Derek sat up, reaching for his own clothes. “You’re always safe with me.”
I kissed him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
He frowned. “I know.” He sighed. “I can’t wait for this to be over.”
I shrugged into my shirt and looked over at him, sex-tousled and perfect. “It will be. Everything’s going to be okay.”
He nodded. “You’re right. Now let’s go roller-skating.”
* * *
There was a very large birthday party for a twelve-year-old girl just getting started at the roller rink when I arrived. Casey, whoever she was, had a lot of friends. It took me a few minutes to find Derek in the crowd. He waved at me and I grabbed my skates and headed over.
“You know the owner of this place?” I asked Derek as I pulled on my skates.
He nodded. “You do too. Mia owns it.”
“The choreographer?” I cocked my head to the side. “Really?”
He grinned. “Are you really surprised? She’s a former derby girl.”
I laughed. Our fiercely glamorous choreographer was really something. “I can see that. I bet she’s elbowed a few unfortunates in the face in here.”
“I’m sure she has,” Derek said, grabbing my hand and pulling me upright. I came to a stand carefully, trying to remember how to do this. “And she’s given her staff the greenlight to do just that to any known member of the press that comes in here with a camera. It’s one of the few truly safe places in LA, and one of its best kept secrets.”
“I’m glad we can be ourselves here,” I told him, taking my first unsteady sliding stride. “Because I’m probably going to fall on my butt a lot.”
“I doubt that,” Derek said, leading me toward the rink. That floor looked a lot slicker than this carpet I was on. “You’re pretty darn graceful.”
“Sure,” I said, frowning. “And if we were in a ballet studio I would be. But this is a whole different thing.”
“Dancing is dancing,” he promised, pulling me over the threshold. “You’ll be fine. Come on.”
After a few circles around the rink, I realized Derek was right. Skating was like dancing. There was even a big disco light to remind me of being in a club. I couldn’t go backward like him or do any impressive jumps, but I could stay upright. I could even brake if I did it carefully. But Derek could skate circles around me.
The rink was in full party mode tonight. After a full day of feeling pent up and frustrated on set, this was exactly what I needed. Derek and I went around and around the rink, holding hands, listening to the music, and talking. It felt good to be normal for once, not looking over my shoulder or worrying who might be watching.
“Where’d you learn to skate like this?” I asked him.
He shrugged his broad shoulders and grinned. “Hockey.”
I giggled. “Didn’t you grow up in Texas? They have hockey in Texas?”
“They sure do,” he replied, grabbing my hand and spinning me so I was moving backward for a few beats until he swung me back out. “It’s not football in terms of popularity, but plenty of kids still play on the indoor rinks.”
“Did you like it?” I asked. I had a hard time imagining Derek being much of a team player.
He shook his head. “I hated it. I was abysmal. I hated the teams. I hated the fighting. I’ve never been a fighter, and I’ve never been good at taking orders.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Not for hockey. But it was fine when I switched to dance classes instead, even if it led to years of teasing from my brothers.”
“They teased you for dancing?” I asked. What jerks.
He nodded. “According to my brothers, dancing is for girls.” He frowned. “And possibly gays.”
Nonsense. “I disagree.”
He smirked. “I was playing the long game all along. We hit puberty and I got to hang out with all the cute ballerinas, and they were stuck with a bunch of gross, stinky, sweaty dudes in spandex. I had the last laugh. In fact, I’m still laughing.”
“A straight guy in a dance class does have a natural advantage,” I admitted.
I’d been in plenty of ballet classes with one or two guys. Usually those guys were gay. But when one was straight… he basically had his pick. A man who knew how to move on the dance floor generally knew how to move in the bedroom. Or so they said. I’d never been the pick until recently.
Derek was oblivious to my memories. “I definitely did.”
I rolled my eyes at his prowess. “So, what you’re saying is that you dated a lot of ballerinas in high school, and probably afterward too.”
“Yes, I did.” He seemed neither prideful nor humble about it. He was good with women. It was just a fact. I couldn’t imagine confidence like his. Constantly being the most talented person in the room must be a real rush.
“But you never met one you liked?” I asked.
“I met you.”
“Are you saying that you like me?” I asked, batting my eyelashes at him and praying I could do that and skate at the same time. It seemed to be working okay.
“I more than just like you, Ariel.” He grabbed my hand and leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “I’m in love with you.”
And then I fell on my butt. One moment I was gliding gracefully along. The next, I was sitting on the floor, throbbing and confused. Derek doubled back to my side and knelt.
“Are you okay?” he questioned, reaching down to help me back up. I gaped at him.
“You’re in love with me?” I asked. My voice came out kind of squeaky.
He kissed me on the forehead. “Is that why you fell?” he asked.
“In love with you?” I stuttered.
He smiled. “Are you saying you fell in love with me too? What? Just now?”
I laughed. I guess I might as well admit it. I let him pull me to stand again, and then wrapped my arms around his neck. “Derek, I fell in love with you sophomore year of high school. The very first time I saw you on Broadway. My parents took me to New York City, and we saw Les Misérables. You played Marius. I’ve been in love with you ever since.”
“I knew you were a fan,” he mumbled into my hair. He sounded happy. When we pulled away, he was smiling.
I giggled, embarrassed but glad to finally be honest. “I’m definitely a fan.”
32
Derek
Ariel came home with me. We probably should have taken separate Ubers back to our respective homes, but being careful seemed a lot less important to me now. Ariel loved me. Who cares what anyone else thought? We collapsed into bed and cuddled when we got home. We were too tired to make love again after five hours of endless circles around the roller rink but being apart wasn’t an option, either. Now that I’d found her, I never wanted to be away from her again.
We slept in each other’s arms, and I dreamed sweeter, better dreams than I could ever remember having before. I saw a whole future laid out before us. It was still hazy and undefined, but it was coming into focus. This was meant to be. It had to be. Because there was nothing I wanted more.
I woke up much earlier than Ariel and sat watching the sunlight creep across her body as it rose and crossed the bedroom in bright, white light. I could wake up like this every day for the rest of my life and be happy. I couldn’t stop smiling.
Eventually I got up and hopped in the shower, hoping that she’d hear it and come join me. As I washed my hair I sang. I’m not sure where ‘I Don’t Know Much’ by Linda Ronstadt came from, but it was on my mind this morning. It was probably playing at the roller rink. It was a good song. But when Ursula’s beautiful voice answered me on the bridge, I froze.
How the hell did Ursula get in here? Did she break in? Was she standing in my bathroom watching me shower? A thousand doomsday scenarios played through my brain in an instant.
Fearing the worst, I poked my head out and saw Ariel. It took a moment for my brain to compute what my ears already knew.
It was Ariel singing with
Ursula’s ethereally beautiful voice. My jaw dropped open. No. Not Ursula’s voice. Ariel’s. She was looking sheepishly at me as she completed the chorus alone. The notes rang from her throat and resonated against the hard, tile walls.
I don’t know much, but I know I love you
That may be all I need to know
I could barely breathe. I turned off the water, stumbling out of the shower and wrapping a towel around my waist. Holding myself upright had suddenly become very difficult. I grabbed Ariel by the shoulders, half to make sure she was real, and half for balance purposes. She looked up at me silently.
“Explain,” I stuttered, still with suds in my hair. “How—”
She shrugged the shoulders under my wet hands self-consciously. “Ursula offered me the part in the chorus in exchange for my voice. She can’t sing.” Her voice was soft.
I was still gaping. “What? Ursula did what?”
Ariel repeated her explanation. She was staring wide-eyed at me. “You and Ursula came by Sebastian’s a few weeks ago. The night we met, remember?”
I nodded numbly.
“You stepped outside, I guess,” she continued. “But I sang a number on the stage. Afterward she approached me with a deal. If I would agree to be her voice on ‘She Done Him Wrong,’ she would not only pay me a boatload, but she’d help me get a spot on the chorus line. So, I’ve recorded all her vocal parts in the studio. All she has to do is lip sync to the music and dance around.”
My mouth was still hanging open and I forced myself to shut it with a conscious effort.
Ursula… couldn’t sing.
It made perfect sense. That’s why she was so careful about recording everything in the studio. That’s why she refused to even practice with me. She wasn’t a perfectionist or an artist. She was a fraud. That slippery bitch!
It also explained why she hated Ariel so much. Having her around reminded her of her own inadequacy. She needed Ariel around to do any added songs or rewrites, but it must grate at her to have her around. Especially when Ariel and I got together.
“Who else knows?” I asked, still trying to wrap my mind around the size of Ursula’s deception. She’d told everyone that it was her singing, including Holden and the studio.
Ariel frowned. “Just her agent, Sebastian, me, the guy who did the recordings, and my dad. My dad happens to be her agent’s lawyer, although I doubt that she knows that.”
I shook my head in disbelief. This was so much to take in all at once. But so much made sense to me now that hadn’t before. Now that I knew that the singing voice that I’d fallen in love with belonged to Ariel, it seemed impossible that it could belong to anyone else. Especially Ursula. There are plenty of people out there who sound different when they speak and when they sing. But how had I missed this? I felt like an idiot that I never picked up on it.
Ursula’s speaking voice was a low contralto, but “her” singing voice was a mezzo-to-high soprano. That was unusual, but not unheard of. But Ariel’s speaking voice sounded just like her singing voice. I should have realized this weeks ago. I had no doubt that Ursula thought that I already had. That was, in hindsight, probably why she was so utterly hellbent of ruining Ariel’s career and relationship with me. She thought she was going to be replaced on the film.
At first it probably didn’t bother her too much. Sure, Ariel could dance, but she was in the chorus. But then, as time went on, Ursula saw that Ariel and I were growing closer. She realized that it was only a matter of time until Ariel told me the truth. So, she was doing everything in her power to threaten, cajole, and blackmail Ariel into silence and fear, and then ultimately into quitting. It had almost worked until she went a bridge too far with Connor’s news. And now, because of Ursula’s mistake, I knew the truth anyway.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I stuttered. “Why are you only telling me now?”
Her eyes were apologetic. “I couldn’t,” she whispered. She was shaking a little bit, perhaps cold because I was dripping all over her. “I shouldn’t tell you now. It’s breaking my contract and I could get in really big trouble. You have to promise not to tell anyone.”
“But—”
She shook her head furiously. “You can’t tell her! Seriously. She could still destroy me. She almost has already. You don’t understand. The contract I signed gives her all the power.”
“But—”
“Promise me,” Ariel said, staring at me and reaching out to cup my wet cheek in her hand. “I told you because I trust you. But you can’t tell anyone. Not even her.”
I paused, considering. I didn’t know what Ariel had signed, but I had no doubt that it was ironclad. It would need to be to protect Ursula from bad publicity. As much as I wanted to go screaming from the rooftops that Ursula was lying to everybody, I knew I couldn’t. Not without hurting Ariel in the process.
Ariel was still looking at me anxiously. “You have to promise that you won’t tell anyone,” Ariel said. “All of my pay on this job is dependent on me keeping this secret, and I really need to get paid. I know it’s not an ideal way to start a career, and I’m sorry to have kept you in the dark for so long, but believe me, I wouldn’t do it if there were any other way.”
I smiled at her, trying to reassure her. She looked terrified.
“I’m glad you told me,” I said eventually. “I know it was probably scary, but I really appreciate your trust.”
“You won’t tell, right?”
“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
Ariel nodded. “I’m so glad you finally know,” she said, sighing. Her smile was small, but genuine. “I shouldn’t have broken my word to her, but Ursula’s broken every promise she made to us. She just keeps coming and upping the ante. I feel kind of bad for her, honestly, but I’m tired of all the lies. We need to stop having secrets and lies between us. This has been eating at me for weeks and weeks and I just wanted--"
I cut her off with a kiss.
She wanted me to know because she trusted me. Because she loved me. And now that I knew the truth, this would change everything. I wasn’t sure how it changed everything when I couldn’t tell another soul, but it did. Ariel was wearing my T-shirt and I pulled it off of her, stripping her down and pulling her back into the shower with me. I wanted to sing with her. But first, I wanted to shower with her. We’d figure everything else out after that.
33
Ariel
“When did you first realize that you wanted to be a singer?” I asked Derek. We were lying in the bed again, only wetter this time from the shower sex we’d just had. It felt so good to be honest with him. “I wanted to be one since I can remember.”
He propped himself up on an arm and looked at me.
“I guess I was pretty young,” he replied, pushing the hair back from my forehead and smoothing it behind my ear. “My brother Tommy and I grew up watching our uncle Connor be in movies and I always wanted to perform like he did. Tommy was slower to get the acting bug. I almost think it was just pure competitiveness with me that pushed him into it. But I always wanted to act, sing, and dance. Funny that he ended up being the more successful of the two of us. Maybe he’s just better looking or something”
I laughed. “Definitely not.”
Derek grinned at me. “I’m very glad you think so. I’d hate to lose you to one of my stupid, talentless brothers. Especially my twin.”
There was no chance of that. Tommy Prince was good looking in a clean-cut, traditional kind of way, but Derek was absolutely gorgeous. Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t even begin to cover it. He had the body of an athlete, the symmetrical, strong face of a model, and the talent of a Broadway star. It was almost criminal that one person should be so blessed. Every time I looked at Derek naked, I had to pinch myself to believe that he was even real. He had actual washboard abs. Like something, well, like something out of a movie.
“I definitely think so,” I told him. If he didn’t hear the awe in my voice then he wasn’t paying attention. I’d been i
n love with him since I was a teenager.
“Well, my insecurity complex appreciates the vote of confidence,” he replied. “Coming from such a beautiful and talented woman that really means a lot to me.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Please. As if the great and powerful Derek Prince needs to be reminded that he’s beautiful.”
“Men are sensitive. Especially theater nerds like me.”
What a ridiculous statement. I’d known theater nerds in high school and college. Derek was about as far from those mouth-breathers as it was possible to be.
“Do you really consider yourself a theater nerd?” I asked him. “You’re a major movie star. Nerd implies that you didn’t make it. That you’re an amateur. You’ve totally made it.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I guess it’s a relative term,” he said, laughing a bit. “Compared to my brothers, I’ve always been the one who took the craft of acting the most seriously. I was doing plays in high school. Going to dance classes. Working on accents. When they were playing sports or going to college, I was the one focused like a laser on getting my first Broadway role. Then they all got more famous than me anyway.”
“Can any of them dance?”
“No,” he admitted. “They can’t. Especially not Tommy. He’s so uncoordinated it’s a miracle he could make it through the first dance at his wedding. He stepped on Cindy’s feet. I saw it with my own two eyes.”
“Can any of them sing?”
He smirked. “Definitely not. They’re all pretty bad, but Holden in particular might even be tone deaf. The man can’t even sing happy birthday without causing people to wince.”
“So, what are you worried about?”
“Who says I’m worried?”
“Your face.”
He shook his head. “I guess I’ve always just felt like I was trying to make up for something. I’m the one who picked the hardest path, going outside Hollywood to try and make it big on Broadway. They all had Connor to help them get started, but I went off to New York to make my name for myself. And then they all got more famous than me.”
The Little Barmaid Page 15
