Two Punks In Love

Sex Tape

Kat Three Months Later, New York

"Hey, you okay?" Street puts a hand on my left wrist, and only then do I realize I'm absently snapping the stretchy Swarovski crystal bracelet, just like I used to snap my rubber band.

Wow. I haven't done that in a long time. I take a second to self-evaluate. My heart is racing, my muscles feel tight, and my head feels a little fuzzy. I'm really stressed.

More so than I realized.

I look around this impressive event space in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The room is called the Temple of Dendur, because there is, in fact, an ancient Egyptian temple housed in this space, complete with fascinating artifacts. Beyond the temple, the room is set with dozens of immaculately laid tables, ready to receive the crème de la crème of New York Society as well as some of the wealthiest industrialists on the Eastern Seaboard. Tonight, MdM Philanthropies is holding a fundraiser here and Marianne has put me fully in charge. Although I've hosted many smaller and more casual events in the three years since I graduated college, this is the first time that I have fully taken the reigns of fundraiser this elegant, with such steep goals, and with such an elite guest list.

My crowd is usually the wealthy artsy types, not the real estate developers, industrialists and politicians that are on tonight's guest lists. This benefit is the launch of a new campaign to gives grants to local social agencies that provide troubled kids with art, music, and creative writing lessons. We are trying to establish a foundation so large that it can grant funds in perpetuity. For that I need to raise big bucks tonight.

I don't have time to have a panic attack. I have a job to do.

"Kat?" Street asks again. "Did those paps shake you up? Do you want me to order extra security?"

I put a hand to my face, but stop, because I don't want to mess up my makeup. He's right, I am shaken and the paps were extremely aggressive on the way in. They have been horrible, ever since news of our engagement broke. I wish I had listened to Trace when he suggested we keep our engagement on the DL until after the wedding. But I was so proud and happy to be his fiancée, and I wanted to wear my ring in public. As soon as Marcy confirmed our engagement, my celebrity went to a whole new level. Apparently, crashing a celebrity wedding is the Holy Grail for paparazzi. A hoard follows me everywhere I go now, so that they can try to ferret out details about our upcoming nuptials. They ask me questions constantly about the date, the venue, the dress, the entertainment, the guest list. It's never ending.

But today was worse. Today one of the paparazzi said something very unusual. And concerning.

Today, one yelled at me, "Kat, will your sister be your Matron Of Honor?" When I didn't respond—because I never respond to paparazzi anymore—she yelled a follow-up. "Wouldn't that be ironic?"

I nearly paused, before I forced my feet to keep going.

She could have meant anything. Probably she meant it would be ironic if Leed was Trace's best man and Ashlynn my Matron of Honor.

Surely she doesn't know that my sister and my fiancé were once married.

That secret is long dead and buried. And after all this time, it's inconceivable that it would come to light. If someone were going it expose it, it would have happened long ago, right?

As I made the final rounds in the The Temple Of Dendur, making sure everything was perfect, and reviewing notes for introducing Street as our keynote speaker tonight, my mind kept wandering back to that pap's remarks. What if she does know? Does it matter anymore? So what that Trace and Ashlynn were married? A scandal like that isn't big enough to hurt Trace at this point. It's not like when he and I were first dating, and I was so young, and the situation could have made him seem predatory. And these days, Soundcrush is just too firmly established to be taken down by scandal. Hell, Bodie going to jail made them seem relevant again. If anything, it restored their flagging popularity after their third album flop.