Ella spent most of the plane ride embarrassing Louise.

She couldn't help it, though; she was fascinated by everything inside of a private jet. She made a fuss over the sleek leather seats, and then over all the tiny soaps and hand cloths in the washroom. She was just praising the secret stash of Belgian chocolate bars when Louise sat up straighter.

"Oh, good," she said, sounding relieved. "We're here."

Ella craned her neck, looking out the window. Los Angeles was a patchwork of glittering glass towers and long sweeps of beaches, curling around the blue water like Rapunzel's golden locks. She could see a smattering of palm trees and her heart soared.

"It's so pretty," she murmured.

Louise cracked a smile. "How much do you want to party on the beach tonight?"

"We're not legal here, remember?"

Louise put on a terrible American accent, pumping her fist. "That's what fakes are for, be-otch!"

"You know what, Lou?" Ella shook her head. "I'm happy you were born English."

They disembarked the plane. Ella picked out four people waiting for them: Rory, Max, their bandmate Theo, and their long-suffering manager, Margaux. Her eyes caught Max's, and she felt her heart do a stupid swoop.

No, Ella told herself.

Bad.

"Ella!"

A moment later, Rory had rocketed across the tarmac, lifting her up into a crushing hug. She could hear Margaux protesting as he started on Louise next, squeezing her so hard that he knocked her sunglasses off.

"Rory!" Louise squealed, batting at his shoulder. "Those were expensive!"

"I'll buy you new ones."

"Vintage Chanel?" Louise scoffed. "Doubtful."

Theo reached them next. Ella hadn't seen him in years, but he had somehow become even more handsome; his broad shoulders had filled out, and his acne cleared up, leaving his dark skin smooth. Plus, Theo had finally ditched those terrible red glasses that he once thought were trendy.

Thank God.

"Well, well." Theo grinned at Louise. "Here comes trouble."

"Oh, shut-up, Theo." Louise smacked his shoulder, but she looked pleased. "You've gotten taller."

"And you've gotten shorter," Theo said.

"Don't start with me."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Theo held up his hands. "Hey, Ells." And then, cheekily, "You're looking tall. Did you grow?"

Ella grinned. "You have a death wish, Theo Johnson."

And then Max joined them, and Ella forgot how to breathe.

He was dressed in a forest green jacket — the same color as his eyes — and his cheeks were bright red with cold. His dark curls were being tossed around in a way that should make him look like an idiot, but rather unfairly made him look like a hero straight out of one of those romantic novels that Ophelia was always reading.

Ella's stupid, staccato heart skipped three beats.

"Hi, Angel." Max kissed her cheek. "Good flight, then?"

"The best." By some miracle, Ella managed a normal smile. "Do you know private jets have chocolate bars?"

"I'm sure you sampled one."

"Three, in fact," she corrected him. "Four, if you count the one that I stole for later."

He grinned. "That's my girl."

And then Max ruffled her hair. Her hair. Like Ella was twelve years old again.

God, she could die.

Next to her, Louise frowned. "Oi, what am I? Chopped liver?"

Max looked amused. "Did you just say oi?"

Nevertheless, Max gave his sister a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. Then, without further ado, Max bent down and scooped up both of their bags. Margaux almost dropped her clipboard.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. "Max, if you pull a muscle before the show tomorrow, I swear to God—"

"Relax, Margie," Max drawled. "I've got it."

Margaux didn't look convinced. She was clutching the clipboard so hard that her knuckles were turning white, and she looked on the verge of conniption. Then again, Ella reflected, Rory said that Margaux spent most of her days on the verge of conniption; she was just better at hiding it sometimes.

Ella frequently forgot that Margaux was only twenty-two. She probably already had grey hairs coming in.

"Right," Margaux sighed. "Shall we go, then?"

As they made their way toward the awaiting limos, Ella fell into step with Louise and Rory.

"Where's Oliver?" Louise asked.

"Still at the hotel." Rory frowned. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," Louise said airily. "I'm just excited to meet him, that's all."

"Really?" Rory gave her a hard look. "Why?"

"Because he's your fourth band-mate, idiot."

"I see," Rory said slowly. "So it has nothing to do with the fact that People just ranked Ollie the Sexiest Man Alive?"

"Did they?" Louise asked. "I had no idea."

Ella turned her laugh into a hacking cough. She knew for a fact that Louise had a copy of the magazine lying on the coffee table of her apartment in London. She had seen it in the background of their FaceTime calls.

But she wouldn't give her away.

"I'm excited to meet him, too," Ella said. "He's from England, right?"

Rory nodded. "Thank god Max convinced him to join. When Nick dropped out last year, I thought The Patriots were toast."

Ella studied his face for any animosity, but Rory seemed genuinely relaxed, and Ella breathed a sigh of relief; when Nick dropped out of the band last year to pursue a career in chemistry (yes, actually), she thought the boys would never forgive him.

But now Nick was designing a perfume, and Oliver was killing it on the bass.

Everyone was happy.

It didn't take long to reach the hotel — even with the insane Los Angeles traffic, it was probably only an hour or so — but Ella was dying to pee by the time that they arrived. Admittedly, the white stucco hotel was right on the beach, so the sound of the waves and the trickling of the dolphin fountains really didn't help matters.

She gripped Louise's arm. "Can you text me the room number?"

"Where are you off to?"

"Washroom."

"Fine." Louise sighed theatrically, as if Ella was causing her a great inconvenience. "But hurry! I want help picking my outfit before dinner."

And with that, Ella was off.

After a frantic exchange with a startled bellboy, she sprinted toward the nearest washroom, trying to ignore the way her bladder was about to burst; she was just rounding the corner when her body collided with something heavy.

"Shit!" The voice sounded British and very pained. "Buggering hell."

Ella's stomach dropped. There was a boy kneeling in front of her, his hands scrabbling to pick up his fallen keys and phone. Although she could only see the top of his blond head, she knew who it was: Oliver, Rory's fourth bandmate.

She cleared her throat. "Are you—?"

"Oliver Hogarth?" he sighed. "Yes, I am."

"I was going to say alright, actually."

"Oh." His face colored. "Right."

He rose to his feet. Standing this close, Ella could smell the warm and spicy cologne clinging to Oliver's skin. There was a dimple to the left of his mouth, and she felt the most bizarre urge to reach out and touch it.

She could see why People named him the Sexiest Man Alive.

"So," Oliver said awkwardly. "Do you want a photograph, or...?"

Too late, Ella realized that Oliver thought she was a fan.

"Oh, no," she blurted. "No, that's okay. I was just on my way to..." She gestured vaguely down the corridor. "You know. Freshen up and things."

Immediately, Ella wanted to kick herself.

Why the hell couldn't she speak like a normal human being?

"I should go," she said.

And then Ella practically sprinted toward the washroom, only stopping when she was safely through the doors.

Like a coward, Ella took her time in the washroom, slathering on complimentary jasmine lotion until Louise texted her with the room number. Her adrenaline was still riding high as she took the elevator up to the top floor. Oh, God. Why was she such an awkward human being? How on earth was she supposed to face Oliver at dinner?

Maybe she could fake sick.

Forever.

When Ella entered the room, Louise was kneeling on top of a mountain of clothes.

"What do you think?" Louise demanded, holding out something sparkly and silver for her inspection. "Is this too much?"

"Depends where we're going."

"The Cliffs."

The way Louise said the name made it clear that Ella was supposed to know where that was.

"I see," Ella said. "So the dress is... good?"

Louise looked at her with exasperated fondness. "You have no idea what I'm talking about right now, do you?"

"Not a clue," Ella said.

"Come here, you cute little savage," she sighed. "I'll do your hair."

An hour later, they were ready to go; the boys had a soundcheck first, so Ella and Louise piled into the limo alone, sipping the free champagne as Los Angeles whipped by them. Louise unrolled the window, and they breathed in the warm, humid air.

"So," Louise said. "Theo."

"What about him?"

"I'm in love with him."

Ella choked on her champagne. "What?"

"Okay, not actually," Louise said, rolling her eyes. "But you have to admit, he's looking pretty good." She adjusted the strap of her heel. "Do you think Max or Rory would care if I sleep with him?"

"Yes," Ella said firmly. "They'd kill him."

"Such a shame."

"What about Oliver?" Her voice came out as a squeak, and she prayed Louise wouldn't notice. "I thought you liked him."

"I like his face," Louise mused. "We'll see about his personality."

The limo dropped them off at the top of an enormous cliff. A glass restaurant perched precariously on the edge, like a glittering tear hanging off the edge of an eyelash, and as they drew closer, Ella realized that the sea below was lit up with an eerie blue light. She could make out bright yellow fish and slippery, moss-green eels swimming below.

It was the coolest thing she'd ever seen.

She could feel people staring as the waiter led them to a table on a glass floor, and she tugged at her dress, self-consciously pulling it further down her thighs. Sophia convinced her to purchase it last year, but Ella had yet to wear it.

Now, Ella was remembering why.

"Louise," she hissed. "People are staring."

"Of course they are."

"But why?"

She looked at Ella in exasperation. "Because we're hot, obviously."

The waiter came over, and Louise ordered a bottle of champagne with such confidence that Ella was surprised he even asked to see her ID. She was even more surprised when Louise actually handed it over.

The waiter smiled. "Dom Perignon okay?"

Louise batted her eyelashes. "Perfect."

As soon as the waiter disappeared, Ella let out a breath.

"You brought a fake?" she demanded.

Louise looked horrified. "Wait, you didn't?"

Ella reached for a bread roll, shredding it as she waited for the waiter to return with the champagne. She was just about to launch into a speech about responsibility and taking it slow when the door opened and Max entered.

Ella lost her train of thought.

Holy shit, that man looked good in a suit.

She was still staring as Max drew closer, and it took Ella a moment to realize that he was staring at her too, his eyes climbing up the length of her bare thighs.

"Ella," he choked out. "What on earth are you wearing?"

"It's a dress," Louise snapped, jumping to Ella's defense. "Perhaps you've heard of them before?"

"That dress is way too short."

"Agreed," Rory said, materializing next to him.

"By at least six inches," Max added.

Ella wasn't sure what came over her, exactly, but the next words out of her mouth were certainly not planned.

"I'm surprised you can measure six inches," she said coolly, "seeing as you've never seen anything that long before."

There was a long, startled pause. Then Theo began to cackle.

"Oh, shit," Theo crowed. "Little Walker has claws." Then he reached behind him, and Ella braced herself as she took in the young man that was now tucked under his arm. "Louise, this is Ollie. He's our new bassist."

Ella cringed inwardly as Louise extended a hand to Oliver.

"Pleasure," she murmured.

Theo turned to Ella next. "And this is—"

"You!" Oliver said, looking startled. "I know you."

Max arched an eyebrow. "You do?"

"You do?" Louise repeated, whirling to face Ella.

"Not really," Ella said. "We met. Earlier today."

"You met Oliver at the hotel?" Louise demanded, her eyebrows climbing higher. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I— well, I didn't really meet him," Ella said desperately. "I ran into him."

Oliver's mouth quirked. "Literally."

"Sorry about that," she said. "No lasting injuries, I hope?"

"Just my pride."

"I'm sure Ollie's fine," Max said, and his voice was just a little sharp. "Can we sit down for dinner now, please?"

Louise gave her brother an odd look, and Ella didn't blame her; she couldn't recall seeing Max raise his voice before. Not even once. Without another word, Max dropped into the chair beside Ella's, opening his dinner menu viciously.

He didn't say much all evening.