Map to the Stars (15 page)

Instead of answering, I shut him up with a kiss.

“We've
got
to stop meeting this way,” Graham whispered into my neck, his arms circling me from behind. The heavy door leading to the empty stairwell had barely clicked shut.

“Do we? Seems pretty perfect to me.” I spun to face him and brushed my lips against his. He gave a playful growl and eased me against the wall, where his hands ran down my sides.

“Graham?” I asked, but the last syllable was cut off by his lips on mine. I melted into them for long minutes. Just at the point I was so breathless I could barely stand, he pulled back.

“Mmm?”

“Mmm, what?” I murmured, kissing along the stubble on his jaw.

He sighed and captured my lips again. When he finally broke the kiss, he said, “God, you're amazing. And I said ‘Mmm' because you said ‘Graham,' just before I did this . . .” Another deep kiss had my hands clutching the air beside me for the railing of the stairs. From Kiss One he'd had me, but holy hell, Kiss One Hundred and One was even better. I could officially die happy in a dark hotel stairwell somewhere in Barcelona. I nestled into his shoulder and thrilled at his arms around me.

“I forget,” I whispered.

“Good.” He nibbled on my earlobe and sent a shiver along my entire body. I twisted my hand around a chunk of his shirt and pulled him closer. He leaned his forehead against mine and we stood quietly for a moment before he asked, “Do you think we can con your mom, Melba, and Ellis into a Girls' Night Out tonight? Not that secret rendezvous in hidden stairwells aren't sexy and all, but I
do
have more comfortable accommodations at this place.”

I shivered once again, this time at the suggestion. But then I remembered why Melba and my mother would not be getting sangrias together and why I'd said “Graham” moments before. Shit.

“We can't. You have to cheat on me, remember?”

Graham's face fell. “Damn. I think I blocked it out. You know I would never go if I didn't have to . . .”

“I know.” I snuggled into his chest and breathed in his fabric softener, but the spell had been broken. Like it or not, Graham had a date tonight. And not just a date. A
hot
date. As in, an actual former Miss Universe and current model with legs longer than the height chart on
the back of my bedroom door at home. Everything about it sucked.

Ever since that moment on the bus when I'd spilled my guts to Graham and he'd wrapped me up and let me bawl my eyes out, it was like something had shifted with us. We'd become a couple. Like, a real, honest-to-God couple. Even if we hadn't said it yet.

The “house arrest” Graham was placed on as soon as we'd arrived in Barcelona was supposed to give the news cycle a chance to move on to some other star's bad facelift incident or marriage implosion. But stuck in the hotel in Barcelona for the last three days is not a bad place to be when you just want to spend every second with a guy you're falling for and you really don't care where you are anyway. We'd become completely inseparable.

Except if Melba was around.

Or Ellis.

Well, okay, so maybe we weren't exactly inseparable after all, but it felt that way. Roddy was cool and Mom knew about us, of course, and she was, surprisingly, all about aiding and abetting our secret romance. She said she thought Graham needed a little normal in his life, “the poor kid.” As for me, I think she was hoping I'd get so happy, I'd agree to see Dad. I wasn't agreeing to that, but I was definitely embracing the “get so happy” part.

Even if we didn't get a ton of privacy, we still spent as much time as we could together. Mostly in Mom's and my room, where we didn't have to worry about disapproving handler looks. We watched badly dubbed movies on TV or played chess or Scrabble against each other on Graham's iPad, sitting cross-legged on the floor between the beds.
Or we'd talk. So much talking. I felt like Graham knew every last detail of every last day of my life, right down to what my dad packed for lunch on my first day of kindergarten (peanut butter and marshmallow, for the record).

Luckily for us, the stairwells in the hotel were VERY private. So was the sauna. And the rooftop deck after-hours.

I did sneak out one afternoon to tour Gaudí's more famous landmarks with Mom, but even then I'd spent half of the time on the phone with Graham, describing what I was seeing, and after a few hours I couldn't wait to get back to the hotel.

Basically, I had it bad. I'd woken up the last four mornings feeling normal and then I'd remember Graham and I'd get that same feeling you have when your alarm goes off, but then you remember it's Saturday.

Which was about the opposite of how I was feeling now.

Graham tugged at a piece of my hair. “You know you can ride along in the follow car? You could probably even sit next to me at the screening, once the lights go down. I only have to be with her to walk the red carpet and at the after-party for the hour they let the press in. As soon as we've taken a few pictures, I'm sure she'll want nothing to do with me.”

I could just picture it now, me on one arm, Cover Girl on the other. It's not like I had a looks complex or anything, but seriously.

“No, it's okay,” I said. “I've been neglecting Mom most of this trip and she's all excited to hang tonight. We're going out for tapas.”

Graham made his guilty face. “I'm sorry about that. You've been
totally cooped up in here with me. Has it been horrible?”

I teased, “Yes, horrible. I can't believe how miserable it's been. If I never see this stairwell again, it will be entirely too soon.”

Graham rubbed his chin in pretend contemplation. “Just for the sake of scientific accuracy, which part has been the
most
horrible? Was it this?” He used one hand to lift my hair from my neck before tipping his head down and brushing his lips against the bare skin. My knees buckled and he grinned wickedly as he noticed.

“Interesting. Of course, there's always this. I've been told it's truly the worst.” He took my hand in his and twisted it so that my wrist faced out. He put his lips against my skin. When my breath caught on an exhale, he chuckled.

Ha! No way he was winning this one. I tucked my hands into the back pockets of his jeans and rotated us so that he was against the wall. Pressing up against him, I whispered in his ear, “Actually, the most horrible part has
definitely
been this . . .” I ignored his groan as I pressed up against him and planted a kiss on his lips.

An hour later, when we could both breathe evenly again, we were alone once more, this time in an elevator. I was trying to adjust the bow tie I'd inexpertly tied around Graham's neck so I could send him off looking like freaking James Bond in a tuxedo on his date with a supermodel. For his part, Graham was being very uncooperative, capturing my hands so he could get yet another kiss in. I can't say I fought him too hard. Just being close to him made my insides feel like I'd just gulped hot chocolate and it was spreading through my rib cage.

“I'll miss you,” he whispered in my ear, releasing me at the exact
second the elevator doors opened with a ding. Melba stepped on with a clipboard against her chest and an official-looking badge swinging from her neck. Her hair was in an elaborate updo that looked too fancy for the plain black business suit she wore.

“Just checked on the limo—it'll be outside in five.” She didn't bother to acknowledge me. Instead she strode to Graham, tugged apart the bow tie I'd spent three minutes (with Graham's face scrumptiously close to mine) trying to tie. In two seconds flat, she had it perfectly looped, pulled tight, and wiggled straight.

“Annie, could you send your mom up for a quick spot of hair gel? Nothing too obvious, tell her, but we definitely want our boy extra camera-ready tonight.”

She pressed the button for my floor, then tugged Graham off the elevator. Her words to him followed me as the doors closed. “The press is double the usual since you've been so sequestered. Expect lots of questions on the red carpet. Do you remember the answers Ellis gave you to say?”

Mom and I returned to meet the little group in Graham's suite, then we all made our way together to the lobby, where the model and the limo waited. I was hoping one would be inside the other, but six-foot-something of raven-haired va-va-voom was standing by the coffee bar when we stepped off the elevator. To his credit, Graham resisted the double take the rest of us did. What happened to “It's all airbrushing”? No one should be allowed to look like her in real life.

Melba made introductions while Mom and I hung off to the side.

“Graham, this is Brigitte.”

Ex–Miss Universe smiled. Check that. She smiled nervously. Were people who looked like her even allowed to get nervous? I both loved and hated Graham for the warmth of his welcome and the way he put her instantly at ease. Within seconds he had her laughing. Part of me wanted to share a smile with her and say, “Can you see why I am so obsessed with him?” and an equal part of me wanted to scream, “God, please don't notice how lovable he is. Plus, he has an enormous fourth toe. It's seriously gross. Run away!”

The group made their way through the door, and, to his credit, my last glimpse of Graham was of him turning back to mouth “I miss you already” to me, as he disappeared into the limo behind a whole lot of sequins and dazzle. I hugged his oversize sweatshirt close around me and breathed in his smell. At least the guy knew enough not to wear Teen Spirit.

Most girls are blissfully oblivious when the guy they're dating is out with another girl. If they find out afterward, it might be from a tagged Facebook picture or a phone call from a classmate. I can say with fair certainty that said date probably does not have its own Twitter hashtag.

#GrahamandBrigitte sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I . . .
Okay, fine, there was no evidence of kissing, but the Instagram shot of his hand on her back as he steered her down the red carpet did not help the tapas and paella pass over the acid taste in my mouth.

#WelcomeToBarcelona

At least when Mom and I got back from dinner and our walk
around a few piazzas, I had Wynn on Skype to keep me sane.

“Literally no way anything would ever happen. Graham is yours. Besides, their celebrity couple name sucks.”

“What is a celebrity couple name?”

I didn't have to glance at the computer screen to know Wynn was rolling her eyes at me. “It's a good thing the part Graham likes best about you is how outside of showbiz you are. You know. Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes were TomKat. Brad and Angelina, Brangelina. Kimye: Kim plus Kanye? So Brigitte and Graham? Brigham. That's like a bridge or something. Totally not cute.”

“Wait, so what would Graham and I be? Theoretically, I mean.”

Wynn looked down at her keyboard. “Right. Well, okay, so it's not exactly super-sexy or anything, but, uh,
I
think it's way cute.”

“Wynn,” I threatened.

“So, um, the only one I could get to approximate a real word is, uh . . . well. Grannie. But that's so cuuuuuute, right?”

I groaned. Great. Not only was my boyfriend on a date with a size-two model but our couple name had all the sizzle of orthopedic shoes. Just stab me with some knitting needles.

Of course, nothing happened on their date. I didn't actually expect it would. All night long, my cell phone buzzed with constant text updates from Graham.

Had to walk on tiptoes along red crpet. This chick is TALL. (Have I told U UR the perfect height?)

Guy in seat in front of me's snoring. Such a wet blanket. Sorry. Triton humor. Wish U were here.

Brigitte's boyfriend just snuck in. He's like 85. Srsly. And has bad breath. Missing you.

Don't infer anything from last 2 sentences. Those things aren't linked in any way. You have snowflake breath.

OK. Hiding out in men's room now. Said I cldn't stand to watch me on screen. Really just want to play Words With Friends w/ U. Up for it?

Have to go to after-party. Will this night never end? RU waiting up? Plz wait up.

Plz?

At one a.m. there was a soft knock on my door. When I cracked it open, Graham was standing in front of me, his bow tie dangling and his shoes in one hand.

He held out a piece of aluminum foil shaped like a swan. “I escaped as soon as I could, but first I had to tuck a very drunk Melba into bed. You don't want details. Anyway, you have
got
to try this.”

I glanced behind me at Mom asleep in her bed and slipped into the hallway.

“Nice pj's, by the way,” Graham said, as he unwrapped the piece
of cake and fed a bite to me. I closed my mouth around his fingers and gave him a look designed to make him forget all about my polar-bear-patterned flannels.

He raised an eyebrow and I grinned.

“Was it awful tonight?” I asked, once I'd finished chewing. I wasn't sure how I wanted him to answer. Of course I didn't want him to have had a terrible time, but at the same time . . .

“It was work,” he said with a shrug. “I just pretended to be Movie Star Graham, like I always do at these kinds of things. Brigitte was nice.”

I tried to keep my face neutral and Graham laughed. “She also could write your biography because I couldn't shut up about you. She says you sound delightful. Her word, not mine. Though I agreed, of course. She also says if you like architecture at all, it would be a crime not to see the Guggenheim while you're here. Have you heard of it?”

Courtesy for sleeping guests kept quiet the loud laugh I would have let out otherwise. I slipped down the wall to sit on the floor and tugged him along with me. When we were settled I leaned into his shoulder and his arm came around mine. “Yes, Graham, I've heard of the Guggenheim.”

He pulled me closer. “Well, you have to go. Anyway, what did you do tonight?” Graham broke another piece of cake in two and offered one section to me.