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I tossed the note aside. I knew it was neither the weather nor my beauty rest that prompted Dillon to rise without me.
Yesterday, while we’d been at the coffee shop, someone recognized me. I’d been too absorbed in conversation with Dillon to notice—too blissfully secure in the anonymity of mysurroundings in the quiet seaside village. Mumbles, despite being a favored tourist spot along the south coast of Wales, wasn’t exactly a place one would have their eyes peeled for celebrity sightings.
But a few hours later, as I’d been helping Seren oil her saddles in the tack room of her barn, I’d gotten a text from Aaron.
A photo had been posted on Twitter.
It was nothing damaging—just a picture of me holding my latte, my attention fully committed across the table. Dillon’s right arm was the only thing that had made it into the image, thank God. But the user—firebrat2009, just a kid, no doubt—had tagged @famousfacealert and @star_spotter, with the captionKameryn Kingsbury!!! Eeeeeek! Along with a bunch of hashtags. #SouthWales #Mumbles #kamking #sandseekersightings #addisonriley #superheroesdrinkoatmilklattes. As with all of the accounts dedicated to celebrity tracking, the post quickly went viral, with thousands of comments speculating on what I was doing in Wales, and where would be the most probable locations to sight me.
Just like that, the security I’d found in feeling invisible in the tranquil little town was stripped away. And though Dillon hadn’t said much, her absence this morning said everything.
While I was dressing, my phone buzzed on Dillon’s nightstand. I scooped it up, hoping it would be her, asking if I wanted to come and meet her for coffee. But it wasn’t.
I stared at the caller ID.
Dani.
Of course. It was Christmas Eve.
We’d hardly spoken in months. The last time she called, the entirety of the conversation had revolved around her rebuking me for not getting back to her in a timely manner. I’d been inthe middle of the promotional tour forSand Seekers, flying to a new city, state, or country nearly every day. Interview after interview after miserable cheeks-hurt-from-smiling, laugh-at-their-unfunny-jokes-interview. Over and over again.
That didn’t matter to Dani. All she cared about was that I hadn’t called her back in a week.
“Well, I guess it’s like they say, fame really does change a person, Kam.” Then she’d hung up.
In some ways, she was right. Fame did change a person.
It made them paranoid. Anxious. Lonely. Vulnerable. Isolated. Sad.
Or at least those were some of the things I’d begun to experience in my newly minted career as it burst into the public eye.
I couldn’t deny that in a few short months—weeks, days, even—fame had altered my existence. But not for the reasons she thought. Not for the parties or the money or the esteem. Not because I was someone different than I had been. Or at least not because I wanted to be. More than anything, I just wanted to be me. To exist in a world where my girlfriend wasn’t afraid to ask me to join her for coffee.
I let the phone vibrate dangerously close to voicemail, then finally swiped to answer.
“Hey,” I hoped I sounded cheery. “Merry Christmas Eve.”
“Wow.” The word didn’t sound condescending, or even sarcastic. I waited for her to go on, to see where this was leading. “Justwow, Kam.” In the background there was chatter interspersed with Christmas music. It would be afternoon in Palo Alto. They’d be preparing for the annual Hallwell dinner. “We saw your show last night.”
“Is that her??!” Marcus’s voice interrupted. “Oh my God! Tell her—”
“Shut up, Marcus! Jesus. Go jerk off to her photo on the cover ofVogueor something. Sorry,” Dani returned to the conversation, “he’s obsessed—he’s seen it like six times. Anyhow—Tom and mom and I went to the IMAX last night in the city. Kam. You were a-maze-ing.”
It wasn’t what I’d expected her to say. Praise wasn’t something I thought I’d hear from her. Ever.
“I mean, of course I knew you’d be good, but Kam… and oh my God, Elliott Fleming! That scene—thatscene! How does Carter stand it? How doyoustand it? He’s so insanely hot. Was he a good kisser?”
“Um, I don’t know. It wasn’t really something I was thinking about. It’s pretty rehearsed, and—”And I hated his guts at the time, I wanted to say, but it wasn’t something her overcharged heterosexual ovaries would comprehend.
“Oh, comeon!The chemistry between you two was absolutely fire! That can’t have all been fake!”
Wild how acting works. I bit my tongue, sticking to the safety of “I’m really glad you liked it.”
“No,lovedit. Mom even wants Dad to see it when it goes streaming.”
Gee. What an honor. “Cool,” I said.
“So where do the rich and famous spend their holidays?”
