Prologue

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Adam's POV

I couldn't tell you how much it bothers me.

When I kissed Behati goodbye, it was distasteful. She gave me a satisfied but still anrgy look. Last night, she had freaked out on me about getting home at midnight. What? I went out drinking with Blake, alright? She got really mad and I had to let her stay over in order to make up for it. This morning, she was still mad, but I found myself not trying to make it better.

Lately, she had been torturing me. In two ways. One meaning she'd been giving me crap every day for no reason. The other, well, take a guess. You know what we've probably done. But she hadn't smiled at me in a long time, and I found myself being that way too. It was hard to smile at somebody who was overly moody and passive-agressive and posessive. Yeah, we were still engaged, but I kind of found myself dreading the wedding day.

And no, don't start thinking like her -- I wasn't cheating on her. She accused me of that every night I came home. She couldn't be more wrong. No other girls were attracted to me, probably because of what Behati made me wear these days. She controlled all of me.

She broke off the kiss and laid a hand on my shoulder. "Ad," she grumbled. "You need to stop lying to me,"

I frowned and practically shouted at her. "I'm not! Everything I say is the tru---"

She smiled smally and shook her head. "Who are you out late seeing?"

I sighed, shaking my head as well. "Nobody. I'm famous, Bee. I'm out late working, and when I'm not, I drop by to see the boys or Blake and last night Blake and I were drinking! I just like to keep up with my buddies, okay?"

"Working? You're on a TV show, you can leave early whenever you want. You're let off the set at three p.m., Adam. You don't really have a good excuse for being home at midnight."

I shivered. How did she know my work times? "Look, Bee, you need to calm down. I'm not doing anything, okay? I'm seeing my friends."

Behati smiled, and this time it looked a little more genuine. "Fine. Whatever you say. I don't trust you, so come to dinner with me in two days. I'm leaving today for New York, I'll be back in time for dinner on Friday. Got it? Invite your mom, too. We need a serious talk."

I nodded. A serious talk? Uh, most of the serious talks I get from girls are break up talks. Whatever. I kissed her cheek and headed out the front door, shaking off whatever nerves I'd just had.

Blake's POV

When I woke up, my eyes flickered in the sunlight streaming into our room. Blinking, I adjusted to the light to actually open my eyes. Looking briefly in front of me, I had my arms wrapped around the pretty girl of mine -- Miranda. She was still sleeping, as she was rolled over in front of me and still breathing deeply, her hair neatly tucked into a bun. I pulled my arm from around her waist and rolled away from her, continuing to roll until I'd fallen out of bed.

I got to my feet and stretched widely. Pulling on a flannel shirt and jeans, I looked in the mirror by the dresser and neatened up my hair, flattening it back. Today was a nothing-day. Just another day at The Voice studios, listening to 3/4 of people who couldn't sing and 1/4 of people who could. Hopefully, I'd fill some spots on my team. The Voice was something I really enjoyed more than I probably should've -- I mean, I took it very seriously. I think I just enjoyed being a winner.

Walking out of our bedroom, I checked the time on my watch; 7:30. Adam would already have been heading off to the studios -- he liked to be early (don't ask me, I never like being early for work). I grabbed a PB and J sandwich from the fridge and bite into it, not bothering to care. Food was food. Who cared how old it was? Anyway, since Miranda usually stayed home a lot, she had time to cook new food and get rid of the old stuff. Usually, I got home late, at around nine on usual nights and sometimes midnight when I stayed out to party, so she stored my dinner in the fridge and I just ate alone whenever I got home. Today, though, I probably would be home for dinner. Filming would end at 2 today instead of 3.

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