Page 1 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

ONE

Sienna

We burned like stars, too bright to stay

Friday, February 14

Rosewood Hall

375 Briarcliff Estate Lane Tarrytown, NY

10:21 PM

I tracethe rim of my martini glass and watch the smoke rise from the signature cocktails lined up along the bar.

The mask shields my face, but more than that—it shields my insecurities.

I feel like a fish out of water here, so I'm attempting to fake it until I make it.

The anonymity helps.

Fourteen hours ago, I scrawled my name across those divorce papers. My hand has only recently stopped trembling, and I think that has more to do with the liquid courage than anything. It’s not like I’m heartbroken, more like sad that I failed at a major milestone in life. And even more, I’m not sure how life looks now that I’m a single mom.

But, for a few hours, in this ethereal haze of Rosewood Hall's alcove bar, I feel like someone else entirely. Someone bolder.

"You should come," Brooke had insisted this morning, tossing the masquerade invitation onto my kitchen counter. "I have two invites to this exclusive party and there is no one I would like to go with more than you. You’ve signed the papers, now it's time to start living again."

Easy for her to say. She doesn't have a five-year-old to consider. Life is too complicated for me to act like a twenty-something again, out on the prowl. I got pregnant my junior year of college, so I leap-frogged over most of that rite of passage.

As I think this thought, like magic, the mysterious figure who's been watching me all evening materializes through the fog. He's lost his black tuxedo coat somewhere along the way, showing off the tight body I've been imagining underneath all night.

He's tall, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly sexy in his obviously expensive and tailored get-up.

Interestingly, he has the sleeves of his tux shirt pushed up, and the open French cuffs pulled up and folded over the arms of his shirt like he’s somewhere other than a buttoned-up formal event. And I like that air of rebelliousness. It reminds me of who I used to be.

He almost looks like a model expressing his individuality among a sea of matching black penguins.

I immediately honed in on the word "LEGEND" tattooed in thick, black block letters along the front of his forearm.

Yes, sir, you look like you could be a legend, indeed.

It takes a certain confidence to ink that on your body, and I’m here for it.

His mask matches mine—black and silver and nondescript. It’s concealing just enough to make him seem more mysterious. My pulse quickens and I’m drawn to his deep blue eyes.

I don't know what it is about this guy, but I noticed him right away. I've been looking for a woman with him… But he seems to be alone, though I saw him talking to a group of men.

Could he be gay?

The bartender slips through a door behind the bar, leaving me alone with him and five smoke-filled cocktails. The rising white vapor only adds to the mystique of him and this moment. It’s almost as if was scripted for us.

He steps closer, locking his gaze on mine. A smirk plays at the corners of his lips. He raises his glass in a silent toast. I nod and clink my drink against his because, why not, right?

Leaning against the bar, he brings this charged energy that wraps around me like something I shouldn't want but can't help craving. Everything else fades away and I’m mesmerized. Pretending to be someone else with him in this moment gives me life.

The mist from the dry ice behind the bar swirls around us. When his knee brushes against mine, it sends a jolt up my thigh and lands right between my legs.

Part of me says I should pull away, but I stay. My heart races, and I can almost hear Brooke's voice in my head telling me to loosen up, to let myself feel something real for once. "Fuck a stranger," she’d said.

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