Queen of my Heart

13

I HATE MY LIFE RIGHT NOW.

I swear my world stopped spinning for a second as I stared at the hopeful, disbelieving, and even provoked expressions of the people around me.

For the past week I'd been too absorbed to notice anything out of ordinary other than my complicated love life.

But as the reality came crashing down on me, I've been a fool not to realize the impending threat that came from being close with the lads.

A woman with red hair practically shoved a recorder at my direction. "Miss, can we get your name?"

Another lady—this time with auburn hair—pushed her way through the thickening crowd. "We have noticed you going in and out of room 208 many times this week. What is your relationship with the lads?"

I remembered my grandmother once said that in certain circumstances, it was better to play dumb.

With a scratch on the head for effect, I said, "What are you talking about? What lads?" in my most convincingly stupid tone.

The redhead spoke again. "We have seen you exit the hotel room of the Westlife members, ma'am."

"Westlife?"

The woman looked aggravated. "I'm asking if you know the lads personally, you dumb girl."

Ouch. I didn't know a stranger can hurt me this bad. "Excuse me, you—"

There was a sound of a door opening.

All at once, the reporters raised their cameras and clicked multiple shots. Blinding flashes erupted behind my eyelids, sending a burning pain through my vision as I backed away—

And hit a mass of flesh.

Warm hands clutched my hips tightly, and heat surged through my nerve endings at the contact.

"Stay calm." Bryan.

The auburn-haired woman shoved a recorder to our faces. "What can you say about this, Mr McFadden?"

Bryan sounded bored when he answered, but his hands tightened around me. "Whatever do you mean?"

A dark-haired man popped out of nowhere, holding out a phone to us. "That girl has been witnessed going in and out of your room for the past couple of days. Is there any hidden relationship you want the public to know?"

Suddenly, my face was crashed into a very familiar chest, hiding my identity at the last minute and also cutting off my breathing. "It's called hidden for a reason," Bryan said, a sharp edge to his tone. "Get a life, people."

The man frowned, looking deeply offended. "You could've just said you don't want to be interviewed. No need to be an arsehole," he spat bitterly, muttering something like 'celebrities today' under his breath.

"What do you think I was implying all this time?" Bryan's voice rose an octave, his face looking red with agitation (well, at least I think he's red in the face, considering I can't see him at the moment). He took a deep breath. "Please leave before I call security."

One. Two. Three. Three beats of silence passed before the the first of them turned around and went back to where he came from, followed by the others.