Chapter 37
“O h my gosh, do you see all that press?! I’m going to pee. I swear to Christmas, I’m going to pee.” Layla squeals from the back seat of Kaplan’s car, bouncing up and down against the restraint of her seat belt. “There are so many of them out there!”
“You better not pee. Do you have any clue what the leather you’re sitting on costs?”
“Land Rover Range Rovers are for suckers,” she replies, and I snort into my Starbucks. “But for real. I kinda need to pee and I’m excited, so bladder control issues are at hand.”
“Do the Kegels. Live the Kegels,” Stella tells her and again, I can’t fight my laughter, even with a stupid grin or a sip of the crazily caffeinated coffee Kaplan bought me.
“Do you think they’ll interview us? I hope so.”
Kaplan shakes his head. “We’re not going to see them. We’re going in through the garage for a reason. You can hold your bladder for ten more minutes.”
Thank God we won’t see them. I’ve had enough press for one week.
The video and pictures of Luca and me on the train caught like wildfire.
Somehow my face wasn’t too visible in any of them, but the press is all over Luca Fritz declaring his love and kissing a woman in public.
They’ve been stalking our building without knowing it’s me and now they’re out front of the hotel too. Obviously for different reasons.
“Ten more minutes!” Layla cries.
“Darlings, I talked your caretakers into letting you skip school for this. If urine hits my seats, I’m cutting you both out of my will.”
“I’m in your will?” Stella asks, perplexed.
“Baby girl, I got one niece and one nephew on the way. Having a will seems stupid given how much your grandparents and daddy have stashed away for you, but life sucks balls sometimes and it is what it is.”
I roll my head over my shoulder to find two beautiful faces full of bemused, blinking eyes. “You lost them.”
“I tend to lose all women once I open my mouth. That’s not what they’re interested in from me.”
I smirk at him. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be such an untouchable, gruff bastard with them.”
“If I wasn’t, all of my mystique would be gone and then women would think they had a shot with me. Could you imagine how awful that would be?” He gives an exaggerated shudder.
A thunder of amusement hits me strangely and I tilt my head, finding his profile. “One day, Kaplan—”
“Oh my Saggingballs, we’re here,” Layla hisses, cutting off my train of thought.
“Language,” Kaplan tries to admonish, but I’m no backup because this is when my nerves kick in. And hard. I’m shaking so badly, I’m about to spill my coffee all over Kaplan’s leather.
He pulls his bazillion-dollar car into a special spot underground in the hotel and then we climb out. His arm snakes around me, twisting me to face him as I grab my cello. “You’re not breathing, babe. Breathe.”
“You breathe,” I snap back.
“Okay. Feisty it is. But you still require oxygen to profuse your cells and you’re not taking any in.”
“That’s because all the oxygen around me tastes like panic and espresso.”
“Nonsense. You’re a cello prodigy. Tell me who you are.”
“It’s Britney, bitch.”
Kaplan cracks up, to the point where he nearly topples over onto the concrete floor. “You’ll be just fine,” he wheezes, holding his side like he has a stitch. “Fuck. You crazy, beautiful woman, you’ll be just fine.”
“Kaplan, I’m clearly psychotic right now. So far from fine.”
He’s trying to contain his laughter, reaching out and gripping my side.
He steadies his expression. “Only if you don’t think you are.
They called you. They want you. Not the other way around.
You’re the rock star, babe. Remember that when you walk in there and own the room.
But the truth is they’re just people. Good people at that. ”
“All I know is that I get to babysit for Baby Cora and Adalyn Diamond,” Layla squeals with an excited clap before she launches into some kind of dance, moving her arms and hips. “I don’t care if you’re Britney or Christina, just play that cello you’re holding and let’s do this.”
“What she said,” Stella agrees with a half-hearted shrug because though she’s along for the ride and the fun, music and babysitting aren’t her scene the way books and cooking are.
“You’ve got this.”
I’m not exactly given the choice as Kaplan steals my cello from my back and walks it to the elevator here in the garage.
We hit the button for some floor and then security comes to join us, checking Kaplan’s and my IDs, and then we’re flying up to the top floor of the posh Boston hotel.
For a moment, I think about my building.
About Luca’s penthouse, but I quickly shut that all down.
I haven’t talked to Luca since Monday and today is Thursday.
I’ve resisted the urge to call or text him like he’s a mosquito bite.
Itchy and tempting as hell, but a few good scratches and then I’m bleeding.
God, the man has me so twisted up, I don’t even know if I’m making sense.
What’s going on with us is not helping my already tormented nerves.
Today I am playing a song that will be recorded onto an album that is produced by one of the world’s biggest alternative rock bands.
Tomorrow night is opening night at the Holiday Pops, and I have two solos.
Octavia is finally home and resting, but weak as a newborn lamb and has a long recovery road ahead of her.
The last thing I needed was to throw more Luca Fritz crazy into my head.
Every time I open our text messages, I stare at our last words. Start to type. Then immediately delete them. I told him I need space and time and I do, so I’m sticking to that. Even if I miss him like a missing piece of myself, complete with phantom limb pain.
The kicker? On a few occasions, I’ve seen the three dots bouncing, indicating that he’s starting to text me, only to watch them disappear.
It’s beyond frustrating. And heartbreaking.
I don’t want to ask him to stay, and I don’t want him to give up on this opportunity, but I cannot bear the thought of losing him again.
The elevator doors open, revealing only three doors on this floor, each labeled with a P and a number.
“We’re recording in presidential suite one,” the security guy, a huge Black man with kind eyes, tells us as he guides us in that direction.
He knocks once and then someone else, another large security man, answers the door.
We’re ushered inside the palatial room decorated with dark wood floors, sleek gray rugs, and luxurious fabrics. The walls are adorned with artwork that appears every bit as expensive as this room. It’s bigger than my apartment. By a lot, it seems.
“Welcome.” A thin man with dark hair, dark eyes, and flawless mocha skin greets us. “You must be Raven. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Marco Morales, the band’s manager.”
I reach out and shake his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“This guy I already know.” He shakes Kaplan’s hand. “Good to see you again, man. But who are these stunning creatures?”
“This is Layla and my niece Stella.”
“Lovely.” A noise pulls his attention over his shoulder.
“Oh, and look at that. Right on time.” Two little girls come running out of what I assume to be a bedroom, laughing with each other until they spot us and freeze, taking us in.
The older one has long, reddish-brown hair and bright green eyes.
The younger is blond with hazel eyes. Both so beautiful and adorable, I could die. “Stella, Layla, this is—”
“Adalyn and Cora Diamond,” Layla supplies, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Wow. This is totally the coolest. And wow, I just love your dress.” She points to Adalyn’s purple flowery dress. “And your headband is amazing, Cora.”
Cora comes bouncing over to us, but Adalyn stays back, watching us reproachfully.
The world already knows that Adalyn Diamond is autistic after the press relentlessly stalked them a few years back, but their father, Jasper, had warned us that she tends to be reserved when she first meets new people.
Her speech is also delayed and on rare occasions, she has some issues with her emotional regulation, though he didn’t feel that would be an issue with the girls.
The girls didn’t even bat an eyelash at the warning.
“I think they are here.” A man’s voice booms through the room and suddenly I’m face to face with Jasper Diamond, Gus Diamond, Keith Dawson, and Henry Gauthier, the lead singer, lead guitarist, drummer, and bassist respectively for Wild Minds.
Now I know what Layla was saying about peeing her pants. I’m utterly flummoxed.
Introductions are made and I shake hands and say hello and introduce myself.
At least I think I do. They all give Kaplan the bro hug as if they’re ancient besties and I try to remember what he said to me.
That they called me and that they’re just people and that I need to own the room. But this is Wild Minds .
“Ady, sweet girl,” Jasper says, kneeling down so he’s closer to her height.
She has to be about seven or eight, if I had to guess, and Cora I think is maybe four or five.
I don’t follow the lives of celebrity children all that closely.
“These are my friends, Layla and Stella. They’re here to hang out and play with you and Cora. ”
Adalyn meets her father’s eyes—and wow, they look so much alike—and then reluctantly back to the girls.
“Do you want to show them one of the games on your iPad?”
“Can I play Minnie Mouse Obby on Roblox?”
“Oh! I love obbies,” Stella pipes in. “I haven’t played the Minnie Mouse one yet. Can you show me how?”
“Gus,” she whispers, looking up at her uncle. “You want to play too?”
“Not now, ’little darlin’. Later, though. But you go on. Show Stella here how you kick butt at those obbies.” Gus takes her hand, helping her along.
“What are you wearing?” she asks, taking Stella in, her tone one of pure delight.
Stella smirks and peeks down at her outfit. “Purple. I heard it was your favorite color. Mine is green.”
Seriously? She’s wearing purple to make Adalyn more comfortable? Just how special and sweet is Stella Fritz? But if anyone should understand what it is to be a famous kid, it’s her. Not quite the same caliber as Adalyn or Cora Diamond, but Stella is an heiress and quite well known in Boston.
“I want to play hair salon,” Cora squeals and runs off laughing, back toward the bedroom. Adalyn takes Stella’s hand, and she and Layla don’t have to be told twice. They’re already following after the girls and a second later, the bedroom door shuts.
“Don’t worry,” Kaplan says. “Both Layla and Stella have their phones. If there’s an issue, they’ll call.”
“And I’ll be sure to check on them,” Marco offers. “I love playing hair salon.” He gives me a wink and I grin, some of my nerves easing.
“I’m not worried about it.” Jasper waves them away. “I’m just glad they’re here. Vi is resting in the other suite and it’s good for Ady and Cora to have other girls to play with.”
“Is Viola okay?” Kaplan asks.
“She’s fine. This pregnancy is taking its toll on her, is all.”
“That’s why Naomi didn’t travel with us,” Gus jumps in, referring to Naomi Kent, his wife and famous popstar. They just recently announced that she’s pregnant with twins.
“Where are your boys?” Kaplan turns to Keith.
“With my parents,” he answers, absently twirling a drumstick in his hand. “It’s tough keeping an eye on those two on a normal day and impossible when we’re working, so my parents offered to take them for a few days.”
“Hey!” A beautiful blond woman comes out that I instantly recognize as Maia Dawson. “Perfect timing. Eden was just telling me everything is all set. Hi, I’m Maia. We spoke on the phone.”
I shake her hand and smile.
“Honey, relax. This is gonna be fun. Do you want some water or anything? More coffee?”
I stare down at the cup in my hand. “No. I think if I have any more caffeine, I’ll grow wings and fly.”
Everyone laughs and I relax a little more.
Maia and Marco usher us into what appears to be some kind of dining room that’s been converted into a makeshift studio with all the furniture cleared out of it.
There are instruments everywhere, various types of guitars and basses, and even a small drum set.
Off to the side is a soundboard with two laptops and a tablet set up.
Sitting in a chair in front of it with light purple hair is Eden Dawson, Keith’s baby sister who is also dating Henry.
“I’ve heard you play,” she tells me after we’re introduced. “Your music is incredible. I can’t wait for your cello with this song. It’s going to be fucking epic.”
We all go back and forth a bit. Talking music and getting to know each other a little.
“So tell me,” Jasper starts, getting down to business. “I know you’ve read over the music. Do you have any issues with it?”
“No. It’s beautiful. There was one part I wasn’t sure on in comparison to the rest of the song, but I think I just need to hear it once and then I’ll be able to lay my stuff down.”
“Let me cue it up,” Eden offers. “We finished recording their parts yesterday before we flew here.” She presses a few things into the tablet and then the song comes through the speakers.
I close my eyes and listen, thinking of the piece I’ve already played with a few times this week and how it will flow alongside the other instrumentals and vocals.
“Ah. Right there. That note you’re hitting, Jasper. If I can, I think the cello hitting a lower note will work better. Otherwise, I’m afraid it will blend too closely.”
His eyes widen and he peers around at his bandmates, who seem impressed. “Sure,” he grants. “Let’s try it out.”
Hours later, with my back sore, my fingers numb, my wrist aching, we finish the song.
And it’s gorgeous. Eden was absolutely right with how the cello adds another layer of depth and emotion to it.
I made some minor tweaks that they approved, and I was grateful for that.
They weren’t what I was expecting. Kaplan had told me time and time again, but you never know.
This is their music. Their song. They’re entitled to be entitled about it.
“This is fantastic,” Maia chirps as we listen to it one last time, making sure it’s perfect. “God, I love the cello on this. It gives the ballad such a soulful presence.”
“Totally.” Eden’s head moves to and fro, her eyes closed as she listens. “Would you ever consider doing more if we needed it? On a different song or different album?”
A laugh slips past my lips “Of course. Are you kidding me? I’d be honored. Truly. Anytime.”
“Awesome.” She starts talking with Jasper about something else and I stand, closing my eyes while twisting my back in one direction until it pops, followed by the other. But when my eyes open, they lock straight on someone standing in the corner. Someone unexpected.
Luca.