I'm putting the finishing touches on a strawberry cupcake when I hear the doorbell ringing, followed by frantic knocking.

I run to the front door, and swing it open.

Kitty's standing on the front porch, looking like she just stepped out of The Great Gatsby. She's wearing a chic forest green silk dress, and her bob of dark hair is tied back with a filmy white scarf, which trails down her back. Fluttering in the breeze, the scarf makes it look almost like she has a set of translucent wings. A pair of huge dark glasses – the sort celebs wear when evading the paparazzi – in combination with the scarf wings makes me think of a bug.

In fact, Kitty looks a lot like a dragonfly right now – a dragonfly crossed with a gorgeous glamazon heiress.

As soon as I open the door, she's visibly relieved.

She turns towards the road and gestures behind her, at a black Jeep parked just a few meters away.

All the car doors swing open at the same time. The boys jump out of the car, slamming the doors behind them. They've run across the driveway and through the front door before I even realize what's happening.

With a sigh, Kitty shuts the front door closed behind her.

"Thank god," she says. "I don't think we were spotted."

To my relief, the boys aren't nearly as overdressed as Kitty is. Lyall, Ben and Elliot are all wearing jeans and sweaters, while Alastaire is in a white blazer jacket, a vest and skinny jeans. Felix is in jeans and a midnight green v-neck sweater, which perfectly matches the rims of his hazel eyes.

Eyes which right now are frozen in the space between my collarbone and my chest, just above my right breast.

The floral print romper I'm wearing is pretty low-cut compared to what I'd usually wear. I expected my parents to have something to say about that, but they seem to have been too busy cooking to notice.

Let's hope it stays that way.

The extra inch of skin on show has caught Felix's attention, but not for the reason one would expect. His gaze is fiery and intense, yet strangely distant, and I know that somehow, he's staring at one of my ghost scars.

Unlike the one over my ribcage, this scar is so faint and shallow that it's practically invisible. In fact, I have a couple like that, all over my body – on my back, my ankle, my wrist.

It's no surprise really, considering the whirlwind of glass that I was swimming through when the bus went down.

I think of these secret scars as invisible reminders, ghostly tokens, forgotten save for when I run my fingers over their indiscernible ridges just to check they're still there.

Without warning, Felix steps forward, closing the space between us. In full view of Kitty and the other boys, he reaches out and trails a finger gently over the line of the scar, just above the rise of my right breast.

I gasp and jump back, clutching my hands over my chest.

The skin tingles slightly where he touched it, a cold buzzing like an electric aftershock.

"Whoa, slow down player," says Ben. "At least wait until after dinner." With that, he walks out the hallway into the kitchen. Elliot gives Felix a stern look before following Ben.

"Fee, what are y–" Lyall begins, looking from Felix to me nervously.

"Come on Lyall, let's go say hi to Ash's parents," Kitty says hurriedly, pulling Lyall out of the room with her.

I'm left alone with Felix and Alastaire.

One look at Alastaire's face clearly tells me why she was in such a hurry to leave.

He's staring at Felix, and his usual demeanor of rakish, easygoing, charming amusement is replaced by an expression I've never seen him wear. His face is twisted in a dark, murderous fury. Even his bright blue eyes look suddenly cold and icy. His voice when he speaks is low and menacing.

"Touch her again and I'll–" he says.

"You'll what?" Felix cuts him off.

I feel my skin prickle over with goose bumps, and the temperature in the room suddenly seems to plummet. I start to shiver.

Think. They look like they're about to kill each other. I need to break this up.

"Wow, it's freezing in here!" I say as cheerily as I can. Both boys immediately turn their attention to me. "How about we join the others in the kitchen?"

Without thinking, I grab each boy by the hand, and I drag them behind me, out of the hallway and towards the rest of the group.

Everyone is seated at the kitchen table, apart from my dad, who is ladling soup into bowls, and Kitty, who is enthusiastically telling him about the best spots to buy designer stilettos on King's Road.

My mom is in her element, quizzing the guys about their lives in London, their music, and my involvement with their new album.

Casting my eyes around the table, it looks like everyone took the seating plan seriously, and all the guys are sitting in the seats assigned by the handwritten place markers my mom put out.

By some stroke of luck, Felix and Alastaire are seated on opposite sides of the table.

I on the other hand am seated right in between my mom and dad.

Over protective much? Yeesh.

I slide in next to my mom, watching nervously as Felix and Alastaire settle down into their seats. They don't take their eyes off each other for even a second.

Even when my dad places a bowl of steaming hot soup in front of each of them, they keep their eyes fixed on each other, staring each other down.

Luckily, no one else seems to notice.

"Help yourselves to beer bread," my mom says, gesturing to the plate of freshly baked bread in the centre of the table. "Lyall, we used Guinness. We thought you might like that."

Far from being creeped out by my mom's culinary stalkery, Lyall seems absolutely delighted.

"Awww thanks Mrs. Shields, this is such a treat," he says between mouthfuls of bread. "An' de potato soup's just like me mam always makes. Real thoughtful o' yer."

"Wish we could offer you a pint of Guinness to go with it," my dad says. "But we used it up on the bread. What do you guys want to drink? Heinekens?"

"I'll have red wine," Alastaire says airily. "Merlot, if you have it."

"Not so fast," Kitty says to Alastaire, before smiling apologetically at my dad. "Thanks for the offer Brian, but I'm responsible for these guys. There'll be no underage drinking on my watch."

"Are you serious?" Ben says. "Alastaire's been downing half a bottle of champagne every day since we arrived. Even at breakfast. Didn't see you complain then."

"Yes, well, we're in polite company now," Kitty says, looking slightly flustered. "It's different. I on the other hand am nineteen. So I'd love a glass of wine, thank you Brian. The guys can have fruit juice or something."

"Sure thing," my dad says, rising to get a bottle. "Red or white?"

"Hold up Mr. Shields," Alastaire says. "Kitty darling, sorry to break it to you, but we're not in Britain any more. The legal drinking age here in the states is twenty-one. Mr. Shields, Kitty will have water."

Kitty opens her mouth as if to argue, then sighs heavily, rolls her eyes and mouths 'whatever'.

"Mrs. Shields, Ash tells us you and Brian are chefs," Elliot says. "Is that how you two met?"

My mom launches into her favorite real life love story, the totally OTT tale of the first time she spotted my dad while chopping leeks at chef school in Seattle and fell for him at first sight.

And so dinner ticks along slowly and smoothly. My parents are visibly impressed by the boys' stories about performing with David Bowie in last year's summer Band Aid concert, and Kitty tells them all about her year at Oxford studying drama. The evening slips by with no major disasters or awkwardness, save for the dark undercurrent between Felix and Alastaire.

From time to time I see my dad watching Alastaire suspiciously, but I'm sure it's not so much that he's picking up the bad blood at the table – rather, I suspect that his Googling turned up more than just the boys' food preferences.

My suspicions are confirmed during dessert, when my dad goes in for the kill.

"So, Alastaire. I hear you have your own personal fan club," my dad says. "That's quite an achievement by the age of seventeen. What are they called again? Cherubs?"

"Angels actually. Alastaire's Angels," Alastaire answers, smiling as easily and confidently as if my dad's asking him about the weather, and not his super dodge harem of groupies. "They're a sweet group of girls, really. Contrary to what you might have read online, I'm not officially involved with the group at all. The whole thing was set up by fans, run by fans etcetera. Sometimes rumors get out of hand, but I'm sure you know not to believe everything you read on the Internet. They're really great girls."

My dad looks unconvinced. He's still eyeing Alastaire warily, as if he expects him to make a dash for me and drag me away to the nearest brothel at any second.

Oh god. What exactly did my dad's cyber stalking turn up?

Picking up on the tense atmosphere, my mom tries to fill the awkward silence. "Well, good for you Alastaire," she says. "It sounds like you really love your fans."

"Yeah, he loves them alright," Felix says. "All night long. Usually two or three at a time."

OH. MY. GOD.

My mom's jaw drops down, and she stares open mouthed, while my dad's face turns red.

Lyall starts laughing nervously, as he slaps Felix on the back a little too hard.

"Good one Felix!" He says. " Mr. an' Mrs. Shields, I assure yer, our old Fee here is an infamous joker. Seriously, he's just pullin' yer leg. We're nothin’ like that. None of us."

Lyall's attempt to lighten the atmosphere goes down like a lead balloon.

"Excuse me?" Alastaire asks Felix, glaring at him across the table. "If you've got something to say to me, say it."

"CUPCAKES!" My mom shrieks, jumping out of her seat. She hurries over to the strawberry cupcakes on the kitchen counter, babbling some nonsense about how she found the recipe on Buzzfood with her iPad, because she's "hip like that".

Nice try mom. It's Buzzfeed. And no amount of chitchat is going to defuse the situation.

In fact, I can tell that at any moment, Felix is about to say something really bad. He might even take a swing at Alastaire. He's that angry.

I need to separate them, stat. Before mom and dad see something they shouldn't. Before it all goes to hell. Before things go too far and I can kiss my plans with the band goodbye.

With my mom out of her seat, there's no one in-between Felix and I.

So I do the only thing I can think of.

Rising from my chair, I pick up my bowl of half eaten cherry pie and chocolate gelato. Praying that no one sees through it, I turn towards Felix, stumble and pretend to trip over my mom's chair.

I smash into Felix, knocking his chair over backwards. We end up on the floor, with me sprawled over his chest, chocolate and cherry pie all over his sweater.

Felix is up in seconds, pulling me to my feet. Everyone's watching in silence, shock written across their faces. Everyone, that is, except Alastaire. He narrows his eyes, and sends me a pointed, penetrating stare.

"Oh my god, what a mess," I say, ignoring Alastaire's unspoken question. "Dad, can Felix borrow one of your shirts? Thanks. Follow me Felix."

I quickly retreat from the insanely awkward situation. For the second time in one evening, I grab Felix's hand and pull him with me out of the room.

I don't let go until we reach my parents' bedroom upstairs. I swing open their wardrobe, looking for a shirt that doesn't say fifty-year-old golfing enthusiast. Part of me is sort of tempted to make Felix wear my dad's hideous frolicsome-kittens adorned "Meowie Christmas" sweater as punishment for being such a jerk, but I know it's not in my best interests to rile him up right now. I turn around to hand him a plain grey sweater, and he's gone.

Oh no. Maybe he went to the bathroom.

I run to my parent's on-suite, but it's empty. I rush along the hallway, past the guest room, and into my bedroom.

Felix is standing with his back to me, looking out the window.

I can't believe it's been less than two weeks since he was last in my bedroom, standing in this exact same spot, while a sea of fans trapped us inside my own home. So much has changed since then.

"Downstairs. What was that all about?" He asks the question without turning around.

"I slipped and fell," I say. "I'm sorry. I brought you a –"

Before I can even register what's going on, my bedroom door slams shut behind me, all on its own. Felix is in front of me in a flash. He grabs my wrists, throws me down on the bed. I land on my back. In seconds, he's on top of me, pinning me against my duvet, his breath hot against my neck.

"You thought you'd get me alone, is that it?" He whispers. "Thought you'd separate me from Angel Boy. Well, you've got what you wanted. Do you regret it? Are you afraid?"

I am, but I shake my head slowly.

He grins darkly at that, cocking an eyebrow as if challenging me.

His dark hair has fallen forward, hiding one side of his face, and I feel this sudden urge to reach up, sweep it away, so I can gaze into both of those hazel goldish-green eyes of his, but my arms are totally pinned underneath me. He tilts his head, and I feel his fingers twine through mine, holding me fast. Our faces are just inches away from each other, and for a moment, I see a burning hunger in his eyes. He looks every inch the wickedly beautiful vampire prince his fans worship him as.

He's still for a moment, watching me quietly, before releasing me and walking away from the bed.

"Thanks for the sweater," he says, his voice suddenly cold and dismissive. "You go downstairs first. I'll follow in a few minutes."

I stand frozen for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. The door slamming on its own; him pinning me to the bed. I should walk over to him and slap him. He deserves it.

But I'd be lying if I said that a small part of me didn't want it to happen again.

So I just nod, trying to clear the confusion in my head, smoothing down my hair as I open my door and step out of the room.

I turn around to ask him if the sweater fits ok, and that's when I see it.

He's shirtless, about to pull the grey sweater over his head. Just below his collarbone, in the same spot as my own ghostly scar, a small white crescent moon stands out against his already pale skin.

It's the same scar I noticed the last time he was in my bedroom, as he caught me moments before I passed out.

I quickly step away from the doorway, pressing my back against the hallway wall.

A faint scar, almost invisible to the naked eye. The same shape as mine. The same place as mine. What does it all mean?