Page 25 of Star Rucked Lovers

Back at the hotel, George sat slouched on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the city lights outside the window. His tie hung loose around his neck, and the collar of the borrowed shirt felt suffocating despite being unbuttoned.

He rubbed his palms against his thighs, trying to work through the tangled mess of thoughts swirling in his head. Was this what his life looked like now? Standing awkwardly in corners while Myst dazzled everyone around her? Being mistaken for hired help or, worse, feeling like little more than a bystander in her story?

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered aloud, running a hand through his hair. But the knot in his chest only tightened. No matter how much he wanted to fit into her world, it felt like every step forward mirrored two steps back. And worse, he couldn’t shake the ugly fear that eventually, she’d realize it too.

The soft click of the door startled him, and he turned to see Myst walking in, her heels dangling from one hand, her expression stormy.

“Why did you leave like that?” she demanded, shutting the door behind her with more force than necessary.

“Because I didn’t belong there,” George shot back before he could stop himself. He stood, towering over her, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she squared her shoulders and glared up at him.

“That’s ridiculous!” she said, exasperation creeping into her voice. “I’ve told you a hundred times, you don’t have to know everything about my world to…”

“To what, Myst?” George interrupted, his voice rising. “To stand there like some idiot while everyone talks circles around me? To watch blokes like Antoine wrap themselves around you and joke about headlines like it’s nothing?”

“Antoine doesn’t mean anything to me,” she snapped, her cheeks flushing pink. “And if you trusted me, you’d know that!”

“Trust isn’t the issue,” George countered, pacing away from her. “It’s…” He paused, struggling to find the words. “It’s your whole world. It’s too big, too fast! I don’t even know how to keep up. And honestly? I don’t think I ever will.”

“Do you think it’s easy for me to understandyourworld?“ Myst shot back, her voice cracking slightly. “Rugby culture? The pressure of leading a team? Do you think I’ve got it all figured out? Because I don’t, George. But I’m trying.”

“And maybe that’s the problem,” George said quietly, turning to look at her. “Maybe we’re both trying too hard to fit into something that doesn’t work.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, without another word, Myst turned on her heel and stormed into the adjoining bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

George stared after her, his heart pounding in his chest. He sank back onto the bed, letting his head fall into his hands.

“Bloody brilliant,” he muttered. For the first time since they’d arrived in Paris, he wasn’t sure they’d make it out of this city together.

Chapter Eight

The morning sun filteredthrough the hotel curtains, casting long golden streaks across the plush carpet. Myst adjusted the strap of her silk camisole and pulled her hair into a messy bun, her movements quick and practiced as she rummaged through her wardrobe for something professional yet chic. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand with another reminder from Jessie about the interviews lined up for the day.

She glanced toward the bed, where George lay sprawled beneath the white duvet, one arm draped over his eyes. His dark hair was a ruffled mess against the pillow, and his usual energy seemed dulled by invisible weights. Myst hesitated, a pair of earrings clutched in her hand.

“Are you planning to stay there all day?” she asked lightly, though her voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

“Just need a bit more sleep,” came George’s muffled reply, his tone neutral, distant. “Late night, you know.”

“Right.” Myst slipped the earrings on, her fingers trembling slightly. She wanted to say more, to ask if he was okay, to explain herself, but the words stuck in her throat like stones. Instead, she busied herself with zipping up her bag, the sharp sound filling the silence between them.

“Breakfast’s in the lounge downstairs if you’re hungry,” she added, forcing a polite smile that he wouldn’t see.

“Thanks,” he said without moving, still shielding his face from the sunlight.

And that was it. No further words, no lingering looks. Just an aching emptiness that filled the room as Myst grabbed her blazer and left. The soft click of the door closing behind her felt heavier than it should have.

“Enchantée, Myst! You are magnifique, as always!” The French journalist’s greeting was effusive, but Myst barely registered it. She sat at the centre of a semi-circle of reporters in a sleek conference room, the table gleaming under bright artificial lights. Cameras clicked rhythmically as she fidgeted with a silver ring on her finger, twisting it back and forth until her skin turned pink.

“Your latest single has been such a succès énorme! Tell us, what inspired it?” another journalist asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“Um,” Myst began, her voice faltering. What had inspired it? Normally, she could wax poetic about the layers of emotion and creativity behind her music. But now, all she could think about was George’s quiet, closed-off expression that morning, and the way her chest tightened every time she pictured it.

“Love,” she stammered finally, her accent slipping into Australian despite her best efforts. “It’s, um... complicated, isn’t it?”

“Complicated love! Très romantique!” The journalist scribbled furiously in their notebook while the others nodded, seemingly satisfied. Myst forced a smile and pushed her chair back slightly. The air felt stifling, and the questions blended into a blur of chatter she struggled to follow.

“Excusez-moi,” Jessie’s sharp voice cut through the noise. Myst looked up to see her cousin standing at the edge of the room, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “We’ll need just a moment, s’il vous plaît.” Without waiting for permission, Jessie motioned for Myst to follow her out into the corridor.

---