Page 12 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

The world stopsspinning for one endless moment. She hasn't seen me yet. She grabs her coffee off of the counter and keeps her eyes down, still captivated by whatever it is she is reading on her phone.

But this isn't the girl I left in Charleston.

Gone is the pixie haircut she used to dye a different color every month. Instead, dark auburn waves fall past her shoulders. Her old band t-shirts have been replaced by a sleek blazer.Everything about her screams polished and controlled—nothing like the wild girl who used to dance on bar tops.

It hits me like a tidal wave. Is she, was she…? The masked girl from the gala?

My coffee cup hits the table too hard. It can't be. What would Sienna have been doing at a high-society masquerade? She used to mock those exact kinds of parties.

But those lips. The way they felt against mine in the dark sidebar. It had felt so familiar, like muscle memory.

Then she looks up. Our eyes lock immediately, like her soul recognizes me before her brain understands who she sees.

The mug freezes halfway to her lips. I see it click the moment her eyes widen with recognition. Then, they narrow with something else.

Hate.

She's up and moving before I know what to say or do. Even the way she moves is different—deliberate, contained. The Sienna I knew was all restless energy and impulsive gestures.

"Sienna." Her name tastes rusty in my mouth after so long.

She doesn't slow down. Doesn't look back.

"Sienna, wait." I'm on my feet now, but she's already at the door. "Please."

That stops her. She turns slowly, and the look on her face makes Morrison's threats feel like a paper cut.

"Please?" Her voice is ice. Nothing like the soft sounds she made against my lips in that alcove. "You want to talk now? After sixyears of silence? After ignoring me for weeks after you left with a promise to come back?"

The handful of customers in Needle & Bean are suddenly very interested in their coffees. A record scratches on the turntable and the irony of the timing isn't lost on me.

"I tried—" But the words die in my throat. Did I not try hard enough? Should I have moved the earth to reach her…to make sure she knew I leftforher, not to get away from her?

I was so scared to hold her back or bring her down that I figured her non-response was for the best. It didn't make it any easier, but it helped me justify that it was for the best.

"Save it for your songs." She pushes through the door.

I follow her onto the sidewalk. The brisk February wind whips her hair—that familiar shade that's been haunting my dreams since the masquerade. My hand flexes, remembering how the silk of her dress felt under my fingers in that alcove.

She spins to face me, probably to tell me to leave her alone, but then freezes. Her eyes catch on my hands, on my tattoo peeking out from my sleeve.

Horror dawns on her face as recognition hits.

"That was you?" The words come out in barely a whisper.

I stand there, frozen, unable to say anything. My body feels detached from my head. It’s almost as if this is happening to someone else, and I’m standing back and watching. Seeing her again is surreal and almost too much to comprehend.

The color drains from her face. "You knew." Her hands clench at her sides. "At the masquerade. You knew it was me."

"What? No, I?—"

"So what was this? Some sick game?" Her voice shakes. "Let me guess—you saw me come in, and thought it would be fun to mess with the girl you ghosted?"

"Sienna, I swear?—"

"Don't." She takes a step back. "Six years, nothing, and then you kiss me without being honest at some masquerade? Did you have a good laugh about it later? I bet that was a good one."

A couple passing by slows down, curious about our sidewalk drama. Sienna notices and straightens her blazer, pulling that controlled mask back on. The one that makes her look like a stranger.

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