MY FATHER WAS giving me a strange-looking grin over FaceTime the following Monday.

"Seriously, why are you looking at me like that?" I asked for what felt like the millionth time, and his smile only seemed to grow wider.

I'd propped my phone up with some old high school textbooks so I could lean back in my pillows and eat some corn chips while simultaneously marveling at the fact that my dad didn't have one strand of gray hair. He used to joke that if he and my mom tried for another child, they might take his hair color and look less like Frozen's Elsa and more like an Anna.

"I'm just happy to see my beautiful daughter who doesn't call to check up on me."

I let out a playful snort. "You're away on business trips all the time, Dad. I barely notice you're gone anymore."

He clutched his chest dramatically, releasing short fake gasps, and I laughed, genuinely, with no respect for the camera this time. Mark had developed a weird interest in me that I could only refer to as obsessive after he'd come across the photos I'd posted to Instagram on Friday night.

Aside from me going from having fifty-three million followers to fifty-three point five in the blink of an eye, I'd also gotten a handful of DMs from strangers I'd promptly ignored, obsessive mentions on Twitter, and several stink eyes from Mark Colton, who was absolutely positive I was keeping something from him—which wasn't far from it. Not to mention the several sections on morning gossip shows discussing the entire ordeal.

Obsessed.

Everyone was completely obsessed.

Mark wanted to break me. He wanted me to give him more than I was, to "quit with the cliffhanger," as he'd put it, so he'd ordered for constant supervision. I was trying very hard to ignore the lenses in my face, unwilling to give him the reaction he wanted.

"I'm not gonna pretend that didn't hurt," my dad said, and the line crackled a bit, but I still beamed at him.

"So, how's Venice?"

"I left Venice a week ago—you'd know that if you called more often. Stopped by Bordeaux and plan to head back to American soil sometime next week."

I felt my face go comically blank. "Please tell me you're not with my sister."

My dad put that grin back on his face. "We went wine tasting yesterday."

"Wow, thanks for loyally sticking to our agreement, Papa," I heard from somewhere off-screen, and my dad angled his phone so I could get a view of Coco sitting on the hotel carpet, casually typing away on her MacBook.

"This is my attempt at making her jealous," he offered. "She loves L.A. so much, she hardly ever leaves the house. Of course I'd want her to know I'm in our hometown."

"Why are you guys at a hotel instead of the house?" I chose to ask, since my sister was refusing to look at me.

"Don't tell her anything about our time together," Coco interjected just as his lips parted to respond to me. "It's none of her business."

"Yeah, that's very mature, Colette."

"I'm not talking to you right now."

I wasn't feeling joyful anymore, but I was desperate to hide it, so I took a chip and put it in my mouth. I'd been working on my poker face for years for a reason.

"Is this about the Takoda thing again?" my dad asked, tilting his device until Coco was out of the frame.

"Yeah. I don't understand why everyone's being like this, honestly."

"Coco's feeling betrayed. I don't know about everyone else."

"Dad!" my sister exclaimed, and he turned to look at her. "Seriously?"

"I don't have a favorite child, Colette. Let me be there for my baby."

"She doesn't need anyone to be there for her. She's made that perfectly clear."

"Okay," I said. "Maybe I should just hang up."

I was about disconnecting the call when my dad redirected his attention to me. "Hey, don't do that." Then he got up and started walking. "Let me just go somewhere else. I hate family conflict."

I ate my chips until he found somewhere downstairs he could sit and be free from my sister's interruptions. For a moment after he was settled, he just watched me with indifference painted on his face, and I continued to chew, the loud crunching serving as background music for this very crucial moment in time.

"I won't say anything if you don't," he finally said, and I playfully rolled my eyes.

"You'll just go tell her everything."

"I feel very offended by you right now, Cleobelle."

I sank further into my pillows and briefly looked towards my ceiling. May had decided, after being thoroughly convinced by Takoda, to not influence anything the both of us did in this "relationship." No contracts—in response to my wish, because I felt that the more legal this was, the more it would feel like a job, and the more messed up it could get—nothing other than our past binding us together. But we were yet to sit and extensively discuss it—our meeting was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon—and even though she'd applauded me for the Instagram post, for watering the planted seeds, and for the responses it gathered, I wasn't exactly sure how much I was supposed to say.

"Yeah, everyone is," was what I eventually settled on, and my dad gave me yet another smile. A calmer one this time.

"Do you like him?"

I couldn't stop the way my heart slammed against my ribcage. Even though I knew I had some sort of freedom now. To conceal the brief moment of shock, I acted bashful, looking away from my phone and focusing my attention on my fingers.

"Cleo." I could hear the smile in his voice before I looked up to confirm it.

"Dad, stop. I don't think you need an answer to that question."

"Takoda Calebs, huh?"

"I told you to stop. Or I'll hang up."

"I think you both should've told her, though. She was pretty upset."

I scoffed, already sick of my sister's theatrics. "There was nothing to tell. And for what it's worth, both Takoda and I tried to talk to her after the thing went out. She was the one acting all mad and betrayed. It's just really dramatic."

"You know how Coco is with this trust thing. She tells us everything, so maybe a part of her is expecting us to do the same."

At that, I felt a little bad. "She didn't tell Mom why she went to Paris," I offered.

"She told me it's classified, so I think it's between her and her team."

I sighed. "I guess I'm sorry."

"You guess?"

"Yeah. I'm mad at her, too."

He laughed, then got up from where he was sitting, temporarily distracted by a woman asking him a question in rapid-fire French. "All right. I gotta go," he told me after responding to her, and I could tell he was already walking back to the hotel room. "Your grandma desperately wants Coco and I to visit before we leave, and I still have to sort some things out."

"Okay. Say hi to the grandparents for me, and tell Mamie I'm begging her to stop sending me blurry photos of her toes."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Okay. Love you."

"Love you, too. Send me Bordeaux photos!"

I watched Takoda pop open a can of beer and take a long, uninterrupted gulp as I pulled the sleeves of my white top over my palms. His hair was messy, but it somehow managed to work for him this time. That didn't stop me from noticing the rings under his eyes, though. Or the fact that he was drinking alcoholic beer. There was something tense—something off—about him today, much more noticeable than it was on Friday.

Takoda didn't drink. Not anymore.

He picked up the pen lying next to the notebook in front of him and worked it around his fingers for a moment, before scribbling something down in that nice handwriting of his. He got a concentrated look on his face, and just when I felt like he was about to relax, he dropped his pen and pushed himself off the kitchen stool in one swift motion, taking his beer with him to the fridge.

On the other side of the counter, May closed her black binder, finally looking away from the stack of contracts she'd been reviewing for work, and the rings holding them together gleamed with the sudden movement. The way she could multitask was kind of like a superpower.

"Is anyone else in this room but me?" she asked as her gaze met mine over our glasses of water, and I leaned forward while subtly clearing my throat.

Treacherously, my gaze darted to Takoda as he pulled open his fully stocked refrigerator, giving the source of my absentmindedness away.

"I need a new deadline," he announced to no one in particular, staring at the various things in front of him. "I need to call my manager and get him to get me a new deadline."

"Deadline for what?" I found myself asking.

"I have writer's block. Been struggling to rewrite one of the songs in the EP. I promised them I'd have it improved by Friday, but I don't think I can. It's a very last-minute thing, and it's stressing me out."

"There are a bunch of songwriters available to assist you with that, Takoda," May said with a small smile. I'd noticed that she looked at him the same way a mother would at a child she was extremely proud of. I didn't know the whole story, but I knew she'd been there for him during some of his toughest times. "Don't stress yourself out."

"I write all my songs," was his simple answer before he shut the fridge without taking anything out of it.

"Yes, I'm aware. I said they could assist you."

"I don't want assistance," he grumbled, coming back to claim his spot next to me. But he remained restless, and May gave me a look, as though she was asking me for assistance.

Clueless about what would be considered helpful at the moment, I asked, "What's the song about?"

Almost immediately, Takoda slumped forward, crossing his forearms on the countertop and placing his head on them. For a beat, he stayed quiet, with his eyes closed. Then, "It's this very sensual acoustic piece about freefalling. I mean, the entire EP is full of that kind of energy, but . . ." He sighed. "This one's special. I don't know why it's giving me such a hard time."

I hesitated for a bit. "Maybe you're just overthinking it."

"Or maybe you should just use the old version," May added.

"Something wasn't right about the old version," he said. "Something was missing."

"Maybe," she tried again, holding up her index finger, "you just need to get out. Go have some fun. You could really do with some fun."

"The last thing you want to do while writing about something as intimate as this one is have fun. You need to be in a certain headspace for it. Somewhere calm and quiet." He still refused to lift his head from the counter.

"And what has calm and quiet helped you achieve so far?"

He made a sound that strangely made me want to reach out and run my fingers through his hair. Head massages used to help him relax, and I knew that it was a helpful thing to want to do, but I didn't dare. "Not helping, May." A beat of silence passed. "Do you know where I put my phone?"

"Should be in your room. I haven't seen it since I got here."

Reluctantly, he dragged himself out of the stool and out of the kitchen, and my eyes followed him the entire way. When I looked back at May, she was giving me one of those smiles.

"You know he's lying, right?"

I paused for a start, wondering what she was talking about. "About what?"

"About the song stressing him out," she offered, reaching to her feet for her designer handbag. She put her binder in it as she expanded, "He's stressed out in general, not just about the song, or the EP. He's been like that ever since he got back, and it looks like he's not feeling any better."

"Oh."

"I shouldn't be discussing any of this with you, since I'm bound by several contracts, but you're close with him. Maybe you should try getting him to open up, or relax, at least."

I played with my fingers, refusing to meet her eyes. "You know we're not really on good terms, right?"

"I can read body language. And you two also told me about everything that happened."

"So what makes you think I want to ask him anything about his wellbeing?"

The hum of the refrigerator was the only thing that filled the silence in the next few seconds, and I wondered if I'd truly rendered PR goddess May Ong speechless, or if she was just choosing to remain quiet. I wasn't surprised to find her staring at me again when I raised my gaze from my hand, but I was definitely surprised to see her face blank. She was just . . . looking at me. Like she was trying to get something from me. Like she was waiting for me to take back my words.

Truth was, I wanted to. I didn't mean any of that. As much as I claimed to hate him and be mad at him, I couldn't deny that a part of me still cared. Especially not when he looked the way he did. Especially not when he was as restless as he was. But I couldn't admit any of that to May.

"Trust me when I say he's really appreciative of you doing this for him right now," she finally said. "This is a lot, and I know he knows that."

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to.

May sighed, then placed her bag next to her on the counter and leaned forward. "I'm guessing he didn't tell you about the paparazzo."

That got my attention. "No."

"Well, he's threatening to press assault charges."

"What?"

A little while after the end of our fling, word got out that Takoda hit a pap. While he claimed that the young man got in his personal space and verbally provoked him, the pap claimed he was just "doing his job," and that Takoda attacked him. There was no proof that the photographer insulted him, no witnesses to that part, but there was proof on the former's face that he was, in fact, hit. And a handful of people saw when Takoda did it.

It had caused quite the uproar, because Takoda had gotten in a few disagreements with paps over the years, but he'd never physically hurt any of them, not even when one snuck onto his property to illegally take pictures of his mom. A lot of his devoted fans were with him, saying his side of the story was probably the accurate one, and when I found out that he'd left for his break, I'd assumed he'd settled everything with him.

Apparently not.

"Yeah."

"What exactly does he want?"

"Honestly, at this point, I think the agency that bought the "pre-assault" photos from him is making him do this. Takoda is mostly dirt-free, so if you can't find a story, create your own. It's what most of them are doing, which was the main reason why I suggested to him that you two'd better curb the relationship thing before it gets out of hand. His manager has already reported an unbelievable number of interview requests, Takoda doesn't want to do any interviews until further notice, he has an EP coming out soon, then there's the hiatus thing . . . It's all just creating a breeding ground for tabloid reporters and even more paps. It would make them start getting really creative. All publicity is good publicity and all that jazz, but he's not really in love with any of what's happening right now."

"Wow," I said quietly. "I had no idea so much was happening." In comparison to all this, my worries were equivalent to crying about being stuck in the rain when a hurricane was causing far more destruction somewhere else. I felt a little stupid. For being too caught up in the me part of this, even though I knew that my feelings were, as Takoda had put it, valid.

"I'm not saying any of this to make you feel sorry for him or anything like that. He just really values you, and I know that if there's anyone he's willing to talk to, anytime, it's you."

I stared at her, and she smiled at me, but before either of us could say anything more, Takoda returned to the kitchen, his phone in hand.

"Zachary is on it," he announced. "Hopefully, I don't mess up the team's schedule too much."

He said it with such a light tone, but there was still a stiffness in his shoulders, proving that May was right. This was the least of his worries.

"Zach is always on everything." She was talking to him, but her eyes remained on me. "Anyway, I have a date to get to—and, before you ask, yes, I go on dates—and I'm assuming we're clear on your relationship backstory. We've worked around all the plot holes, and like I said before, this belongs to you two, so feel free to tweak it as you see fit, but still make sure to run everything by me so I can review the effectiveness. Are we clear?"

"You lost me at date," Takoda said, making her reach across the counter to playfully smack his arm. That made him smile.

"Cleo, please explain things to him. I doubt he heard anything I said." She took her bag and rose to her feet. "I'll see you two later."

Takoda and I said our versions of goodbye, then we were left alone.

I nervously brushed stray strands of hair behind my ears and adjusted my weight on the stool. May had given me a task I wasn't sure how to go about. Next to me, Takoda remained quiet, but I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or something else.

After what felt like an eternity, I saw him turn to face me in my peripheral vision, and was forced to regard him.

"I could drop you off when you're ready."

"Is that code for get out of my house?" I asked, meaning for it to be playful, but it didn't quite come out sounding that way.

Takoda watched me for a moment, unblinking, then turned back to his notebook.

Realizing my error, I offered, "I meant that as a joke."

"You tell very unfunny jokes." He shoved hair away from his face and picked up his pen.

"I thought it was common knowledge that I have no sense of humor."

"You do," he answered, his voice quiet. "You just have that face."

"What face?"

He looked up at me again, and it kind of surprised me—the swiftness with which his eyes connected with mine. "You're unreadable sometimes is what I meant."

I tugged my sleeves further down, wondering where to start. I knew what to do to help reduce that tension in his shoulders, in his eyes, but my thoughts had halted there.

Just do it, something told me. Just do it, Cleo.

I was about to make a move when my phone vibrated with a text from my mom on the countertop, and, not as brave as I thought I was, I took that as an opportunity to stall.

Booked you a nail appointment for tomorrow. 2pm. Your jewelry arrived a few minutes ago, and I'd kill for the rings.

I smiled, then typed my response: Thanks mom. ILY mwah!

The moment it was marked as read, I placed the device face down on the countertop and was on my feet before I could