“Several years of ballet with some ballroom dancing on the side.”

“Brilliant.”

“Your real-life British accent sounds weird.”

Christian flashes me another of his million-dollar smiles. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I do. It’s just that on TV, you usually speak American. It’s fascinating how you can sound totally natural with both accents.”

Christian chuckles. “That’s diction training for you. And having an American mum helped too.” He winks.

Is he flirting? Wow, it’s so weird to dance with a man I’ve only seen on TV who’s so incredibly gorgeous. Mr. Slade here looks like a marble statue, and I’m pretty sure his skin is smoother than mine. Not to mention, Christian has been named “Sexiest Man Alive” three years in a row, as well as Hollywood’s most wanted bachelor. This whole experience is surreal.

But for all his good looks and A-list status, I’m still at ease talking to him. And, weirdly enough, I don’t want to rip his clothes off and haul him off to my hotel room. Chatting with him feels more like talking to an old friend.

“You have an odd expression,” Christian says, interrupting my musings.

“It’s just that you’re so normal.” That came out wrong. He raises his brows and I hurry to explain better. “I thought I’d be completely star-struck by you. But you’re just a regular human being.”

Christian is silent for a split second, making me worry I might’ve offended him. But then he throws back his head, roaring with laughter.

My cheeks heat up. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Christian says, still chuckling. “I wish I met more people like you.”

The song changes and we pause for a second.

“Another round?” Christian asks.

“Sure,” I say, and let him pirouette me around.

After some more dancing, I ask, “Do people treat you very differently?”

“You’ve no idea. Feeling normal is a welcome novelty.”

“Aren’t actors supposed to have these huge egos? You know, always needing to be the center of attention.”

“Not all the time, makes me wish I had a switch. Of course, it’s cool to meet fans and have people ask for autographs and pictures, but sometimes it’s exhausting to catch the awe in people’s eyes. It makes building real relationships hard.”

“Is that why you’re still single?”

Christian frowns, and his movements become more rigid. “Am I off the record?”

“Completely, t-totally off the record,” I stutter. “I’m so sorry. Did I give you the impression I was interviewing you?”

“My fault.” He shakes his head, and his hand relaxes again in mine. “But it has happened before. I say something in a friendly conversation and the next day my words get printed on page one.”

“That must suck.”

“It does. It’s made me suspicious of even the most innocent questions. And yes, it makes it almost impossible to date.”

“Why?”

“Every time I meet someone who’s not Hollywood,” he rolls his eyes as if to air-quote the word Hollywood. “I wonder if the girl likes me only for the fame, money, or worse if she’s in love with one of my characters…”