But I wasn’t listening. Without stopping to think, I tore out of the green room, heading out to the house. My heart raced, pounding hopefully in my chest. Susanna was right: it was a terrible name. But it was a terrible name that I recognized. Darren had mentioned it; it was one of the various names their high school garage band had gone through before they ultimately settled on the Prince Charmings.
As I entered the house, I heard the opening chords begin onstage, and the band launched into the first song of the evening. It wasn’t a song I recognized, definitely not one by the Prince Charmings. But I needed only to glance at the stage to confirm what my heart already knew to be true: it was them.
The Prince Charmings.
They were here, they had found me. My mind boggled. How they had managed to track me down, I couldn’t begin to imagine. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting to them, touching them.
I pushed my way through the crowd, grateful for my tiny stature as I was able to wriggle my way through the gaps between bodies. Finally, I found myself at the foot of the stage, breathing hard and sweating.
The band was in full swing now, playing their hearts out. I felt my own heart swell as I gazed at each of them in turn, so focused on their instruments, on their music. Everything else around me faded into nothing: the screaming, shoving crowd, the lights, none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the seven men who stood in front of me.
“Grant!” I screamed, but the din of the crowd and the music drowned me out. He couldn’t hear me. I tried again, but it was no use. It was me against the speakers, and I didn’t stand a chance.
But I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to get his attention some other way. Frantically, I cast about for something, anything I could use to draw the band’s attention to me. Suddenly, it came to me:
I still had my boot.
At 5’2”, I was too short to attract the band’s attention, but if I had something to wave in the air . . . like a thigh-high dominatrix boot . . . that might do the trick.
Desperately, I clutched the boot by its long, spindly heel and lifted it over my head.
“Yo, what the hell,” I heard the man next to me grunt. He took a big step to the side. “Careful with that thing. You’ll put someone’s eye out.”
I ignored him. All of my attention was fixed on the stage, on trying to will Grant or one of the others to look my way, just for a second. I needed them to see me.
Finally, Grant glanced over, his gaze drawn by the movement of my boot, high in the air. He froze, his voice dying mid-lyric, as he took me in, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. Then he called my name.
“Ella!”
24
Grant
My heart beat wildly as I flung myself off the stage, not seeing or caring where I landed. The only thing that mattered was getting to her: the tiny blonde figure waving, of all things, a dominatrix boot in the air.
The crowd parted around me as I pushed toward her, my gaze fixed on her bright, upturned face. Her hair may be a different color, but I would recognize her anywhere. Those big blue eyes were burned in my memory, would stay with me as long as I lived.
She was laughing and crying at the same time when I finally reached her. “I hoped that would get your attention,” she said. “I heard you found my other boot.”
“Ella,” I said, her name a prayer on my lips. Her eyes went wide as I pulled her toward me, sweeping her into my arms. Dimly, I was aware of the band playing on as I kissed her, as I had dreamed of doing since she first ran out of the Ball and out of my life.
Ella surrendered herself to me willingly, her arms coming up to wrap around my neck, her little sighs against my mouth driving me wild. I never wanted to stop kissing her.
Somewhere nearby, someone wolf whistled, pulling me back to reality. Reluctantly, I pulled away, my hands still on her shoulders. In the back of my mind, some part of me was afraid that if I let her go, if I stopped touching her for a fraction of a second, she might disappear again. And that this time, I might not find her.
I didn’t think I could take losing her again.
I studied her, my eyes roving over her shining blonde hair, so different from the wig she had worn the night we met. This halo of golden locks suited her much better; she seemed to glow with a kind of inner radiance, even though she was coated in a thick layer of dirt and grime. My eyes drank her in; I couldn’t get enough of her.