Avalon
By the time Clarke finished throwing half her suitcase across the room in search of something “appropriate,” she finally settled on a short white stitched dress, a jean jacket, and her cowboy boots. Her hair was mostly dry, still a little frizzy, which only made her look more real. More… touchable.
We slipped out of the hotel, avoiding the cluster of fans near the front desk. My P.A. had warned me they were harassing staff trying to figure out which room was mine. I’d briefly considered inviting them up to party, but even I wasn’t stupid enough to hand the tabloids that kind of ammunition.
Especially not with my parents watching.
Ayana McGregor and Anson Kennedy weren’t just famous—they were legacy.
And I was their only child, the one who inherited their spotlight whether I wanted it or not.
I’d grown up on red carpets, in camera flashes, in the background of my father’s films. Fame wasn’t new. Privacy was.
I didn’t mention the part where my aunt owned it. Or that they played my songs. Or that I could walk in wearing pajamas and still get VIP treatment.
Clarke’s eyes widened as we approached the entrance. “This is… huge.”
“Wait till you see inside.”
Benny, the bouncer, gave me a nod but didn’t announce my presence. That’s why I loved this place. No one here treated me like a spectacle. They treated me like a person. “You don’t know I’ll like it,” Clarke said as we squeezed through the crowd. “Maybe one day I’ll find out,” I teased.
Her cheeks flushed, and something warm flickered in my chest.
Pit 5° was all black and gold—sleek, dramatic, loud. Chandeliers glowed over the lounge, warm lights pulsed over the dance floor, and the DJ booth towered like a throne. The place was packed, bodies moving in waves, laughter spilling over the music.
I spotted her immediately.
“Avalon!” Aunt Brie practically launched herself over the bar to hug me. She smelled like coconut and citrus, exactly the same as she had when we spent a week in Cabo last summer. Her arms wrapped around me in a bone-crushing hug that made something in me unclench.
“You get more beautiful every time I see you,” she said, wiping at her eyes. I rolled mine. “I could say the same.”
She looked past me and froze. “Avalon… did you know Clarke King is behind you?” I laughed and motioned Clarke over. She approached shyly, giving Brie a small wave. “I didn’t realize you were a fan,” I said.
“Fan?” Brie sputtered, already tearing up again. “Can I hug you?”
Clarke blinked, startled, then stepped into her arms. “Of course.”
They whispered something I couldn’t hear. Clarke nodded, gentle and understanding, and Brie wiped her face before her makeup could smudge.
“Alright!” Brie clapped her hands. “Avalon, what brings you to Mayfair with one of the greatest young voices in country music?”
I smirked. “Clarke’s never had a night out in Mayfair. Thought I’d fix that. Starting with my favorite aunt’s bar.”
Brie beamed. “Then let’s show her a real good time.”
Clarke’s smile softened, and for a moment, I saw something in her eyes—something tender, something aching. Something that made my chest feel too tight.
She didn’t belong in my world of flashing lights and fake smiles. She didn’t belong in the chaos I carried like a second skin.
But she was here. With me.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted to let her go.