I wake up trembling from the cold and immediately know Mal is not in bed. I can hear him in the corridor outside our room, talking on the phone. His hushed voice skates over my flesh even though he’s nowhere near me, causing my nipples to pucker. I jump out of bed and plaster my ear to the door, every bone in me aching for answers.

It’s not that I don’t respect Mal’s privacy; it’s that he knows everything about my life, and I know nothing about his. There’s a big gap between us, and I’d just like to build a bridge over it, bring us both into the light.

I strain my ears, but hear nothing.

The door flings open suddenly, and I get hit in the face, stumbling down on my butt. I rub my ass cheek, feeling my ears turning red.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Mal rushes around the door and pulls me up, frowning. “Were you eavesdropping?”

Hmm?

“No,” I groan, wiping the hair out of my face. “I was about to open the door to look for you. Why, were you talking to your secret lover?” I joke lamely.

“No, but close. Ryner,” he clips.

“Didn’t think he was your style.”

I try to lighten the mood. Anything to make him forget I did try to eavesdrop on him.

“Did you know Richards wants us to stay here for the remainder of New Year’s week? The nerve on this wanker.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Another lie in our deceit bucket, which is piling up quite nicely. I don’t even feel so bad this time, since Mal is lying through his teeth every day we spend together.

“That a problem?” I cock an eyebrow, daring him to open up.

“You know it is,” he retorts, storming into the room and shoving clothes into his open suitcase. “I agreed to two nights in Greece. Just the two. Even that was a stretch, and against my contract with Ryner. I’m done here.”

I’d ask him again why, but I know better than to think he’d answer.

“Pack up your stuff, Princess. We’re leaving, with or without the project.”

“How do you mean?”

He turns toward me, scowling. “I mean, I don’t give a damn about this album, and neither should you. Let’s go back.”

He can’t stay.

But I certainly can. And should. This is my job. In a moment of pure, sharp clarity, I realize that nothing’s changed. Mal still wants me to make gigantic sacrifices in the name of our unstable relationship. And I still humor him because…why? His pretty purple eyes? His bulging biceps? His panty-melting songs?

Move to Ireland at eighteen.

Give up on college.

Leave my job.

It’s a good thing he still hasn’t asked me to lick his shoes clean.