Page 63 of If the Stars Align
Then he follows me to the bathroom. I turn on the shower,and he gets in with me. I hand him my soap but, instead of washing himself, he lathers his hands and washes me. He even shampoos and conditions my long hair. He’s so gentle, it doesn’t hurt at all when he combs his fingers through my curls. I can’t stop smiling. We’ve been in the shower together before, but never like this. The other times, we were having sex.
That was good. But this is better.
I take my turn washing him, and then we go to sleep.
The next day, we explore the city together. Dex wears a baseball cap to lessen the chances of him being recognized. It happens from time to time, but not as much since he’s been in Europe. He hasn’t quite reached international fame—yet. I’m used to people staring at Dex anyway, famous or not, so all in all, it’s not much different than things have always been.
We take a slow walk through the Luxembourg Gardens with hot coffees warming our hands, a crisp fall breeze cooling the air. We visit Notre Dame and marvel at the vaulted ceilings and stained glass windows. We buy cheese, and baguettes, and a bottle of red wine, and eat lunch along the Seine. And that evening, as we stroll through Montmartre, Dex catches the eye of a street artist who insists on drawing us. Well, really, she wants to draw him.
“Sure,” he says with a perfect smile. “Both of us,” he adds as he grabs my hand. The artist nods in confirmation, inviting us to sit across from her on a set of metal folding chairs.
“Look at that jawline! So handsome,” she says, peering at Dex through her glasses, which she wears low on her nose. Then she turns toward me. “Lucky girl!”
I smile self-consciously and fidget with a loose thread that dangles from my cardigan. My heart sinks. It’s my favorite sweater. I wonder how it got snagged?
It feels ominous. I can’t help but think of Asher and our unraveling relationship. Immediately, I let the thread go.
The artist draws Dex first. She isn’t fluent in English but definitely knows enough to make ongoing commentary about how perfectly symmetrical his face is.
When her focus shifts to me, she’s much quieter. I panic, imagining what she thinks of me. I picture the final product—Dex, a Disney prince, all muscles and jaw and big, gleaming eyes. And me with my wild curls, the Beast. I thought I’d become more confident about my looks in recent years, but it seems all my progress was blown to bits when I visited Dex on the set of his show, where all his female co-stars look like supermodels.
When the artist hands us her drawing, though, I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s lovely.I’mlovely. Dex doesn’t eclipse me like I feared. We look beautiful together. I see it again.
That night, we eat in the Latin Quarter—fluffy pita sandwiches stuffed with spiced lamb and thick, crispy French fries. Dex tells me his trainer is going to kill him for eating carbs, and I laugh, but it turns out he’s completely serious.
After dinner, we walk for hours. Through crowded alleyways, along cobblestone streets, over wooden bridges where lovers holdhands and kiss. That’s where he kisses me. It feels like a dream.
If only my joy weren’t tainted by this sense of impending doom.
You’ll never be able to hold on to a man like him.
I’m not worried about Oliver Dexter. I know I have his heart. But I’m helplessly watching as he turns into someone else. The abs. The facial hair. The expensive clothes. Yes, it’s enticing. But it’s terrifying too. The transformation is only physical now, but where does it end? How long will I be able to hold on to Dex Oliver?
When we get back to my apartment, he starts kissing me right away with the same intensity as last night. Maybe even more feverishly this time. We make our way to my bed. He’s on top of me, frantically pulling off my clothes. His breathing is heavy. His heart is pounding wildly against my chest. I pull back to make sure he’s okay.
I look into his eyes, but he’s not there.
“Dex?” I ask.
He’s fighting for breath.
“Dex, look at me,” I say.
I see a flicker of recognition in his eyes before he rolls off me.
He’s sitting up now, clutching his chest.
“I can’t go through with this,” he says.
It’s like a scene out of a war movie.
There’s an explosion?—
Then nothing.
The audio cuts to silence. The screen goes white.
Then…slowly…the world starts to fade back in.
