“Oh. Sometimes different can shake things up. What does he want you to do? Dance around naked? Kill someone? I mean the dread on your face makes it seem like he has envisioned something terrible.”
“The song is ‘Love Rocked’.”
“I love that one. It’s so sexy. You’re so sexy when you perform it.” She waggled her brows at me in an attempt to be seductive. It was adorable, which was sexy in its own way.
“It is sexy. And that’s the vibe the director wants to capture. He wants backup dancers with us for verse one on stage.”
“Oh, I could see that. I’m actually surprised the label hasn’t made you guys add backup dancers to your shows already. Why does the thought of backup dancers concern you? You’re a good dancer, if they make you dance too.”
“That’s just his vision for the first verse. For the second verse, he wants the backup dancers to enter into on-screen relationships with us.”
“Ooo-kaaaay,” her voice held a hint of apprehension.
“Yeah. With embraces, kissing, and….” I couldn’t even say it. I choked the words down, pushing them away from the tip of my tongue and wishing I could banish the idea of it as easily.
“And what, Dawson?” her voice held an edge of hysteria.
“Implied sex,” I mumbled.
She swallowed hard, fighting to figure out how to respond. “I see,” she whispered. Her eyes glistened.
“I don’t want to do it. I’m hoping they come up with a way around that part.” My eyes begged her to understand.
“And what for verse three?” her voice was so soft.
“Epic breakups.”
Her head bobbed. The look on her face shifted, the artist in her envisioning the song being transformed into a work of art telling the story.
“The artist in you is picturing it, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. But it’s at war with my heart, combatting the part of me that can’t imagine the love of my life being immortalized forever with his hands touching another girl. His arms holding another girl. His lips kissing another girl. His flesh pressed against another girl’s,” her voice broke on the last word.
My heart clenched then lurched like it wanted to jump out of my chest and flee to her. “I know, baby. I don’t want it either. I promise, I’m trying to figure out another way.”
“I believe you,” she whispered and wiped a tear away. “And I know in my head that it would mean nothing. It’s just your job. But I still hate it.” She straightened her spine. “If you have to do it, I’ll find a way to deal with it. Don’t worry about me. You’re almost done with the record label, so soon you’ll be able to call the shots. This is the last video they get a say on.”
A lightbulb went off. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? “Maybe we could get them to use you for the video. Then it wouldn’t be fake feelings. Well, except for the breakup.”
“That’s definitely an option. When are they going to shoot the video?”
“In a couple of months,” I answered.
“So, when I’m back with you?” her voice was hopeful.
“Possibly. I’ll find out for sure.” My heart was lighter with the possibility.
“Whatever you find out, don’t worry about me or about us. I’ll be fine. Anyway, I’m sure it’s almost time for you to get to sound check.”
I glanced at the time. “How do you do that?” I chuckled.
She smirked at me. “Don’t forget to charge your cell phone.”
“I won’t. Text me when you go to bed.”
“OK. Call me after the show.”
“How about I text you, and if you’re awake still, you can call me back?” I was really concerned by how tired she appeared.
“OK. Have a great show. I love you, baby.”
“I love you too, flutterby.”
Chapter 9
Izzy
A couple of days had passed since the photo of me and Dawson saying goodbye was released. I was still exhausted. It was odd. No matter how much I rested, I couldn’t quite get my energy levels to replenish. Maybe it was sympathy exhaustion. Dawson was being run more and more ragged with his chaotic schedule.
We talked every chance we could, which wasn’t as often as either of us wanted or needed.
Each morning when I woke, it had become my habit to scour the internet for his name to see if there were any new articles about us. We were both worried that it was only a matter of time before someone figured out who I was.
This morning when the search results populated, instead of the first article being about his show a few hours ago, there was a new story about us. Well, about Dawson and his mystery woman. It had a new image of us. We were wrapped up in each other’s arms, kissing in the rain with the canals in the background.
Objectively speaking, I could appreciate the romance of the frozen moment in time. As one of the unwitting subjects, I was a little annoyed that I felt like I had to hold my breath, waiting for the moment when my identity would be revealed. Dawson and I thought it would be better revealing it on our terms, but Lila refused. And unfortunately, she held the power. For now.
Ring. “Hi Mom,” I greeted my mom cheerily.
“Hi honey. How are you?” I rested my head back on my pillow.
“I’m good. A little tired, but good.”
“So, I’m guessing based on the photos in the media that you enjoyed your trip to Amsterdam?”
I hadn’t really checked in with my parents since I’d been back except to text them that I’d returned safely.
“I did, Mom. And I have no idea how so many images were taken of us.”
“Honey, Dawson isn’t just the boy who grew up next door anymore. He’s more than a guy who played his guitar for you to fall asleep by.”
“But—”
She cut me off, “I’m not saying that boy isn’t still in there. But he’s not just yours anymore. He’s the world’s. There’s always going to be someone out there watching him, wanting a piece of him. You on his arm means they’re watching you too.”
“The pictures don’t even show my face. And the press has no idea who I am. I’m halfway around the world now.”
“Isabelle, you’re a special girl. The world is going to notice you no matter where you are. You being with Dawson just catapulted you to that level sooner. Just be careful.”
“I will, Mom.”
“I love you,” she declared.
“I love you too.”
When I hung up the phone, I stared at myself in the mirror. Maybe I needed to do something to make myself a little less recognizable. A few people seemed to pay extra attention to me yesterday in the park. It could’ve just been my paranoia, but my rainbow hair was unique. And sadly, it was featuring heavily in the gossip stories about Dawson.
My mind made up, I pulled my hair up into a tight bun, concealing all but the pink. Then I headed to the beauty supply store.
* * *
Several hours later, I sat at my kitchen counter, eating dinner, chicken stir fry.
Ding, my laptop chimed. Anxiously, I answered the video call—Dawson was supposed to talk with the music video director today.
“Hey, baby,” I greeted him when the call connected.
“Hey, you.”
I laughed at his image. “Did you take a shower with all your clothes on?” His hair was flat to his head, and the fabric of his shirt clung to his muscles.
“No. Rainstorm came up during the show. We performed for a little while in it before the powers that be ended the show, worried we’d get sick and be unable to play tomorrow. Or get electrocuted.”
“They’re probably right. You don’t want to catch a cold. If you’re sick, then you have to reschedule shows. And the tour lasts longer. You should probably dry off and get warm.”
He got to his feet and rolled the damp fabric up his torso. My mouth watered over each inch of flesh unveiled. My fingers itched to trace the dips and valleys of his body. It felt like forever since my fingerprints had been on
his flesh. When he peeled the denim off his lower half, my heartrate kicked into high gear.
“You think it will always be like this?” I asked while he vigorously rubbed a towel over his damp skin.
“What do you mean?” His brow furrowed in confusion as he finished whisking the droplets off him.
“I mean, do you think we’ll always be this desperate for each other even when we just saw each other a few days ago?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“The master of words only has a one-word answer for me?” I teased to hide my nerves. I always worried that he’d become bored with me or that maintaining a relationship with so many obstacles in the way would become more trouble for him than it was worth.
“I don’t need other words. I don’t need to explain how whether I just had you five seconds ago or if five years had passed, I would still want you with every molecule comprising my being, every breath in my lungs, every beat of my heart and every stitch of my soul. There will never be a time when I don’t want you desperately.”
“You sound so sure,” I whispered.
“You’re not?” He climbed into his bed, beneath the covers.
“I am that sure of my feelings. I just know that it would be a lot easier for you to not have to worry about this,” I said motioning between us.
“I know Lila made you think that,” he started.
I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off, “Don’t say anything. I can easily imagine what she said to you when you were here. But know this, my life would not be easier without you. It would be dark and without a melody. It would be hell. So, I plan to spend every day proving to you that no matter the obstacle, the one thing I’m sure of is our relationship. We’re like cockroaches.”
He just ruined a beautiful speech. I burst into a fit of giggles. “Did you just compare me to a cockroach?”
“Not exactly. Cockroaches can survive a nuclear explosion or something equally destructive. So, what I mean is our relationship will survive anything that’s thrown our way.”
“I never imagined that cockroaches could be used in a romantic sense, but somehow you managed to do it.”
“I am the master of words,” he bragged, puffing up his chest like a proud peacock. “Now what did you do to your hair?”
My fingers brushed through my now silvery, purple hair. “Thought I might should change it up from what it was in Amsterdam. I got some looks at the park yesterday when I was doing a shoot there.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I can have Joe arrange for someone to be around when you have to go out in public.” He leaned forward.
“What? No. I’m just paranoid. Nobody knows my name. And now, I don’t even look like the girl in the photos.” I did not want a shadow when I walked down the street to get a cup of coffee.
“True. It was probably a smart idea to change it up. And I really like that color on you. Who am I kidding? I like every color on you. I’d even like baldness on you,” he joked.
“That’s not even funny. I’m not going to test that theory out.” I shuddered at the thought of having no hair to use for my artistic whims.
“You’d still love me if I was bald, right?” he asked all seriously.
“Hmmm. I do love your hair. It feels so good when I run my fingers through it. And sometimes, I need something to hold on to, so I can guide you to where I need you to be…” I tapped my index finger on my chin, pretending to think it over. “But, I’m pretty sure I’d still love you if you didn’t have any hair. I mean, I’d have to use your ears to steer you if you were bald. But I could make it work.”
He guffawed loudly. “I’d let you hold on by my ears. Sometimes the ride gets a little wild.” He grinned wickedly at me.
I ran my fingers around the edge of my collar, needing some air.
“Before I forget, I spoke with Todd Davidson today, the director for the music video. It was just the two of us on the call. I asked him if we had to hire professional actresses. He asked me if I had someone in mind. When I told him that I was considering asking my girlfriend to star as my love interest for the video, he wasn’t opposed to the idea.”
“He wasn’t?”
“No, he said so long as we had chemistry on screen, it was fine with him. Now, I know Lila will never get behind it, so I asked him not to mention it to anyone else yet. They’ll be in town to do the filming during your next visit, so the timing is perfect.” His eyes sparkled at the prospect of shooting the music video together.
“We’ll just have to show him our chemistry.” I winked and chewed on my bottom lip.
He growled in response. “Exactly. When he sees the two of us together, he’ll fight to use you for the video.”
His computer and mine both chimed at the same time. “You’ve been searching your name again?” I teased.
“Yeah. Must be a new article about me. Probably about tonight’s show.” His mouth said the words, but his face said something different. He didn’t think the article was about his upcoming show any more than I did.
I clicked the notification. A small window opened revealing two new stories. One was about how the rain hadn’t dampened their performance last night. The other was about us. The photo was of the two of us strolling through the hotel lobby in Amsterdam. The writer speculated that I was an artist because the corner of a sketch peeked out from the top of my bag.
“Day-uuum, you look smoking playing in the rain,” I cooed, trying to take both our minds off the latest tale about us.
“I hear the worry in your voice. It’s OK. There are thousands of artists in the world. That one little nugget of truth isn’t going to lead the paps to you.”
He knew me so well. “You’re right. I just don’t want to be ambushed. It’s one thing to give information. It’s another to have it stolen. And the press is filled with thieves—stealing details, pilfering moments and looting lives. I don’t want me or us to be a casualty in their battle for dirt.”
“Me either. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ll protect you and us,” he vowed vehemently.
I had every confidence that if it was something that he could control, it would be handled. I just wasn’t sure that safeguarding us from the paparazzi was within the realm of his command.
We needed a distraction. “How about we read some together now?” I asked, needing the connection to him that came through putting our heads and hearts into the same work of fiction.
“That sounds perfect. Get ready for bed, while I look at the blurbs, so we can pick.” His kindle was already in his hands as he leaned back against his pillows.
I slid off the barstool and carried the laptop with me to my room. “Give me just a minute,” I told him as I set the computer on my bed in his spot. I moved around the room—plugging up my laptop so the battery wouldn’t die, stripping out of my clothes and putting on a short night gown, powering on my kindle. When everything was ready, I slipped beneath the covers and turned to Dawson.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked.
“I vote for Filthy Beautiful Lies. I’d love to read the one about the rocker, but I need a break from my own reality right now. That OK with you?”
“Absolutely. I picked the book after all.”
Once we loaded the books to our screens, I asked, “Take turns?”
“Always.”
And we took turns reading about Sophie and Colton until we were too tired to stay awake anymore.
Chapter 10
Dawson
Love in an Elevator for LO’s frontman, Dawson Anderson was the headline that greeted me when I woke the next afternoon. Staring back from the screen was a photo apparently lifted from the hotel’s security camera. I was practically devouring Izzy in the elevator. My hand was gripping her thigh, propping it on my hip, pushing the hem of her dress up. Before I could actually read the information below the steamy image, an alert sounded on my phone.
One word: Dawson.
From
Lila.
Tone was impossible to decipher in the written word. But Lila’s texts defied that reality. I heard the whining and the scolding in the way she said my name when she was pissed and losing her patience with me. Not that I gave a damn, but her patience with me ran completely out about three articles ago.
Quickly my fingers flew across the screen.
Me: Let me go public.
She didn’t even bother to answer. Soon, she’d have no choice. If the trend continued, there would soon be a dozen photos of me and Izzy circulating. Lila and the label could screw themselves.
I shot off a quick text to Izzy, hoping she was still sleeping. She really needed the rest. Between the jet lag and trying to stay on my schedule so we could spend more virtual time together, she was wiped.
Me: We made the news again. We look good. Off to an interview. I love you.
* * *
Hours later, I was finally done with the interviews and appearances and sound check. I was exhausted, but I had to perform in a couple of hours. I hadn’t been able to talk to Izzy all day. It was making me grouchy. Without speaking to the guys, I dashed up to my room. My phone was laying on my bed where I left it. The light was blinking. With a quick swipe, I unlocked the screen.
Izzy: We do look good. Have a great day. I love you.
Later on, was another message.
Izzy: I’m going to bed. I’m so tired. Hope you have a great show. I love you so much.
My heart sank. I hated that I wasn’t going to get to hear her voice today. It wouldn’t be the first time that we’d had to go twenty-four hours without talking to each other. Hell, we’d even been days a few times. They sucked. But we endured. We made it work. And we’d keep making it work. There was nothing in my life I believed in more than Izzy and me. As long as we had each other, we would conquer everything life threw at us.
Two hours later, I waited by the edge of the stage for the lights to dim. My phone vibrated in my back pocket. I knew I shouldn’t look at it. There wasn’t time. Our cue should come in thirty seconds. But I couldn’t help myself.
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