Page 85 of A Summer of Stars

Her hands crawled up my neck and buried themselves in my hair.

Oh,God.

I was utterly falling apart.

She curled her fingers in my hair, and an unexpected groan fell from my lips. “Luna.” It was as if I had provoked her. She took a harsh step forward, sending my back into the brick wall behind us.

I ran my hand down her braid until I caught the elastic, pulling it off and letting it fall. I made quick work of undoing the strands, finally having the satisfaction of running my fingers through the long hair I was constantly fixated on watching hang down her back.

I kept one hand in her hair while my other mapped out every inch of her hips, waist, and neck, trying to satisfy this archaicneedso I could stop. But I couldn’t get enough of her. Air and logic were escaping me. The feeling of her,allof her, was rattling my mind.

She was tearing me apart from the inside, cutting and pulling at the millions of fraying threads holding me together. Her tongue ran against mine, and hundreds of threads came loose. A low, rough noise rose from her lips, and more of me fell apart, unstitching.

“Kieran,” she whispered, and it finished the job.

I never wanted to hear my name any other way. I only wanted it to come from her lips as she breathed underneath me and—

Her hand rested on my belt buckle, and realization flared, rattling the hazy fog in my mind.

This is fake. This is fake. This is too overwhelming to be fake.

I pulled away. Surprise riddled her wide eyes. One look from her said more than a decade of shoebox-hidden poems. But all I could focus on were her dark, swollen lips that had just been on mine.

“Luna…”

Her eyebrows rose. Her lips parted to say, “Kieran.”

I could have melted right there. But she wiped away the look quickly and cleared her throat. “I… I think we got the picture.” Her words were directed at me, but she wouldn’t look in my direction. Her blush was so distinct under the moon that I wondered if I had been clutching her face.

“You think so?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders relaxed. “If you hear from your grandmother in the morning, then definitely.” She laughed lightly.

I called us a taxi and spent the drive pretending not to see the reflection of her unbraided hair in my window.

AUGUST

Madrid Open, Madrid

“The Internet Is Freaking Out over Kieran Alexander and Luna Aldridge at the Cannes Film Festival”

—Clandestine

“COME ON, COMEon, we’re going to be late, Kieran!” Nari shouted at me.

“Don’t yell at me, yell at him!” I argued, gesturing to Gabriel, who designed the suit.

“Fashion can’t be rushed!” he piped up as he messed with the buttons at the ends of my sleeves.

“It can if there’s a boat waiting outside for him!” Nari rebutted. “TheSaving Septemberteam may deal with his tardiness because they have over ten premieres to promote the movie, but this indie film doesn’t have anywherenearthe budget to miss a single promotional event, let alone for his vanity!”

I turned to look outside the hotel window—well, would you look at that? There was a boat down there.

“At least we know traffic won’t give them a reason to leave,” I added.

Gabriel laughed. Nari didn’t. “All right, and… done!” Gabriel cheered. Taking a step back, he assessed my navy blue pants and fairly sheer button-down one more time. “You may need these,”he said, offering me a pair of sunglasses. “Wouldn’t want you to look… surprised.”

I tilted my head. “What’s that supposed—”