No, he’s not Superman. And he’s not some secret-service agent. Not even a psychologist or some modern genius. He’s just a bastard. A bastard by birth. A bastard in general. The very bastard I’ve hated since my deep childhood! He’s an actor, a star, a person whose success drops into his hands from birth. He’s my cousin—the bastard my mom has spent her whole life holding up as an example to me, the loser. A person I can’t forgive for five years now—for his silence after our accidental kiss on my granddad’s estate. Five years have passed, I turned eighteen, and now, by the will of fate, we have to run into each other again—on the very same damn estate!
The book includes profanity.