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his eyes, that hadn’t been there before. God he was beautiful. I beamed back at him, blissfully unconscious of everything around me.
    “Come on, babe, let’s get in the car. Otherwise I’ll have to give away more tickets. I told John here that I’d watch the car—didn’t realize how lucky I was to find a fan. Thought they were going to arrest me.” The driver—John—went to open the door, and Tristan waved him off. “I’m good,” he said, and held the door open for me. I quickly scooted in, and he followed, shutting the big door briskly behind him. The driver pulled off, and I didn’t ask where we were going. I didn’t really care.
    He was pulling me close, and I leaned against his shoulder, filled with a sense of wonder at all this. I looked up at him, and before I could say anything, his mouth was on mine, a sweet kiss, as soft and tender as he had been passionate before. I opened my eyes to find his were already open, looking at me. I pulled away so I could see him better. I wanted to see him. I needed to talk.
    “I’m glad to see you.” I smiled at him. “I didn’t know what to expect.”
    I was instantly sorry I’d said it, because his eyes became instantly less glowing, and more suspicious. I tried to say more. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here, or…”
    “Or what I’d want?”
    I nodded. Fuck fuck fuck. Why had I said anything? I wanted sweet Tristan back, happy, soft, smiling.
    “What did you think, I’d meet you with a pair of handcuffs, and a list of demands?” He pulled away and rubbed his eyes with his hands. “Is it the stories you’ve heard about me already? Or just that you think I’m a monster all by yourself?” His eyes were black and he was biting his lip. The expression was menacing and defiant. My brain was warring between finding him incredibly sexy, and wanting to pet and cuddle him, go back to what it was, or could be, two lovers meeting up and being happy.
    I burst out with my thought before I realized what I was doing. “Can’t we find a way to be happy?” He said nothing. I swallowed. Now I was in it. I blustered on. “Yes, I wondered. Yes, I was nervous. Did I expect you to look so happy? No, but it felt good while it lasted.”
    His face twisted into a smirk and I shut my eyes. “So, I’m not a monster?” His voice was teasing and dark.
    I breathed in again. Every moment felt like the edge of a precipice. Somewhere between fear, and annoyance, and jet lag, and delirium, and my own sense of pride, I tried to find something to say that would show I was ready to fight back. Fucking with my moment of happiness. Fuck.
    I stared at him. “No, Tristan. Not a monster. Despite everything I’ve heard. I’ve been warned off you.”
    He laughed again, that bitter bark. “Have you now? I suppose Dave whispered in your ear while you were having sushi?”
    My face said everything.
    He took my hand. And stroked it, gently. “Just tell me, and I’ll believe you. Did you fuck him? Or did you just want to?”
    “Fucking hell, Tristan. No. Absolutely not. It’s not like that. He’s not…”
    Here he cut me off. “But you are? And you were worried about acting like a whore with me? Interesting.”
    It was a low blow. I felt my face going red and my fists were clenched up. “Oh fuck you, seriously. You’re the one stalking me, and you’re judging me. But you know the worst thing—I don’t think you even care.” I paused, looking at the reaction my words were having. I carried on. I didn’t think he was getting it. “You don’t trust me.”
    “Give me a reason to trust you.”
    “Ha. I know what this is about. While I’m being told stories that imply you fuck groups of women in strange positions like some people buy assortments of chocolate,” I laughed at my own joke, “your manager has been telling you I’m another creepy soul-sucking witch journalist à la Jim Morrison, and I’m going to bring you down. Nice.”
    He looked out the window. Direct hit,