Page 42 of Harrison's Wedding

We use a car service to get to O’Hare, and when we arrive, the paparazzi follow us through the airport.

“Can you tell us anything about Heather’s fashion show, Harrison?” someone asks.

“It’s going to be brilliant,” I say with a smile for the reporter.

“Any hints on what she’s been designing?”

“Nope, none. I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

The crowd around us laughs.

“Are you going to the show too, Sebastian? Hayden?” another person asks.

“We sure are,” Sebastian says with a charming smile at the female reporter who asked the question.

She asks, “What about the rumors you’re having an affair with Heather?”

His smile slips away, and he asks, “What about them?”

“Do you have any comments to make?”

He looks at me quickly, then turns back to her and says in a perfectly neutral tone, “Sure. I’m really looking forward to Harrison and Heather’s wedding. I mean, getting married isn’t for me, but it seems to be for them, so good on them. Anyway, we’ve got a flight to catch, so we’d better go do that.”

They continue asking questions as we walk away to the first-class check-in, but we ignore them.

“Well, they were bound to ask one of us that question, sometime,” I snort. “Good answer, Seb.”

“Thanks. I suppose I could’ve just said it’s not true, but where’s the fun in that?” He grins at me.

Once we’ve checked in and have made it through security, we eventually reach the safety of the first-class lounge. We sit in the quiet luxury, away from any reporters. Plenty of other passengers still look at us here, though. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being looked at as much as I am. Even the wealthier people traveling first-class aren’t above staring, especially when we’re together. Had Gabriel been with us, it would have been even worse.

The flight to New York is uneventful, and when we land, I send a text to Heather.

Hey, angel. Just landed. See you soon.

The paparazzi are much worse than they were in Chicago, though. They follow us through the airport, and I can feel the eyes of nearly every person around following us as we make our way to where we need to go.

When we’re standing at baggage claim, waiting for our luggage, when I see two boys in their late teens who seem to be traveling with their parents look at us repeatedly before they approach us.

“Um, hi. Could we, um, get your autographs?” the older one says while shifting from foot to foot.

Sebastian smiles at him. “Sure. Do you have a pen?”

“Oh, no. I don’t.” His face falls, and his disappointment is obvious.

“I’ve got one,” I assure him.

I reach into my carry-on and pull out a Moleskine notepad as well as my Visconti pen. I open to a fresh page before asking their names.

“I’m Jabin and this is Austin,” the older boy says.

I write on two different pages.

Jabin, thanks for being an awesome fan. - Harrison

Austin, stay cool and thanks for being a fan. - Harrison

I hand the notepad and pen to Hayden, who writes a message on each page before passing it to Sebastian. He does the same and gives them back to me.

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