by Quinn, Cari
She stared at her ballerina flats. “I wasn’t expecting to be included in the special.”
He climbed the hill again until they were face-to-face. “Is that a problem?”
She shrugged. “Not exactly.” She blew out a shaky breath. “My parents aren’t exactly welcoming of anything that isn’t under their purview of acceptable projects.”
“And their baby girl working for a rock band is probably not under that purview.”
“No.”
“And you care about what they think that much?”
Did she? Or was it just easier to fall in line? The idea of examining that dynamic right now was too daunting.
He rubbed her arms then cupped her jaw to bring her eyes to his. “I don’t get the parent thing. I wish I did, but I don’t. My old man didn’t care. Unless I didn’t bring beer home to him at night. Then it was usually a belt to the ribs.”
Horrified, she unlocked her arms and laid a hand on his chest.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. It is what it is. He didn’t want to have anything to do with me so I got out. Music saved me, Margo.”
She pressed her cheek into his hand. It had saved her, too. Once upon a time, it had been Vivaldi and Beethoven to keep her happy and whole. But everything was changing now.
Collaborating with Deacon and Gray, and even Nick to a certain extent, had made music exciting again. The fact that she had a say in arrangements and changes to a song was heady.
She’d never allowed herself to think about composing, but now her head was full of it at all times.
“And if I’m reading that beautiful face correctly, this is what’s making you happy. We can’t live for our parents. Then everyone’s doomed to disappointment.”
“You’re pretty intuitive for a—”
His eyebrow winged up. “A…”
“Man.”
“Uh-huh.”
And because it felt right, she stepped into his arms and laid her cheek against his chest. He froze, then his arms came up around her shoulders until she was completely surrounded.
She waited for the claustrophobic sensations she usually had when anyone hugged her, but they never came. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. Her heartbeat synced to his, birds chirped around them, and the breeze ruffled her hair.
When her phone buzzed for the third time, she finally had to break their hold. She sighed and checked the readout. “It’s my sister.”
“You have a sister?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“Lesser of the two evils?”
She huffed out a laugh. “You could say that.”
He traced the back of his knuckles down the center of her neck. “I’ll find you later.”
She nodded and fought back a shiver. She tapped call back on the missed call, waiting for her sister to pick up as she watched Simon lope down the hill to Deacon and Nick at the top of the pavilion.
“Did you know that was going to be on television, Margo Elizabeth?”
She winced. “Honestly, Jules.” When her sister didn’t reply, she looked at her phone to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. “Juliet?”
Her sister cleared her throat. “I…you just haven’t called me that in a really long time, Go-Go.”
Margo teared up a little before blinking them away. She and her sister had been so close before she’d joined the Boston Philharmonic. Then it had been nothing but practice and the merry-go-round of auditions for studio work.
“Has Mother said anything?”
“She’s currently in her room with the door bolted.”
“Really?”
“There may be Xanax involved.”
“Great.” Margo pinched the bridge of her nose. She had tried to call during the middle of the show, but Margo had ignored the call. And the subsequent two since it ended.
For someone that was as proper as a nun, her mother’s dramatics were legendary. She did not miss them in the least.
“Then she should really love the next bit of news. I’m playing with them for the summer leg of the Rise tour.”
“You’re what?”
Margo pulled the phone away from her ear so she didn’t hear the rest of the tirade. “Are you done?”
“You can’t. I’m sorry, Go-Go, you are not cool enough to tour with a rock band. It…there—just no.”
“You should see the purple and green electric cello I got for the tour.”
“You what?”
“Is there a parrot in Boston?”
Juliet huffed out an exasperated breath. “How?”
“The money’s really good. It’s triple what I would make on the studio work I usually get offered.”
“And that’s all? I’ve seen you on stage. You love it.”
She did. Saying it out loud to Simon had been scary enough. There was no way she could give that kind of information to her sister.
She just couldn’t.
As much as she loved Juliet, her sister was not above a little emotional blackmail. Especially since she had so many issues with their mother. Juliet had been in just as many gifted programs as Margo, except her sister got bored and burned bridges in the process.
And not just a little fire that her parents had to put out, more like a nuclear power plant meltdown.
Margo had been the one to follow the right path in her mother’s mind. And that was one of the reasons she and Juliet had so many issues.
Her mother’s favorite way to start a conversation was, ‘Why can’t you be more like Margo.’
“It’s some of the most interesting work I’ve done since I was in the Philharmonic.”
“Understatement.”
“It’s a job, Jules.”
“You are delusional. You’re on stage with all those delicious men, especially Simon Kagan, and you’re calling it a job? You’re a damn liar.”
If only her sister knew just how in deep she was with Simon. Juliet would have a conniption and then hold it over her head for…oh, ever.
“It’s exciting. And will bump up my resume for studio work now that I’m not in the BPO.”
“You still haven’t told Mom about that.”
“No. And I won’t be. I’ll be going on auditions by the end of this tour.”
“And being dismissed by Renard isn’t going to hurt you there?”
“Has that gotten out yet?” Margo dropped her chin to her chest. Her sister’s on-again, off-again boyfriend hated her and had gleefully taken her chair. “Tomas needs to keep his damn mouth closed.”
“You know how he is. Vindictive to the end.”
“Again, why did you ever date him?”
“His asshole gene came with a certain perk, but even a big dick and twice blessed hips to go with it only goes so far.”
“Nice.”
“Oh, it is—well, was. I kinda crashed his Ducati into the fountain at the Piazza Navona. Not sure he’s going to forgive me for that one. Me and his truly amazing cock may have parted ways for good this time.” She paused. “Hmm, I wonder if that’s why he ignored Renard’s directive.”
“You think?”
“Right.” Juliet sighed. “Sorry about that.”
Margo rolled her eyes heavenward. She didn’t sound sorry in the least. And now she’d have to dodge her parents’ calls for the foreseeable future. Wonderful.
“Oh, c’mon, Go-Go, you understand, right? Tomas just gets under my skin. I didn’t mean to smash his ride but it was so fast and then the wrong side of the road thing. I panicked.”
“Juliet, you could have been killed.”
“Nah. I was in full gear. I do miss the sex, though. That was legit.”
The fact that Margo could legitimately understand the draw of sex for the first time in her twenty-five years was the only thing that kept her from screaming into the phone.
“Was there a purpose in your call or…”
“Wow. A little more chill in that tone and you could sound just like Mother.”
“You take th
at back.”
“No. It was the truth.”
Horrified, Margo dropped onto the bench near her on the path.
“Dammit. I’m sorry.” Juliet rushed on before Margo could answer her. “I didn’t mean it. You just make me nutso sometimes. I wanted to know how you wanted to play it. I can run interference.”
“And why would you do that?”
“I’m hurt that you would ask that.”
Yeah. Sure she was. “What do you want, Jules?”
Her sister huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “I might have mouthed off on my Periscope account that I could get an interview with Simon Kagan.”
“Oh, Jules.”
“You guys are tight, right? You could get him to do that when you guys are at The Greek.”
“And why would you be at that show?”
“I might be staying with my friend Steph for the summer.”
“Explain to me how you’d be helping me out with Mother if you’re in California?”
“Well, I would be the one answering the phone, of course. And explain that you can’t. You know, for work.”
Margo groaned. “That’s weak.”
“And what would your plan be? Just never answering?”
“Yes.”
“Lame.” Juliet huffed out an exaggerated breath. “At least when I do it I can come up with a decent story. You suck at lying.”
“Normally, this isn’t a problem.”
“No, but under these circumstances, you need me. My version of spin is exceptional and you know it.”
“Mother doesn’t believe a word out of your lips.”
“Yes, but she never calls me on it.”
“Your argument is invalid, Jules. And more than lame,” she said, throwing her sister’s words back at her.
“C’mon, Go-Go! This is a defining moment in our sisterhood here.”
Her idea of a defining moment and her sister’s were about as far apart as California and New York.
“Does Mom know about the Philharmonic?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect.” Margo leaned back on the bench.
“I’ll let her know about the cattiness in Boston and that you’re looking to aim higher.”
Except she wasn’t. At least not from her mother’s point of view. She liked what she was doing—loved it, actually.
“Okay, do that, please. I have to go. Band meeting.”
“You’re in those?” Jules asked.
“Yes. We’re finishing up rehearsals.”
“I don’t think I can convey just how jealous I am.”
“Goodbye, Juliet.”
“You suck.” And her sister hung up.
Margo pressed her fingers against her throbbing eye. She was officially going to go mad.
Fifteen
Simon choked down the steeped ginger water with a healthy squeeze of honey in it. It definitely helped. He’d hit all the high notes for the night.
The fan club filled the middle of the arena and Donovan had even arranged to have one-hundred fans from California flown out. The fans paid a pretty penny for the adventure, which Simon still couldn’t believe.
He loved music. But these people ponied up over four-hundred dollars for front row seats at the fan club show. Not even a regular show.
They were pretty much playing their playlist for the following night—a practice run of sorts. And honestly, only two songs of the fourteen needed to be rethought. “Torn to Pieces” was a ballad that had Margo in the spotlight, but they’d slowed it down too much. Added too much “Careless Whisper” flavor to it. Awesome for George Michael, but a little too smooth for him.
In fact…
“Hey, Nicky.”
“Yeah?” Nick swiped at his sweat-soaked hair with a towel.
“What do you think about doing ‘Careless Whisper’ before ‘The Becoming’?”
Nick tipped his head back and laughed. “So, what, you’re George Michael now?”
Simon finished the mug of his heated miracle drug. “No. But come on, that’s some sexy shit. We can do it like Seether did. All rocked out. We’ve done it a million times when we’re fucking around with guitars.”
“Gray,” Nick shouted.
Gray shook off a cup of ice water that he’d poured around his neck and jogged over. “Whew. It is fucking hot.”
“Yeah. Goddamn New York,” Simon said and lifted his cup. “The grass is going to end me.”
“You’re killing it, though. So whatever Harper put in there, you need to mainline that shit.”
Simon shook his head at the drug reference. Gray made them all the damn time and there was always a little sparkle in his eye about it. Fucker. “No shit, man.”
Nick nodded to him. “This guy wants to do ‘Careless Whisper’ before ‘The Becoming’.”
Gray draped his wet towel over his neck. “Really?”
“The Seether version.”
“Oh.” Gray stretched his hand above his head and rolled his shoulder. “That could work.”
“I have a cello piece for that.”
Simon turned to Margo. “Yeah?”
“If I did it all classy and low and then Nick or Gray came in with the huge guitar opener—I think that would punch it up even more.”
“I like it.” Simon waved at Deacon. “Big D, Pix—c’mere.”
Jazz tucked herself under Gray’s arm and stole his towel. She had a babydoll top made from a bra and sparkly sheer material over her belly and hot pink bike shorts. How she made that work, Simon would never know, but it did. Her outfits always did. Give Pix enough time and she’d have a maternity wear clothing line made up, for fuck’s sake.
They argued over the opening and closing of the song for two minutes then they were all rushing up the stairs to do the encore.
The sun was setting along the skyline through the trees and people were screaming for them. On their feet and losing their minds as they all got to their places.
The stage went dark and Margo stood in the diffused light, drawing her bow over her cello in an eerie rendition of the sax parts from the iconic Wham song. Their spot guy, Randy—Harper’s brother—was the most intuitive guy he’d ever seen.
The moody blue lights softened to white at the end before he blinked over to Simon. He kept the opening verse of the song soft and smooth like the original and then Nick and Gray both came up and powerhoused the guitars, Jazz joining in on the drums until the entire arena was screaming.
Simon followed Deacon as he always did. He turned his voice into a growl and forced himself not to tense. The ginger had done its job and relaxed the tickle in his throat.
He stalked across the stage and dropped to his knees in front of the first row as the song ended and they did a medley into “The Becoming”.
By the time they’d finished that song and ended on “The Boys are Back in Town”, the pavilion was completely off their feet and every bit of rehearsal had been worth it.
“Fuck, yeah!” Simon yelled and they all came forward for the bows.
That was the way to do it. They all waved and scattered for backstage. Part of the fan package was a meet and greet afterward. There was a pile of records waiting for everyone that had come.
All three hundred of them would get a signed copy and picture with the band.
Simon ran for the showers and steamed up the whole house. His skin was still slick from sweat and he didn’t want to think about how much bug juice was on him from all the fuckers he’d swatted at.
But he needed it.
And as his vocal chords opened, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was getting the hang of this professional singer shit.
Maybe, just maybe he’d have it all figured out.
He met everyone back at the room they’d corded off to control the crowd. Six huge boxes were lined up behind them. A flag version of his jungle gym archway was tacked up on a huge accordion-style divider.
Lila, being Lila, had a professional photographer there with equipment. And another
videographer was following around Jazz.
She’d upgraded from an iPhone to a little handheld camera that indie directors used, for God’s sake. It was unreal how different it was to go from opening act to headliner.
Margo was off to the side, her huge dark eyes taking in everything. So much a part of them and still so separate. At first, he’d pushed to include her, but she seemed to like to be on the fringes.
She wore a sheer long skirted dress that reminded him of a ballerina with tight leggings under it. And over it was a scarlet bit of nothing that matched her fuckable mouth.
Christ.
He forced his eyes away from her.
She was already so different from the woman he’d met in the studio that long ago summer. She smiled more, her shoulders didn’t look so tense, and goddamn if she wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
Lila clapped. “All right, guys. You ready for the first wave?”
“Are we allowed to say no?” Nick asked.
“Um…no.”
Nick gave a gusty sigh. “Then let the games begin.”
The first group of twenty poured in, definitely averaging high on vaginas, but he was glad to see some dudes.
They wrote their songs to cover both sexes, but women were the ones that usually wanted the backstage packages.
He shook out his bracelets and rolled his shoulders as a pair of Barbie dolls headed his way. Ready for vapid squeeing, he was surprised to get a natural smile from the unbelievably pretty sisters.
Maybe it wasn’t going to be such a long night, after all.
“Hi, ladies.”
“That show was so amazing. I can’t believe you guys did that for the fan club. We’re so freaking excited.”
“Well, get in here and get that excitement all over me,” he said with a waggle of eyebrows.
By the time he’d smiled and hugged his last set of fans, he was ready for another shower, and his head was pounding from the mix of perfumes and colognes.
Simon fell into the leather couch they’d stashed against the wall. “Jesus fuck, how many people was that?”
“Three-hundred-and-eight,” Gray answered from across the room.
“How do you do that?”
