He never told me.
The whole day played out behind my closed eyelids like a horrible clip show. All the stupid things I’d said. All the comments I’d made about his music. All those people talking about seeing him.
And I’d never known.
“Oh god.” I groaned, covering my face with my hands. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I wanted to get the hell out of here before Ben—Reuben—could come back. I was so fricking embarrassed.
But I was also trapped.
I was literally standing on a floating stage with no escape.
I was going to have to stay and watch Ben’s show.
Because it was a show. He ran all over the stage, microphone in hand, and never sounded out of breath. He’d clearly earned all those muscles doing what he loved. He was grinning. Winking at the audience. His hands came out like he wanted to hug the screaming girls on the edge of the beach.
What he never did, however, was look in my direction.
And the longer the concert went on, the more I understood that I never knew this man at all. The Ben I knew wouldn’t call me a bitch, wouldn’t scream for revenge and rap about slashing tires.
This whole day had been cosplay for him.
The man I’d fallen in love with had never existed at all.
Every song felt like a knife to my gut. What the hell had I been thinking?
I shouldn’t be feeling this betrayed.
But I definitely should be feeling this stupid. I should’ve known better. Fairytales weren’t real.
A flurry of activity at the side of the stage drew my attention. They were already starting to assemble the floating pier walkway. Probably because this was the last show of the night, and they wanted to pack up as soon as they could.
Perfect. The second the path was in place, I was getting the hell out of here.
“Goodnight, Oregon!”
I was never that lucky.
Because the next thing I knew, a sweaty, panting Ben—Reuben Bello—was standing in front of me with his mic at his side.
He just stared at me with this intense gaze that earlier today would’ve made my heart skip a beat.
“I feel so stupid.” The words came out bitten and a little bit broken.
Like me.
Ben—Reuben—blinked.
The crowd on the beach continued to chant his name.
“Is this a game you play at every tour stop? Trick some clueless bimbo into sleeping with you? See how long it takes her to realize she’s in bed with a celebrity?”
Reuben Bello shook his head. “No. No, Emma. That’s not what this was about. That’s not who we are.”
“Were. Did I at least win? Am I the most clueless woman you’ve tricked into bed? Is there a prize or something?”
“Emma, no. That’s not what today—what we are about. I, I, I…wanted to be just a man with you. And then once I got to know you, it was impossible to tell you who I really was. You—”
“Ben! It’s encore time!” someone shouted from behind him. “You need to get back out there before they start rioting.”
