by Price, Sarah
“You performed in South America,” Marilyn said, changing the subject as she referenced her notepad once again. “Why not on this tour?”
Amanda glanced at Alejandro. She didn’t have an answer for this one.
“I’m sure we’ll get Amanda onstage a few times,” he responded with a sly wink in her direction. “In fact, we have quite a few surprises along the way during this tour.”
That was news to Amanda.
“You come from very different backgrounds,” Marilyn said. “I think it’s clear that people are fascinated by the very obvious passion you share for each other. Where does that come from?”
Amanda waited for Alejandro to respond. When he didn’t, she looked at him. He lifted one eyebrow. “Sí, Amanda, where does that come from?” he asked, teasing her with a half smile playing on his lips.
“I . . .” She stumbled over her words, searching for the right response.
No one had ever asked her this question, and she wasn’t certain what to say. How could she explain the way they had met and how he made her feel? How could she possibly share the way her body felt on fire the day that he had danced with her in the grossdaadihaus? Or how her heart raced faster than ever before when he returned to Lititz to retrieve her when the paparazzi refused to leave her parents’ farm? Or the night he proposed to her on board his yacht? Or the way he had so tenderly made love to her on their wedding night, making her his true wife in the eyes of the Lord?
“I would never question God’s plans,” she said at last. “This is what he wants, for sure and certain. He led us to each other, literally putting me in the path of Alejandro’s car. Why, just a minute earlier or later, we never would have met!” She glanced at Alejandro, her eyes searching his. “How fortunate for us that the accident happened. Before we met, we were lost apart, but now that we are together, we are found.” She paused, still looking at Alejandro. She felt a wave of electricity through her body, knowing she spoke the truth. “The passion? It is God given, and no one has the right to take it from us.”
He leaned over and slowly gave her a tender kiss on her cheek. “Mmm . . . I’ll second that,” he murmured. “Qué deliciosa response, Princesa.”
Marilyn smiled, watching the two of them as they shared a moment. The photographer continued taking photos.
Reluctantly, Alejandro tore his eyes away from hers first. “I suppose you should like some other photos and to speak with some of the stage crew, sí? Amanda and I must get ready,” he said. He stood up, reaching for Amanda’s hand and ignoring Charlotte’s eyes, which bulged as she struggled to maintain her composure. Clearly, this abrupt departure was not a planned part of the interview. Alejandro tried to hide his smile as he leaned over to her and whispered, “Take them to see Geoffrey and Eddie, Charlotte.”
He led Amanda out of the room and down the corridor to his dressing room.
“We still have another hour or so, Alejandro,” she said, trying to keep up with his long strides. “I think she had some more questions for us.”
At the door, he turned to her, using his free hand to push it open. “Enough questions,” he said, that oh-so-familiar look in his eyes.
“What are you doing . . . ?”
When he reached out for her arm, she felt warmth course through her veins. Just his touch was enough to cause her heart to race. Being near him when he looked at her that way, his expression full of longing and passion, made her realize how much control he had over her. It was a feeling she did not resent.
Gently, he pulled her inside the room and shut the door behind her, making certain to lock it. For a moment, he leaned against the door, his head bent forward so that she could barely see his eyes taking her in. He reached up and undid his tie. “Amanda,” he said, his voice heavy with desire. “You cannot talk about passion, Princesa, and not expect me to react.”
She blushed and backed away from him. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“And that makes it even more powerful,” he murmured. “Your intentions are always so honest, so pure.” He pulled her toward him, his one hand holding her close while the other hand worked expertly at the zipper to her dress. The soft noise of it sliding open gave her goose bumps.
As her dress slid from her shoulders, with Alejandro’s gentle help, she shut her eyes and felt the air caress her bare skin. She knew that her cheeks flushed, anticipating his touch and waiting for him to pull her into his arms.
“You were talking with Enrique earlier,” he whispered. “I saw him touch you.”
Amanda froze.
“I told him to never do that again.” He lowered his lips to her bare shoulder. “No one touches you but me, Princesa. You. Are. Mine.” He raised his lips to hers, crushing her against him as he kissed her mouth, her body pressed against his. When he lifted his lips, he whispered one word as he lowered her onto the sofa, cradling her in his arms. “Mine.”
Chapter Ten
“You’re the royalty of rap!”
Amanda watched the television screen with her eyes focused on one image: herself. In the video, she was seated in a chair, being interviewed by a reporter. It had been taped earlier that morning and then played during the morning news program. The interviewer, a young man with blond hair and a big smile, had come up with the nomenclature, and social media had been buzzing with it all day. The video segment had gone viral within hours.
Charlotte paused the video, giving Amanda a minute to study the screen. “Your reaction, Amanda,” Charlotte said. “Spot-on!”
The interview had taken place the previous week in London, and Charlotte had recorded it so that they could watch it later at the arena in Manchester. Now, in the privacy of her own dressing room, Amanda stood in a white silk bathrobe, her makeup and hair finished, and watched the recording.
“Is that something they are actually calling us?” Amanda asked, her large doe-like eyes not leaving the monitor. “The royalty of rap?”
Charlotte coughed into her hand in an overly dramatic way. “In the UK, royalty is as good as it gets these days. They used to be inaccessible, these royals of ours. But that changed in the eighties with Princess Diana and continues today with her son’s marriage to a commoner. Accessibility, Amanda. That’s what it’s about!”
Amanda couldn’t help frowning a little as she fought the urge to remind Charlotte that the concept of accessibility had been her own. It was a demand she’d made when Charlotte insisted that she not waste time taking photos with fans. After much arguing on the part of Charlotte, and much ignoring on the part of Amanda, they’d finally come to an impasse. As Amanda was rapidly learning, there was powerful truth to her mother’s adage about a wise man silencing his tongue while a fool’s tongue ran wild.
“Now look at your reaction here,” Charlotte said as she pointed to the screen. “When the reporter said that to you, you maintained your composure, that regal presence, not even batting an eye.” Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at Amanda and smiled. “You’re becoming a master of hiding your emotions on-screen.”
Amanda did not look away from the television screen. “Not hiding,” she said in a neutral tone. “Handling.”
Charlotte grinned at Amanda’s correction. “Smashing! I like that!”
Earlier that week, Alejandro had performed in Cardiff before traveling to Manchester for the Thursday and Friday night concerts. After the concert that evening, the crew would tear down the set and move it to the next location: Birmingham. Alejandro and Amanda had little time for themselves, especially with Alejandro working on a new album during the day. With a four-day break between Birmingham and Paris, Alejandro had arranged for them to fly to Los Angeles. Geoffrey had scheduled a meeting with the people at the recording label as well as time at the studio to discuss his next music video.
In the meantime, Charlotte continued to keep Amanda busy, meeting with her daily to discuss possible endorsement opportunities as well as scheduling meetings with very important “posh” people. Amanda had begun to dread the me
etings, knowing that happy-go-lucky Charlotte often turned into an angry, irritated, and complaining Charlotte when things did not go her way. Somewhere between the two polar extremes of her personality was a brilliant woman who knew her line of business better than anyone else Amanda had met.
“Why did they start calling us that?” Amanda asked.
When Charlotte pressed her lips together, Amanda feared an outburst. To her surprise, Charlotte remained calm. “You remember at Warwick Castle? A photo of the two of you went viral. You saw it: the one of you admiring the portraits of Henry the Eighth, Anne Boleyn, and their daughter Elizabeth. Someone commented that you two were the royalty of rap and the phrase went viral. You Americans might have everything, but you don’t have a royal family.”
To Amanda, none of this made sense. Why a photo of her and Alejandro looking at portraits would be of any interest to anyone was beyond her. “What’s so great about a royal family?”
“History, my dear. History.”
“Well, I reckon I just don’t understand that.”
Charlotte set down the remote control and started going through her files. “It’s quite simple. Many wars have been fought by people wanting to be the king or even queen of England, Amanda. It’s really no different from the music industry. People are willing to do just about anything to be on top of the charts and in demand by the fans. All of that leads to where you are today, sitting here with a list of companies that want to pay you to endorse their companies or products. The money isn’t necessarily in the music, my dear. It’s in the professional connections made by the music.”
Amanda scratched the back of her neck and leaned into the sofa cushion. “That’s all too complicated for me, Charlotte.”
For a moment, Charlotte stopped fussing with her papers and looked at Amanda. “Yes, I imagine it is,” she said in a kind voice. “All of these people are fighting to be where you are: in the spotlight. Yet all you care about is Alejandro.” She seemed to think for a moment. “Perhaps that’s one of the reasons so many people adore you.”
“I care about more than Alejandro,” Amanda interjected. She didn’t want to point out that she’d taken Isadora away from Alejandro and brought her first to Miami and then to Lancaster. “God, Isadora, my family, my friends . . .”
Charlotte returned her attention to the papers in her hand. “In this business, there are no such things as friends.”
“That’s not true!” Amanda could tell Charlotte’s mood was beginning to sour, but she continued anyway, hoping to snap Charlotte out of it. “Why, I consider Celinda a friend and she’s a successful singer, ja? And as much as I’m not particularly fond of him, Enrique is Alejandro’s friend.”
Charlotte scoffed. “I take back my comment that people adore you because you seem to only care about Alejandro.” She gathered her things and stood up. “I see now it’s your innocence that they adore. Blind innocence.”
Rolling her eyes as Charlotte left the dressing room, Amanda glanced at the television screen and thought back to that interview. Royalty was not how she wanted to be referenced by the public or the media. God did not want people to be superior to others in any regard. As for the royal families that felt they were born superior, just because of their bloodline, it sounded far too much like vanity—and therefore a sin—for Amanda’s comfort.
Yet she couldn’t help but think back to the day that Alejandro took her to Warwick Castle. Such opulence and finery was clearly for someone who gave little thought to others. She wondered how many poor people could have benefited from the money that had been invested in building and decorating such a castle. Even today, millions of dollars went into maintaining that castle for the public to visit.
Not even ten minutes had passed when she heard a familiar rap at her door: Alejandro. He always knocked in the same way, with three sharp taps. Smiling, she hurried across the room to open the door.
“Princesa!” He leaned over and kissed her right cheek. She glanced over his shoulder and saw three young men standing behind him. “I want you to meet some friends of mine.”
With Charlotte’s words about there being no friends in the music industry still lingering in the air, Amanda smiled cautiously and stood a step behind Alejandro. He introduced each of them, but she had never heard any of their names before. Two of the men were English, and one was Irish. They played in an all-male band that was breaking international records for hits and popularity.
The three stood just inside the doorway. The shortest one, blond with a crooked smile, stepped forward to shake her hand. His accent was so strange she suspected he was the one from Ireland. The other two men were taller, one a bit willowy with large green eyes and a thick shock of wavy black hair. When he smiled, he looked like a mischievous little boy. The third man had a short-cropped haircut and dark-brown eyes. His baby face made Amanda think of her late brother, Aaron.
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” the one with striking green eyes said as he reached forward to shake her hand.
She liked his accent, so different from Charlotte’s. It sounded more country and less polished. Amanda took his hand and shook it, but said nothing.
“Princesa, we’re talking about some collaboration,” Alejandro said, wrapping his arm around her in a loving embrace. “A song and music video.”
“Oh?” She tried to sound interested but failed to understand why Alejandro had brought them to meet her.
“With you in it, too.”
“Me?” She practically squeaked out the word. “Oh, I can’t sing!”
All four men laughed, and Alejandro pulled her closer to his side to kiss the top of her head. The way his eyes sparkled made her flush. “Just the video, mi amor. You can do that, sí?”
“You mean like acting? Like the video you shot in Los Angeles last autumn?”
The memory of the video shoot still haunted her whenever she thought about it. Seeing Alejandro nuzzling the neck of another woman, his hands on her body while he looked at her with such longing, had pained Amanda. Later, he had explained it was just acting. While she thought that sounded like a lie, he had convinced her it wasn’t. And when she finally had viewed the finished video, Amanda found that the producer had included a clip of her with a tear rolling down her face while watching that scene being taped. She hadn’t been happy about that.
“Sí, sí, like that.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Only it will be you in my arms, Princesa, and when I hold you and touch you, I will not be acting.”
From the snicker on the face of the green-eyed man, Amanda knew he’d overheard Alejandro. She suspected that was what Alejandro wanted. Accordingly, she smiled and glanced away demurely, knowing that was the response he wanted from her.
After a few more minutes, Geoffrey joined them and urged Alejandro to get ready. The crew had finished the stage change between Enrique’s and Alejandro’s sets. “If you hurry,” Geoffrey said, “the show might actually start on time for once.”
After Geoffrey led the visitors away, Amanda turned to Alejandro. “Who are they?”
“Members of the most popular band in history, mi amor,” he said as he quickly changed his shirt.
“They look awfully young.”
He laughed. “Sí, Princesa, they are awfully young. Two of them are just twenty-one years old. One is nineteen. The Irish one, I think.”
“So young to be so famous, don’t you think?”
He grunted a response, which she took to be a noncommittal agreement with her statement.
“What is the song about?” she asked as she leaned against the wall, watching him as he looked through the rack of clothes.
“Love,” he responded as he pushed aside a few hangers of clothing. “Is there anything else worth singing about?”
She thought about that for a minute. At church, they sang about God and Jesus. They sang about pain and suffering. Many of their hymns were written by Anabaptists, who were captured, tortured, and jailed by the Catholics during the initial Lu
theran movement. For hundreds of years, the Anabaptists had been persecuted simply because they chose to question the organized Church. Yet even though many of these songs were not love songs—at least not in the way Alejandro meant—at their core was a love of God.
“I suppose you have a point,” she said, noticing how he took off his shirt.
She eyed his dark skin with the tattoos that covered parts of his well-defined chest muscles and upper arms. All of them were a dark-blue ink, each one having some special meaning to Alejandro. While she never had been partial to tattoos, thinking the Englischers rather strange to want to permanently mar their bodies, she found Alejandro’s tattoos fascinating.
But when he turned to grab something from the counter behind him, she noticed something different.
“Alejandro, is that a new tattoo?”
She pushed off from the wall and walked toward him. He glanced over his shoulder at her, pausing before he slipped on his fresh shirt. Across his shoulder blade, she saw that he had, indeed, acquired a new tattoo. Three words: Amanda “Princesa” Diaz.
She stood behind him and traced the lettering with her finger. “When did you get this?”
“You like?”
It was written in script with the word Princesa larger than the other two. Amanda was above and Diaz on the bottom. She let her finger remain on his shoulder, just barely touching his skin, and then, as if to answer him, she leaned forward and gently kissed it.
He turned around and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her toward him as he looked down into her face. “Where will you put your first tattoo?” he teased.
She tried not to smile.
“Here?” he asked, kissing her neck. “Or here?” he asked, kissing the top of her shoulder. He lifted her arm and kissed her wrist. “Or here?”
She could hide it no longer. Smiling, she pulled her hand free and placed it over her chest. “Here,” she said. “You are already tattooed, Alejandro, inside of my heart.”
