finger slaps me across the face again. Dreadlocks laughs like a maniac, and blood roars in my ears, mingling with the sound of her hyena-like shrieking.
My foam hand swings in a wide arc, and the finger bends as it hits her, knocking the smile right off her face.
The huge illuminated screens dance with Thomas’ surly appearance. An acid tone creeps into his voice. “From the looks of you, you all have food to spare.” Thomas’ lip curls at the crowd’s good-natured laughter.
I’m only half paying attention to the screens as Dreadlocks lets out a cry of rage, hitting me back. I parry the blow with my makeshift sword, and then suddenly I’m embroiled in an intense, totally serious swordfight with a stranger.
“While the children starve, make sure you donate. Again, from the bottom of our hearts, we thank you for your donations. Hold on. Ladies…Ladies! You two! Do not fight over me. Please stop fingering each other.”
The booming voice registers in my brain, and I lower my foam hand. Fingering?
A thunderous laugh shakes through my feet, and I glance at the stage. Tom’s still smirking at his little joke. And holy shit, everyone’s staring at me.
Thomas reappears on the Jumbotrons, wearing an amused smile as he points into the audience, straight at us. He walks closer to the edge of the stage. “This is a concert for starving children, shame on you both.”
Dreadlocks takes the opportunity of my distraction to give me one last hit at the back of my head. I whirl around at her and she almost grins an apology. I shove the foam hand against her chest as security moves through the packed crowd, heading toward us.
Oh great. Am I going to be arrested?
Dreadlocks lets out a crazed scream as a burly guard grabs her middle. Then a meaty guard takes my upper arm as Tom reaches out his hand and beckons.
“Bring her to the stage!”
Oh my God.
The crowd hoots with delight as the security guard drags me toward the stage. This must be some sort of bizarre dream. The drunken crowd parts for us, jeering as Tom eggs them on.
Oh my God.
He hasn’t recognized me yet. What am I going to say?
His voice continues to boom through the gigantic speakers. “Come along, now. In my country, we make an example of brawlers. Help her on the stage.”
They laugh at me, but the sound rolls off my shoulder. I’m at the stage. He’s standing above me. I can see the pattern on his midnight blue-and-gold tie, the colors of Anglefell. The home I abandoned. The man I left behind.
My heart jackknifes into my chest as the guard gives me a boost to the stage. Tom’s insolent gaze sweeps over me as he offers his hand.
“Such unladylike behavior.” He shakes his pretty head.
I slide my hand into his as the crowd’s roar dulls to minor buzz. Smiling, he clasps his fingers around me and pulls, his gaze finally focusing on mine.
A current flows through the heat of his skin into mine like a live wire, primed for explosion. We did more than hold hands the last time we were together. It rolls through my mind like a highly graphic film.
Recognition dawns on his face, still frozen in an expression of amusement. The smile falters, and his eyes soften.
I climb the stage, my body trembling as Tom’s accusing stare stabs me. He holds the microphone to his lips, apparently speechless.
The words come to me at a rush. “Tom, I need your help. We need—”
“Take her backstage,” he says to security without tearing his eyes from me.
“Yes, sir.” The security guard tugs at my arm, leading me to the back and through draped, black fabric as a thousand jeers of a riled up audience follow me.
Pulse racing, I let him take me through an air-conditioned hallway, where the members of the rock band are milling around. I think I recognize a teenybopper who might be a pop star. Then he brings me into a changing room. There’s a single chair and a giant mirror facing the vanity. There’s an inspirational post-it note stuck on the mirror: Just KICK Monday in the FACE!
“Stay here and don’t touch anything.” The guard glares at me before leaving.
The small room echoes with my sigh as I wind my finger around a strand of hair and tug violently. I seriously need to get it together.
A crumpled piece of yellow paper on the floor catches my eye, and I bend over to pick it up. Another