When Fangirls Cry Read online

  Saffi scooted over as another guy joined them inside. He smiled. She smiled.

  Staffan scowled. “Saffi!”

  She jumped. “What?”

  “I just fucking told you---” He glowered. “This is New York City,” he said slowly between clenched teeth. “You won’t know who’s out to mug or stab you next---”

  The passenger in the elevator shot Staffan an offended look. “Easy, man. Where’s the love?”

  Saffi grinned. “See? I told you---” Her words died at the furious look Staffan dealt her with. The other guy tried to speak, but at Staffan’s look, he wisely shut up as well.

  When they reached their floor, Staffan muttered, “Do you remember the first night when the fangirls ganged up on you? Do you remember that, Saffi? They would have torn you apart if the groupies hadn’t helped you. Well, here, that’s going to happen. No one and no one is going to help you so just fucking…stay put.”

  They had reached the reception office and he pushed her towards the first seat they passed. “Stay put, don’t make trouble – just play it cool, okay?” He sounded like a worried father. He knew that, couldn’t help it – and couldn’t understand what was happening to him.

  But Saffi seemed to.

  She reached up and he automatically bent down. She cupped his face and kissed him softly. “Relax, Staffan. We’re going to be okay.”

  Staffan closed his eyes.

  Ah, fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck – Saffi was right. He was acting like this because it was starting to dawn on him that Saffi’s baby could really be his and it meant he was responsible for the baby’s safety, too.

  His baby and Saffi’s…

  When he opened his eyes, his smile was rueful as he asked, “I’m acting like an ass, aren’t I?”

  “No, you’re not,” she said loyally.

  He smirked. “You are too transparent, Mrs. Aehrenthal.” The words came out of nowhere.

  Saffi wanted to cry. “Mrs. Aehrenthal,” she whispered. “I really like the sound of that.” She kissed him again, pulled back, and still holding his face, she said softly with a smile “Lo---” Her eyes widened. And then she said hastily, “Loudmouthed loach minnow. I, umm, think you’re going to be late.” This time, Saffi couldn’t meet his gaze.

  He knew what she wanted to say, but he let it go. “I’m the boss,” Staffan reminded her casually. “They don’t have a say even if I’m hours late.”

  She knew he knew what she had meant, but like him, she pretended it didn’t matter. Saffi said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Even so…it’s you who hate being late. But don’t worry – I’ll keep that un-rock star-like quality of yours a secret.”

  Silence.

  Unable to leave it just like that, not after everything had been going so well between them, Staffan heard himself offer, “How about you come with me to the meeting? I think as my #1 fangirl you’ll have something precious to share.”

  ****

  Yep – it was official. New York still hated her.

  Saffi could see it on every person’s face inside the room. They didn’t want her there, period. And she wasn’t even attending the meeting as “H”. She was just Sapphire March, now Mrs. Aehrenthal, and it didn’t matter.

  She kept quiet for the most part, not wanting to antagonize them even more. It was clear on all their faces that they were just waiting for her to put her foot in her mouth. But then the talk moved on to marketing and promotion, and Saffi sat up in her seat.

  Staffan knew the moment Saffi started paying attention. He knew her well enough to recognize the signs when she was ready to do battle. Her eyes would shine like it did now – they weren’t so much as stars as a fighting glint that told him she would be her usual outspoken fangirl self. Her shoulders were squared, as if she was ready to carry the whole world on her shoulders if that was what it took for her fangirls to be treated well.

  He loved seeing her like this.

  It reminded him of the Saffi he had fallen in love with – the Saffi who still had an unbreakable hold on not just his fucking body, but everything else. She owned him, heart, body, soul and all.

  Saffi bit her lip hard. Everything the executives were saying made business sense, but they were all so very cold-blooded. There should be a personalized touch coming from Staffan, didn’t they realize that? It was the only way – the best way – for Staffan to show how much he cared about his fans.

  “So if that’s all---”

  “I have a suggestion.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

  Impatience greeted her, but out of respect to Staffan, one of the male executives grunted, “Sure, sweetie, speak.”

  Staffan stiffened at the endearment, but Saffi quickly laid one soothing hand on his leg, willing him to relax. “All those prizes are really great, but I think you’re forgetting something – these people aren’t going to watch Staffan’s concert in 3D because they want to win a trip to Hawaii. They can afford to pay for that trip themselves with the amount of money it costs to buy a VIP ticket. And how much are you willing to bet that it’s the VIP tickets that would be the first to sell out?”

  “Nice emotional speech,” another executive retorted, “but if you could get to the bottom line please?”

  She pointed to Staffan.

  He choked.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” a lady executive burst out.

  Of course it had to be a girl against her, Saffi thought with a sigh. This one reminded Saffi too much of what’s-her-name back when she had participated in a similar meeting. This NYC version had a fashionable bob, beautifully cut bangs, and steel blue eyes glowering at her behind stylish-looking glasses.

  “Staffan is the bottom line,” Saffi said simply. “Every girl, woman, person – everyone who would pay money to watch a 3D concert would only do so because it is another way of getting closer to Staffan. So if you want to offer the kind of prize that would convince more people to go, then you must offer more of Staffan.”

  “Oh, you mean, have Staffan Aehrenthal offer himself up on a silver platter to crazy fangirls?” the older woman bitched. “That’s a great point, but you’re not considering the logistics. We can’t have Staffan grace every premiere in every country---”

  “And I’m not asking you to do that. It would be too tiring for him, and as you say, logistically speaking, it would only make sense for Staffan to visit those where he’s strongest and maybe, if his schedule permits, the places where he’s weakest so that he can build a bigger fan base.”

  She pointed to Staffan, gesturing to his entire body with a flourish.

  This time, Staffan choked.

  “Every fangirl wants a piece of this even if he’s married, he’s cranky, or he’s---” She tried to think of a way that would make Staffan appear less “godly” in his fangirls’ eyes. “They would still like him even if he’s a…lousy kisser.”

  Staffan slowly turned to look at her.

  She pretended not to notice Staffan’s what-the-fuck gaze. “What I propose instead is for Staffan to have a special video created for each country where his fan clubs are organizing premiers. Even a short five to ten-minute interview would do. That means so much. As for the prize, it could be a 5-minute call with Staffan. That’s what he does to raise funds for his charities and it really works. So why can’t we duplicate it?”

  When she finished speaking, no one wanted to look at her.

  Saffi’s shoulders slumped. How could they not realize that those kinds of gifts rather than expensive impersonal prizes would work so much better as an incentive for fangirls? Did she have to hold a Fangirls 101 class for them to see the truth?

  “Bravo, bravo.” It was the girl again.

  Saffi bit back a sigh. Of course – of course they would need to have a showdown, just like before.

  “But you’re forgetting one thing. Staffan Aehrenthal’s time is more precious than a trip to Hawaii and we would never be so insensitive and conceited
---” She paused, looking at Saffi pointedly.

  She flushed in response, realizing where this was going. She wanted to look at Staffan and ask if what the girl was saying was true. Had she been asking for too much? Had she been thinking too much as a fangirl that she had forgotten she was now…Mrs. Aehrenthal?

  “---well, we won’t be so unprofessional as to overtire our most prominent star with such antics.”

  There was a pause.

  Saffi prepared herself to apologize.

  “Now, are you all done?”

  All eyes shot to Staffan at his words.

  “You’ve all made your points. Now I’m going to make mine. This is my fucking project to be made with my funds. I asked all of you to be here because you were supposed to be the fucking experts. But all I can see is a group of the worst idiots I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with.”

  His hazel eyes glinted. “First of all, this is my wife – if you idiots want to be on my good side then you don’t fucking disrespect my wife in any goddamn way.” Apologies and flustered protests rose from around them, but Staffan dismissed all of it with a wave of his hand.

  “And finally, those crazy fangirls are the reason why my songs make it to the goddamn #1 spot on the charts, the reason why I sell millions of fucking copies of my records even though everyone else’s is being pirated and downloaded using fucking torrents. So I’m going to fucking ask you just one question – do you think that what my wife so sensibly suggested would be too much for me to do, considering all that? Don’t fucking answer. Work on your proposals again and I won’t give you another chance if you all mess it up once more.”

  When no one moved, Staffan barked, “Leave.”

  Everyone scrambled out of their chairs and the room was cleared in seconds.

  And then Saffi bounced onto his lap, stunning Staffan. “Baby?”

  There were the most beautiful stars in her eyes as she looked at him, her face glowing.

  Shit.

  He was so fucking unmanned whenever Saffi March-Aehrenthal looked at him like that.

  She said shakily, “I thought…I thought you wouldn’t---”

  He cupped her face and kissed her, deeply, his tongue moving into her mouth, his lips sucking hers – he kissed her like her air was the only kind he needed to breathe, and sometimes it felt like it was so. “I remember the last time too, baby,” he whispered.

  Her eyes glistened with tears.

  “I remember not standing up for you and then kicking myself repeatedly for not doing so – I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  Her lips moved but no sound came out.

  Ah, shit, shit, shit!

  He just wasn’t ready to hear her say the words yet, but he knew she wanted to. He knew deep inside he wanted her to. So instead he said hoarsely, “Longitudinal.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “Longitudinal long-nosed chimaera. That’s what you wanted to say, wasn’t it?”

  A tear trickled down her cheek just before she threw her arms around him so enthusiastically, his seat toppled backwards. They both fell to the floor, laughing. “Yes,” she gasped between happy tears and laughter. “That’s exactly what I wanted to saaaay!” She ended up moaning the last word because Staffan had pulled the loose neckline of her dress down, together with the cups of her bra. She moaned again as he cupped her breasts, the feel of his touch so achingly familiar – something she missed so much she cried a little at the feel of it.

  “Ride me, baby.”

  She didn’t need another invitation, impatiently dealing with his belt, pants, and briefs. The moment she wriggled them past his feet, she threw them away and moved eagerly back up to sink herself down on him.

  “Staffan.” She moaned his name as she took his dick into her inch by inch.

  “You’re killing me,” Staffan groaned. His hands grasped her hips and before she could stop him, he was pulling her down while lifting his hips up.

  “Ah!”

  There was no way to speak after that, passion overtaking them completely and never letting go. The slapping sounds of their bodies made everything more arousing, and she leaned down, wanting Staffan to suck her as she rode him.

  He was eager to oblige, his mouth taking in one succulent nipple and sucking so hard that she threw her head back and screamed. She rode him as best as she could. Saffi squeezed his dick inside her with muscles she did her best to control, using it to drive Staffan further out of his mind.

  “More,” Staffan gritted.

  She blindly obeyed the command, bouncing up and down wildly on his dick, her long dark hair dancing against her back. He kept his gaze glued on Saffi, loving the way her lips were parted in desire as she milked and milked his dick.

  His body started to tense and stir, and Staffan immediately reached out for her clit. She moaned at the first touch and when he started to stroke, she fell against him, grinding her sex against his fingers even as she didn’t stop bouncing up and down on his dick.

  Shit, shit, shit. She was bouncing so much faster now.

  Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bouncebouncebouncebouncebounce---

  The pleasure crashed over them like a torrent of rain from the skies, and Staffan growled his release, clutching her hips tightly as he pounded into her again and again, loving the way his come filled her so much it started to trickle out.

  Saffi was sobbing, her hips furiously wriggling as she continued to bounce, her own juices pouring out, mingling with his sticky cum.

  She collapsed against his chest.

  Staffan stroked her hair.

  “Logical long-whiskered catfish,” Saffi murmured.

  This time, it only made him chuckle.

  Minutes later, as he started to dress himself, he heard a snapping sound. Ah shit – he spun around but it was too fucking late. This time, he snarled.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Saffi, dammit---”

  “But I saw Ashton posting a picture of Demi once and he was saying how sexy his wifey was and I wanted to show the world how sexy you are, too!”

  “Erase it.”

  “Umm, I could, but…it’s already been retweeted?”

  “Saffi---”

  “1,456 times?”

  Chapter Eleven

  What’s the Swedish term for asshole?

  Twitter: Starry_eyed4SA

  “What do you think about ‘Vidunder’?” Saffi teased as they strolled hand in hand into the next boutique for infants. “That sounds very manly, don’t you think?”

  Staffan simply looked at her.

  It was enough to have her giggling. Vidunder was basically the Swedish translation for ‘monster’, and she had loads of fun teasing Staffan about the many nice-sounding Swedish terms they could use to name their baby. Or at least it sounded nice, never mind if the translation wasn’t as good.

  “If you’re going to continue with this, koukla mou, I’ll be forced to retaliate.”

  Having paused to inspect a mobile toy that was supposed to make fifty different sounds to entertain infants, she lowered the toy to look at Staffan in confusion. “Is there something wrong with my name?”

  “With yours, none – but how about I use other kinds of minerals for the baby’s name?” Staffan asked silkily. “Let’s start with…mmm…allabogdanite?”

  Saffi choked. “Is that even real?”

  “Or since we both have names starting with the letter S, what about Sinkankasite?”

  “There’s no such thing---” She stopped giggling at Staffan’s smirk. “No, really, there’s isn’t such a thing…right?”

  “Just remember, baby, when you give birth, there will be a time you’d be too tired to stay awake and then I’ll make my move and have the baby’s name changed on its birth certificate.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “I will if you don’t stop with all the Swedish names!”

  “But I’m just being very nationalistic---”

  Her all-innocent look had Staffan groa
ning. “You do that so fucking well.”

  Saffi went for broke, channeling her inner Legally Blonde and Clueless blonde goddesses as she gave him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

  With a growl, Staffan sank his fingers into her hair and pulled Saffi towards him for a kiss. Her lips opened under his eagerly, welcoming the possessive sweep of his tongue. Her arms rose to curl around his neck at the same time he pulled her closer by the hips, his aroused dick knocking against her sex. The hot contact of his dick against her belly was enough to have Saffi gasp and accidentally squeeze the cushy attachment hanging from the mobile toy she was still holding.

  It released a loud growling sound that had them breaking apart in shock.

  Staffan was white-faced. “What the fuck was that?” He looked like he had seen a ghost.

  Saffi lifted the toy in her hands. “This?”

  He grabbed the toy and practically threw it back on the shelf before hurriedly urging her out, his arm wrapped around her waist, his hand protectively settled against her tummy. It made her look down, and her heart ached at the sight of his still-bare finger.

  It did not mean he did not feel married. She told herself that over and over. It could be a rock star thing, or maybe it could even be a way of deflecting the fury of other fangirls from her.

  Right now, she needed to concentrate on being happy and thankful that she and Staffan were doing so well. As long as she kept doing what she was doing and shutting up about anything that had to do with the past – they were good.

  “How about Lace?” Staffan murmured as they walked out of the boutique.

  When she looked up at him in askance, he was smiling but his voice was gruff when he explained, “It’s somewhat similar to how you and your mother – Pearl – are named. But I think our baby’s going to be extra soft and sweet because she has you as a mother.”

  Bittersweet tears pricked her eyes. At least…at least he was thinking about the baby as theirs. It was a step in the right direction, and she had to be thankful for that. Swallowing, she whispered, “I think it’s just perfect.”

  Back at their hotel room, she and Staffan immediately went their separate ways, having accepted the invitation to join her father and the rest of her family for a fundraising dinner held by one of his wealthiest supporters. His friends, Rathe, Constantijin, and Yanna were coming too, and she felt incredibly nervous about meeting them. She didn’t know how she would take it if they also believed the lies about her.