash’s girl!” a girl in a tiny scrap of a dress squealed.

“No, I want to!” another girl in an even tinier scrap of a dress bitch-slapped her rival across the face and leaned in as she screamed “Two! One!”

Amidst the din of horns and yells of “Happy New Year!”, she puckered, pressed in close and planted a big one on me.

“Girl on girl!” a guy next to us called out with glee. The woman trying to have her way with me wrapped her hands around my waist. Somehow, I twisted out of her grip, lurching to the side and away into the crowd. Streamers and confetti fell from the ceiling. Every face looked familiar but yet there was no one I knew.

A cold hand reached out and grasped my wrist. I flinched, wondering if it was the girl, back for more.

It wasn’t. It was former American Idol winner singing sensation Mandy Monroe.

“Hello, Anika.” She smiled at me, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. When people used my full name Anika, it almost never meant anything good. Occasionally my mother would use it kindly, but it usually heralded the beginning of a long inquisition about something I’d done wrong. My Uncle Yuri used it from time-to-time in a neutral manner, as in, “Could you pass the herring, Anika?” And, come to think of it, Ash had called me Anika a few times in a good way. But out of Mandy’s sneering, cherry red lips, I could tell it did not bode well.

“Hey there.” I looked around for an easy out, but saw nothing save a swirling wall of people, packing us in from all sides. More practiced at navigating her way through crowds, Mandy pulled us into a corner. I would have been able to breathe better there, but for one problem. Mandy was still by my side.

“How are you?” she asked with the wide, pitying eyes of someone who really wished you were squished like a bug on a windshield.

“OK,” I squeaked, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing tray. I downed it in seconds flat.

“I’m so worried about you, Anika. You’re so naïve. And you’re with such a bad guy.”

“Thanks, Mandy.” Maybe I could get her off topic by telling her that I loved her songs? I knew a whole bunch of them because my roommate Jillian played them all the time. Honestly, they’d never grown on me.

She grabbed a fistful of fabric from the torso of my dress. It was quite an accomplishment, given how slim-fitting and tight the dress was. But Mandy meant business.

“He broke my heart!” she declared, literally bringing the back of her free hand up to her forehead and pressing it there like a silent film star. Her eyes took on a misty, faraway look. Even though I didn’t really trust her more than I could throw her, she captured my attention. The fist gripping my dress saw to that.

“Do you know what it’s like to give a man everything? Every last shred of your soul? To give all of yourself and more? And then have him stomp on it?”

I gulped. Awkward. Uncomfortable. I wanted to make light of it all, launch a few sarcastic barbs at her, maybe ask ‘if you gave all of yourself, how did you also give more?’ But a larger part of me was riveted. I knew she was probably making stuff up, putting on a show for me for some manipulative reason. But here’s the thing: she made her living by putting on shows. She was damn good at it.

“I know that pain,” she told me, and I could see it there, etched on her lovely features, haunting her perfect, round eyes. But then her eyes narrowed and she took on the look of a hawk. “You’ll know it, too,” she cursed me.

I looked around again, searching for someone, anyone I could pull in and say, “hey, look, it’s Mandy Monroe” then pull a classic bait-and-switch. But no one met my eye and Mandy kept holding on to me. There was some strength in that tiny five-foot-three coalminer’s daughter frame of hers.

“He’ll break your heart,” she hissed. I swear, if she’d added ‘my pretty’ and broken into a cackle she would have been a shoe-in for the Wicked Witch of the West.

“OK, well, thanks for the warning.”

“I thought he was the one,” she insisted. “And here he is not a month later asking you to marry him. That’s fucked up.”

I had to agree with her on that one. This whole situation was fucked up.

“I’ve got to go.” I twisted away from her. I swear she pulled a fistful of glitter off of my dress.

“Don’t trust him!” she called after me and damn if her words didn’t send a chill down my spine. I knew she was being melodramatic and manipulative. I didn’t need Ash to point that out, every ounce of instinct in me cried out to not trust that woman. But something in what she said resonated.

That’s when I saw Ash over by the door. He’d just arrived at the after party, flanked by Connor and a slew of other revelers. The room erupted into more cheers and screams, the DJ pumped up the volume of a thumping tune and everything seemed to pound into me, elbows, bass, feet. Even if I tried to make my way over to Ash, I didn’t think I could have, not trapped in the crowd like I was.

But I could see him, tall by the door, and then over by the bar. Two people he was with climbed up on top of it, then pulled him up with them. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but they were yelling and I saw the bartender pouring them shots.

Who was that Ash was with? The guy had purple hair peeking out of a pink knitted cap and a full sleeve of tattoos. Something about that perfect pout of his lips looked familiar. Was that Justin Bieber?

The girl next to him on the bar took off her top, swung it around and flung it into the crowd. She had small, perky breasts and a long tongue she stuck out, raising her fingers into a V around it. Wait, was that Miley Cyrus?

Was Ash up standing on a bar doing shots with Justin Bieber and Miley Cyrus? I had to be hallucinating. I rubbed my eyes but then a huge guy who had to be another pro-athlete, stood directly in front of me. I couldn’t see a thing anymore.

But I didn’t need to see any more. This was insane. Whatever I’d thought I’d felt in Paris wasn’t real. It was the city of love, or lights, or maybe both? Whatever people called it, how could you be expected to not fall hard for whomever you were with? Add in amazing food, the light snowfall, and the music we made together and, I mean, please, Ash could look like Quasimodo and I probably would have thought he was the love of my life.

And he wasn’t Quasimodo, he was Ash Black, People magazine’s sexiest man of the year two years running and my own personal rock star fantasy. I had a freaking poster of him up in my room from high school. Could you blame me for thinking it was real?

No, I didn’t blame myself for my past mistakes, but I did know I needed to get the hell out of that party. I needed to check into my own quiet hotel room, have a nice long hot shower, then fly back to New York. I wouldn’t mind doing another public appearance or two, something to keep the ruse going, to make sure the library branch got its 20 years of funding.

But private time, with just me and Ash? That had to end. He was having the time of his life, in his element over there dancing on top of a bar with what may or may not be two of the craziest, wildest, most infamous celebrities of our generation.

But I was losing my mind. One minute I was jumping his bones, the next vomiting with nerves. I couldn’t take this roller coaster ride anymore. I needed out. I had to go find Ash and tell him I was leaving. Then I needed to do just that.