If the Sun Never Sets (If Love 2)

Kris and Nate hosted a massive New Year’s Eve bash every year at their Beverly Hills mansion, and Farrah wouldn’t miss it for the world—not the least because she was terrified of what Kris would do to her.

Kris in love may have been nicer than Shanghai Kris, but she could still bite your head off with one well-timed barb.

“All right.” Cheryl’s concerned expression remained in place. She patted her daughter’s hand. “You’ve had a tough few months, but it’ll be a new year soon. Remember what I told you: no matter how bad someone hurts you, you can’t heal until you forgive. Especially when you so clearly want to. Don’t argue,” she added when Farrah opened her mouth to do exactly that. “I’m your mother. I know how stubborn you are, and how hard it is for you to trust. But I also know you wouldn’t have kept all those letters and gifts if this boy didn’t hold a piece of your heart. You want to give him another chance. What’s stopping you? What are you afraid of?”

Farrah stared at her shoes. They were brand-new, bought just for the New Year. “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“Aren’t you already hurting?” Cheryl asked gently.

Farrah didn’t have to answer; they both knew the truth.

Kris’s party was incredible, per usual. Five hundred of L.A.’s hottest, richest, and most famous feted New Year’s Eve at her and Nate’s gigantic mansion, alongside live entertainment from the world’s top pop star and gourmet catering courtesy of the city’s most expensive and sought-after chef.

Farrah sipped her champagne and tried not to fangirl when two of the male leads of a massive superhero movie franchise strolled by. One of them caught her eye and smiled, and her ovaries exploded.

It still boggled Farrah’s mind that Kris knew most of her favorite celebrities, but as much as she was dying for a selfie or an autograph, she knew her friend would kick her ass for acting like a crazed stalker at one of her parties.

“Hey!” The hostess herself sailed over in a glittering gold gown that probably cost more than the average American’s monthly rent. “How’re you enjoying the party?”

“It’s great, as usual. Thanks for inviting me.” Farrah hugged her friend.

She and Kris had met up a few times since she landed in L.A., but Kris had been so swamped with planning her foundation’s Christmas gala, the New Year’s party, and her wedding that they hadn’t had time for any in-depth conversations.

Not that Farrah wanted her friend’s opinion on Blake’s letters or anything. Knowing Kris, she’d tell Farrah to create a voodoo doll of Blake and toss it into a bonfire sprinkled with the ashes of his letters and presents.

Kris Carrera didn’t do sentimental.

Meanwhile, Cheryl’s words swirled in Farrah’s brain, muddying her thoughts further.

Aren’t you already hurting?

Yes. But were there degrees of hurt? Was keeping Blake at arm’s length better than letting him back in and having him walk away again? Was dull, perpetual pain better than experiencing the highest of highs only to drop to the lowest of lows?

Farrah’s head pounded with indecision.

“Please. Like that’s even a question.” Kris rolled her eyes. “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to chat before now. Nate—” She blushed. “Anyway, I was busy.”

Farrah smirked. If she had any doubts about where Kris snuck off to, Nate’s mussed hair and cat-that-ate-the-canary grin confirmed it.

“Hey, Farrah.” He greeted her with a wink as he sauntered past them. He didn’t miss the opportunity to plant a quick kiss on Kris’s lips.

Kris kept her cool, but her eyes sparkled with obvious love.

Jealousy sank its claws into Farrah’s guts. She was happy for Kris, truly, but watching her and Nate's loving display was like exfoliating her still-raw wounds with salt.

Once Nate left to say hi to an R&B singer and his supermodel/foodie wife, Kris tilted her head and examined Farrah with an eagle eye. “Liv told me what happened with Blake.”

Even when they lived cross-country, her friends gossiped more than middle school girls.

Farrah shrugged. She did not want to spend the last hours of the year discussing her love life, or lack thereof.

“You look sad.”

“I’m not sad.” Farrah tried to take another sip of champagne, only to discover her glass was empty.

Kris pursed her lips. “I don’t like sad people, especially not at

my party. It’s not on brand.”