Page 24 of Her Supermodel Stalker
“Oh, since I was a child. My mom played it sometimes, and then my stepdad hired someone to teach me. It was the best thing he ever did for me. I spend most of my childhood practicing. It makes me forget about my loneliness.”
“Were you lonely as a child?”
“Yeah. My stepdad isn’t a bad person but he just isn’t very affectionate either. He brought us to the U.S. and raised me. He was good to my mom but wasn’t particularly fond of children.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say to him, imagining Devin as a little child spending all day by himself in front of the piano.
“It’s okay,” he chuckles. “It wasn’t that bad. Many people would trade lives with me.”
“Why didn’t you become a pianist?”
“I have the thought, but somehow I ended up being a model instead,” he says, shrugging.
I kiss him. “I’m glad you became a model. Otherwise, I would never get to know you and be with you.”
He groans and returns me a deep kiss. And then he pulls away and asks, “Do you want to know how I knew all the details about you, your favorite color and food?”
“You said you searched online, on Facebook, to get to know your employees.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you, baby,” he says with a sheepish smile.
“What do you mean? How did you find out about me, then?”
“The truth is I’ve been secretly following you online for more than two years.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“I am,” he says. “Listen, please, and don’t freak out. I found out about you when I was checking my Facebook account. The funny thing is I seldom do that, probably once a year. You just posted a comment on my photo the minute I looked. I still remember what you wrote.”
“What did I write?” I ask incredulously.
He pauses for a moment and continues. “I had a new haircut in the photo, and you said you wished you could buy a sample of my hair.”
“Oh, God!” I cover my face with my hands. “That’s so pathetic.”
He chuckles, prying my hands off my face and kisses my lips. “I thought it was cute, and you got my attention.”
I giggle again, wishing I wrote something less embarrassing, even though it might mean he wouldn’t be sitting next to me and telling me about it. “What did you do next?” I ask, hoping he hasn’t read my other silly comments.
“And then I found out you were my most loyal fan. I became curious about you and I checked your profile. I was delighted by the photos of you and Jimmy, and fascinated by your life and the vineyard. After that, I just became addicted to you. I would check your posts every day, and when you didn’t post anything, I would get worried and upset. It was as if you were my drug, baby. I needed to hear from you to survive. When I found out Fernandes is selling the vineyard from your post, I was overjoyed.”
My mouth drops to the floor and I take a few seconds to register the meaning of his words. “You bought the vineyard because of…me?” I ask, blinking.
“Yes, baby,” he says with a nod.
“That’s insane!”
“Yes, it is. Now you know I’m a creepy stalker.”
I stroke his cheek. “You’re never creepy, Devin. Neither are you a stalker. If following someone on social media makes him a stalker, then very few people aren’t creepy nowadays. In fact, I’ve been following you for almost five years, as you probably already know.”
“Thank you, baby,” he whispers and kisses me again. “I was so afraid I would freak you out.”
I sit quietly in his arms after that, letting him stroke my back and enjoying his affection. I’m still trying to process the unbelievable information. Devin Gamble isn’t here by chance, he is here for me, and he’s wanted me for two years. I should be flattered, right? A world-famous supermodel stalking his fan? Unheard of. It’s usually the other way.
Does it mean he isn’t playing with me? I think for a second. This is too good to be true. I remind myself Devin Gamble is famous for his reputation of being eccentric. He does things on a whim. Didn’t he once disappear from the limelight for months without anyone knowing his whereabouts, including his manager and publicist?
I recall all the details I know about him frantically, trying to make sense of what he’s doing and trying to warn myself not to be carried away.Don’t take him seriously!Don’t lose your head over him! I tell myself. If a man can flatter you, he can hurt you, too.
