29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Stage Is Mine
Simone
I turn twenty-four today.
There has never been a time in my life when I’ve been happier.
Not that happiness has transformed me into a calm, reasonable person.
I remain dramatic.
Expensive.
Occasionally impossible.
But I wake most mornings feeling like sunlight lives beneath my skin.
Four months have passed since Dad announced my engagement to a man who had no interest in marrying me.
Four months since Luca and I walked downstairs holding hands and stopped pretending our relationship belonged only to us.
My life has been busy ever since.
I’ve spent long nights in the studio working on a new album. Half the songs are about Luca, though I maintain that several are merely inspired by a broad collection of fictional brooding men with green eyes, tattooed arms, and emotional repression.
No one believes me.
Especially Luca.
When I’m not recording, I’m usually at his apartment.
Sometimes we cook while he teaches me French and attempts to stop me from adding ingredients that don’t belong in the recipe.
Sometimes we don’t make it through dinner.
Other days, I attend Marley and Josh’s soccer games with his mother and scream from the sidelines like an aggressively invested parent.
Luca has asked me to stop distributing cash to children who score goals.
I explained that excellence deserves recognition.
He explained that I was attempting to bribe an entire youth league.
We agreed to disagree.
Adrien comes with me on random excursions whenever his schedule allows.
His parents didn’t take his decision to live openly well.
They never used the word disowned.
They simply froze several accounts, removed him from two family boards, and stopped inviting him to events where his presence might require honest explanations.
Adrien pretends it doesn’t hurt.
I pretend to believe him.
But he is building something new.
A life that belongs to him.
He has his own apartment, his own money, and an alarming number of men sending him photographs that should never be opened in public.
He says he has never felt more terrified.
Or more free.
Luca and I have gone on several double dates with Bran and Cassie.
The first was unbearable.
Bran watched every time Luca touched me as though he was gathering evidence for a criminal trial.
The second improved after Cassie threatened to leave him at the restaurant.
By the fourth, Bran only complained when Luca kissed me within five feet of his food.
Progress.
The media has no idea what to do with us.
Some outlets insist Adrien and I ended our engagement because of his betrayal.
Others point out that he and I continue appearing together in public and claim the breakup was manufactured.
Several photographers have captured Luca and me in positions that are difficult to describe as platonic.
The current favorite shows him pressing me against the side of his car with his hand beneath my coat.
That particular photograph has been enlarged and framed in Adrien’s apartment.
I’ve refused every request for comment.
Let the tabloids build whatever story they want.
For the first time, I know the truth of my own life.
Dad is still Dad.
We speak more often now, though rebuilding trust has been slow.
He asks before arranging things involving my career.
Usually.
When he forgets, I remind him with language that makes his assistants uncomfortable.
He and Luca have reached a careful truce.
Dad hasn’t apologized for everything, but he told Luca that his father had been a friend rather than a debt.
Luca told him friendship and employment could be true at the same time.
They didn’t hug.
That would have been alarming.
The most important change is that Luca no longer works for him.
His independent protection and threat-assessment firm is nearly ready to open. Licenses, insurance, contracts, and the other boring things required to build a legitimate company have consumed him for months.
Bran has helped.
So has Dad, though Luca refuses to accept money from him.
He did accept several introductions after Dad admitted that an introduction isn’t ownership.
Luca still attends my rehearsals and accompanies me in public.
Not because he’s assigned to me.
Because he wants to.
Sometimes he positions himself between me and the cameras automatically.
Sometimes I catch him assessing exits in restaurants or studying unfamiliar faces in a crowd.
That part of him will never disappear.
I don’t want it to.
But now, when he reaches for me, it isn’t because a contract tells him to keep me close.
It’s because I’m his.
And he’s mine.
Everything is almost perfect.
Almost.
The pilot has never been found.
Investigators traced the offshore accounts to a network connected to a radical political faction and several organizations that opposed Dad’s campaign.
People were arrested.
Money was seized.
The attack at my concert, the shooting at Dad’s gala, and the sabotage of the plane were officially connected.
But the man who flew us toward our deaths disappeared from the island before the rescue team arrived.
No body.
No verified sighting.
No certainty that he left the country.
Dad’s investigators believe he fled.
Luca believes uncertainty is another word for unfinished.
He never says it when we’re in bed.
He doesn’t have to.
Sometimes I wake and find him watching the dark windows.
Waiting for danger to remember where we are.
Today, I refuse to let fear own the celebration.
It’s my birthday.
I’m performing in a sold-out arena.
And afterward, Luca promised to give me my present in private.
I have several theories about what that might mean.
Most of them require removing his clothes.
“Performing on your birthday.”
Adrien lounges on a chair in my green room while one of my stylists adjusts the crystals along the hip of my stage costume.
He wears a white shirt that reads I LOVE SIM! in gold letters.
“Iconic.”
“I know.”
I toss my hair over one shoulder.
“I’m the queen of icons.”
“Damn right.”
He holds up a cupcake covered in pink, white, and gold icing.
One candle burns in the center.
“Make a wish.”
I lean toward it.
Then stop.
“What?”
Adrien frowns.
“You have to close your eyes.”
“I don’t need to.”
“That’s arrogant even for you.”
“I already have everything I want.”
His teasing expression softens.
“That was almost sweet.”
“Don’t spread it around.”
I blow out the candle.
Adrien breaks the cupcake in half and hands one piece to me.
Eating after my makeup is finished violates at least three people’s rules, but I’m not refusing birthday cake.
“Did you wish for a handsome new boyfriend?” I ask.
“I’m taking a break from men.”
“You’ve been out for four months.”
“Exactly. I’m exhausted.”
I take a careful bite.
“You’re young, rich, and offensively attractive. Find someone equally hot and make terrible decisions.”
“Men are disappointing.”
“So are women.”
“Yes, but I have less personal evidence.”
I laugh.
“Where’s Luca?”
“With Josh and Marley near the front of the stage.”
Adrien licks icing from his thumb.
“He told me to tell you.”
“And you forgot.”
“I remembered eventually.”
The green room door opens.
Bran steps inside.
One look at his face erases my smile.
He isn’t wearing his usual annoyed-brother expression.
This is different.
Focused.
Controlled.
The expression he wears when something is wrong and he doesn’t want anyone else to know yet.
“Everyone out,” he says.
My stylist pauses.
“Now.”
The room clears quickly.
Adrien sets down the remains of the cupcake.
“What happened?”
Bran closes the door behind the last assistant.
“Security flagged a forged credential.”
My stomach tightens.
“What kind?”
“Stage crew.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
He moves toward me.
“Luca noticed one of the lighting technicians entered through the west loading dock but never reported to his assigned station.”
“Where is Luca?”
“Checking the service corridor.”
“No.”
I start toward the door.
Bran blocks me.
“You stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Simone.”
“Luca is searching for an unidentified man inside an arena after someone spent months trying to kill us.”
“Yes. Which is why you remain in a locked room with me.”
Adrien stands.
“I’ll stay with her.”
Bran looks at him.
“You’re leaving through the secure exit.”
“I’m not leaving her.”
“Neither am I.”
I reach for my phone.
The screen shows no signal.
“That’s strange.”
Bran checks his.
His expression hardens.
The lights flicker.
Then the room goes dark.
Emergency lighting ignites along the floor.
A scream sounds somewhere in the hallway.
Bran draws his weapon.
“Behind me.”
The command is meant for both of us.
The handle turns.
Bran aims at the door.
“Identify yourself.”
No response.
The handle stops moving.
For one breath, everything is silent.
Then the fire alarm erupts.
A piercing siren fills the room.
Red lights flash above us.
The lock disengages automatically.
The door swings inward.
A man in black stage clothing stands outside.
A cap shadows his face.
A laminated credential hangs from his neck.
For half a second, I don’t recognize him.
Then he lifts his head.
The pilot.
The man who looked calm while flying us toward an island where he expected us to die.
His face is thinner.
A scar cuts along one cheek.
His right hand holds a gun.
Bran fires first.
The pilot jerks behind the doorframe.
The shot strikes the wall.
Adrien pulls me toward the far side of the room.
“Down.”
We hit the floor behind the couch.
Another gunshot explodes.
Glass shatters.
Bran moves behind the makeup station and fires toward the doorway.
The pilot disappears.
“Stay here,” Bran orders.
He advances into the hall.
I grab his jacket.
“No.”
“Simone.”
“He wants me.”
“That’s why you stay hidden.”
Bran pulls free and moves through the doorway.
The alarm continues screaming.
Adrien’s face has gone pale.
I reach for the metal stand supporting one of the unused microphones.
“What are you doing?”
“Improvising.”
“You are not confronting an armed assassin with stage equipment.”
“I wasn’t planning to sing at him.”
A crash comes from the corridor.
Then a grunt.
I move before Adrien can stop me.
“Simone!”
The hallway flashes red beneath the emergency lights.