The truth was, she still brought it out nightly. But now when she flipped through it, she looked for clues about how she could have been so wrong about Maxwell Kreft.
Why had the sweet boy who’d gone out of his way to give her such a wonderful gift left without a word of explanation in the middle of the night during their Ibiza vacation? Just a few hours after he asked her to marry him!
Dyana still had no explanation.
For why Max had left.
Or for why instead of taking Brandon up on his invitation, she shook her head and said, “Thanks, mate, but it’s straight to sleep when I get home. I’ve got an early day tomorrow, unlike you, Brandon.”
Brandon was one of the lucky second generation, who was able to ride his parents’ fame to a show of his own. He got paid to sleep in late and party until the wee hours of the morning. Also… “I know any of the other girls in this place would be happy to feature on your show as a one-night stand,” she pointed out as she slipped on her coat.
“The truth is I’m kind of done with the one-night-stands.” Brandon rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m ready to settle down, I think. With someone I respect.”
Dyana crinkled her face skeptically. “Is this hypothetical someone you respect meant to be me then?”
But Brandon didn’t laugh. “Remember when you used to call me Brandy?” he asked, his eyes full of hope. “Back when we were in the top ten on the #shippingwatch?”
Yes, she remembered. She also remembered how she’d called Max, Maxie. That was a cute thing she used to do to indicate to the biofans that this was a #boyilike.
But she’d grown up now. “See you at the next thing, Brandon,” she answered. And she didn’t give him a chance to answer before scurrying away.
Stupid, stupid, stupid… she lambasted herself all the way home in the driverless cab. Max had been gone for months and months, hadn’t he? And Brandon would have been the perfect ego boost. Why was she going home to cry over a scrapbook with a glass of wine, when she could be getting over Max by getting under Brandon?
But maybe tonight would be different, she thought as the cab pulled to a stop in front of her building.
Maybe tonight when she walked into the condominium her parents bought her as a graduation gift, she wouldn’t be overwhelmed with sadness that Max and she had never gotten to share it.
Maybe tonight she would open her trash bin and chuck that scrapbook right on in.
Maybe tonight she would fall asleep and she wouldn’t dream of the time when she called the piece of scum who had left her in Ibiza, Maxie.
Maybe tomorrow when she woke up, she’d stop wondering why he left her access to his locations services on so that she could see he was flitting all over—Greece, Frankfurt, and now apparently North Dakota.
Yet he’d refused to answer any of the biomessages she’d left for him, even the ones where she’d broken down crying.
As it turned out, all those maybes came true.
But not because of any willpower on Dyana’s part.
When she stepped out of the cab, she saw a man leaning into the column closest to her building’s front doors. At first, she assumed he was a doorman of some sort. Or maybe an actor. He was wearing an old-fashioned uniform as if he was auditioning for a part on the reboot of Downton Abbey. And his hair was perfectly trimmed.
But unlike all the #verifiedactors living in her building, who looked down their noses at reality series kids like Dyana, this man stood up straight as soon as he spotted her coming his way. Also, he looked familiar. Almost like…
She blinked, unable to believe what she was seeing, who she was seeing…
Not until Max said, “Dyana, it’s me.”
She blinked again, then tears filled her eyes. “Maxie?” she asked, forgetting in an instant she swore to never call him that again.
“Yes,” he answered. Then he opened his arms.
She’d been so angry… so sad…but in the end, it wasn’t even a decision. She rushed into his arms, so happy, so very relieved to see him.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for disappearing like that,” he whispered into her neck. “But I’m back now. I’m back. And I’ll never leave you again.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
OLA
I wake up to once again find myself chained to the bed. No shocked face emoji there. I wouldn’t expect anything less from the supervillain who kidnapped me after last night’s escape attempt.
But a smell way more horrific than silver greets me along with that unsurprising discovery. It’s a mix of wolf pheromones and fire that I’ve only smelled on three other people in my life. And those people were my sister’s half-dragon children.