Teen Idols And Happy Meals

Margaritas And Betrayals

Nikki’s POV

“I still can’t believe this is actually happening.”

Jacen smiled, his eyes glittering like sea glass in the glow of the setting sun. He was altogether too beautiful; too beautiful to belong to this world, and certainly too beautiful to belong to me.

“Maybe it’s not,” he teased, his arm around my shoulders drawing me close, “Maybe you’re hallucinating.”

“Maybe,” I allowed, the sand giving way awkwardly beneath my feet as we made the trek across the beach. “Science would probably agree it’s a lot more likely.”

He threw his head back and laughed, clear and rich. “I don’t get what the big deal is,” Jacen said, “Haven’t you ever been on vacation before?”

“Yes,” I replied, “You know, to Hershey Park and campgrounds. Not to California.”

After the fiasco with his parents that Friday, Jacen had woken me up Saturday morning with the invitation of a weekend getaway. I’d agreed of course, after running it by my parents who of course couldn’t give a damn. By noon I’d been on Jacen’s private jet, and six hours later, we’d landed in Los Angeles.

The last twenty four hours had been filled with fancy dinners by the water, limo rides around Hollywood, wakeboarding off the back of Jacen’s boat. It had been downright magical; something out of a romantic comedy.

You’d think I’d have grown accustomed to the sheer improbability of my station by now, but I continued to be shocked by all this. It just seemed insane that someone like me would be attending a beach party thrown by Isabel Chateau. What was next? A slumber party with the Obama girls?

“Well, you better get used to it,” Jacen said, kissing my temple, “This is only the beginning. Skiing in Aspen, parties in Ibiza, gondola rides in Venice. We’re going to go everywhere.”

I smiled. “I like that idea.”

We were drawing close to the party; the soundtrack had already reached us. Music from the band that played live on stage, laughter and squeals, the clanking of alcoholic drinks.  The private beach was alight with activity. People, all impossibly famous and impossibly beautiful, danced and did shots, lounged and laughed, flirted and flaunted their perfect bodies.

It was like something out of a movie.

As we reached the threshold of the party, the focal point of attention shifted. One by one, models and superstar athletes alike looked over their shoulders to watch Jacen and me. Of course, I knew they were really just watching Jacen. Even here, in a crowd of fellow idols, he was Hollywood royalty. Whether it was among peasants or Lords, Jacen was always a prince.

He didn’t simply blend in with the fame; he epitomized it. It didn’t seem like he was trying to fit in with the other celebrities – it seemed like they were trying to fit in with him.

He was dressed casually; in grey swim trunks and a loose light blue and green striped tank top. For once without his snakeskin boots, as that would be rather awkward, he donned plain flip flops. Atop his crown of silken black hair was a pair of flashy sunglasses and on his wrist, a diamond watch that looked oddly similar to the one his father had worn that Friday.

He could’ve been anyone; only he wasn’t. Perfectly and naturally tan, muscular and toned, with trademark blue eyes – he wasn’t just anyone. He was Jacen Sage – a boy who was really much more than his appearance or his fame. Not that any of these people would ever know. They’d never know how sensitive he was, or how intelligent, or how he struggled everyday with sins that belonged to someone else.