For a minute, Zane and Joanna stare at each other like gunslingers at high noon. Then they both burst out laughing.
"Alright." Still chuckling, Zane shrugs slightly. "Actually, Joanna, she's about five-four, brown eyes, long golden brown hair. No tattoo, but if she did have one, it would probably be of a bunny."
I flush, my heart suddenly thudding. He is talking about me!
I'm ninety percent sure.
"A bunny, Violet? Really?"
"Shh!"
"Wow," Joanna is saying. "That is very...specific. Are you describing your perfect woman, or your girlfriend."
Zane smiles. "Both."
"Aww!" Kim and the audience say simultaneously.
Joanna leans forward, resting her chin on her hands. "Tell us more."
"Uh..." Put on the spot, he chuckles, staring down at his hands resting on his lap. "Well, the truth is...I screwed up with her big time. I don't think she's going to ever forgive me. So...I don't know."
The audience "awws!" again.
"Oh, no," Joanna says sympathetically. "What'd you do?"
Zane just shakes his head with a small smile playing on his beautiful lips. When she continues to stare piercingly at him, he just laughs. "What? That's...all I got."
"Aiden, you can't just leave us hanging!"
He remains silent, still smiling. Those achingly blue eyes of his look right back at her, refusing to give anything away.
Finally, she huffs a sigh. "Okay, you. We're running out of time. But I must say, whoever she is, she would be a fool not to forgive you. I bet it works out between the two of you."
Zane exhales softly. He seems to look straight into the camera, into my eyes when he says, "I hope so."
I can't stop thinking about Zane' interview. Does that mean he still wants to be with me? Does that mean the ball is in my court now? What am I suppose to do? Nothing’s changed. He’s still one of the most famous faces in the world, and I’m…just me. I mean, say we get back together…then what? What happens when he goes on tour for a year. I’ll be miserable.
I’m miserable now. I don’t know what to do. I miss him. I miss him so much.
Chapter 36
Mom is planning me a surprise birthday party. I know this because she is the worst at keeping secrets. Last month, she dropped a whole bunch of invitations at my feet. It looks like she’s inviting every living relative we have—maybe because I don’t have many close friends.
I don’t want a birthday party. That’s about the last thing I want. But how do I tell her that without hurting her feelings? She’s been so sensitive lately, crying at the drop of a hat. Between her and Lauren, I feel like I’m in the middle of a soggy Kleenex commercial.
The day of the party (that I’m not suppose to know about), Mom takes Lauren and I to a high end spa. We get facials, massages, and our hair done—and I’m not sure why since all three of us don’t like strangers poking and prodding at us. Mom especially hates when anyone touches her face, but she grits her teeth and get through it—and I do the same for her. Lauren simply tries to bite anyone who comes too close to her. She is super grouchy lately.
Afterwards, we go shopping for outfits to wear for the party. My mind is a million miles away, so I kind of give Mom carte blanche on my picking out my dress. I keep thinking about what Zane said to me one day at the beach. Live in the moment. Don’t worry about what might happen.
I really try to picture my life as a Aiden Cross’ girlfriend. I can’t see it. Hell, I could barely see myself as Zane O’ Connor’s girlfriend. But I try to imagine a life without him—and it makes me want to cry.
“Violet, you have to try on this dress!”
Mom pushes some red material in my hands. When she sees my face, she frowns. “Are you okay? You look like you’re crying.”
“No,” I say, blinking rapidly. “This, uh…dragonfly. It almost got me in the eye.”
“Dragonfly? Where?” Mom looks around, paranoid. She hates insects with an almost psychotic intensity.
“Yeah, it left. Um, where are the dressing rooms?”
“Right there,” she replies, pointing to the sign we’re standing in front of, which says, “Dressing Rooms.”
I clear my throat. “Oh. Okay. Lauren, do you have anything to try on?”
Lauren unenthusiastically holds up several dresses. I can tell they were all picked by Mom—who by the way, has no idea Lauren is pregnant.
We both drag our feet. I hate dressing rooms. I always feel so weird about standing in front of a mirror to change. And I’m always so paranoid that some little kid is going to crawl into my stall. It’s actually happened before. The kid was eight and a perv. I’ll never forget his huge eyes and giant grin as I held my shirt in front of me with one hand and tried to shoo him away with the other.