He Stole My Son's Face

Summary

The night Beckett decided to go public with Serena—his "golden girl," his untouchable muse—I took my boy-girl twins straight to the backstage entrance of the Film Academy Gala.

The security guard blocked me, his face tight with impatience, probably marking me as another obsessive stalker fan. A couple of fansite girls standing nearby with telephoto lenses sneered at me.

I didn't say a word.

But Maisy looked at the giant digital poster of Beckett on the wall, then tugged her brother's sleeve. "Todd, look. That man stole your face."