56. Living on a High
Living on a High
MARY
“And then there were two.”
I faced ahead as Clarice bounced on one side and Barry stared at his feet on the other. Alicia beamed on his other side. The Germans, far right of us, had put in a remarkably good attempt to take this whole thing. My hands ached from clenching them backstage.
It was as long drawn out as any reality singing competition, but I wasn’t even mad.
If we lost, we had a record deal and a stadium tour.
If we won, we had a prize, a record deal, and a stadium tour.
I told myself a win mattered to show Max he couldn’t break me, but I knew that much was already true. I wouldn’t let him cloud the moment.
I soaked it up and thought about what it meant to Pappa.
He’d gotten to see me perform more than in my youth.
He’d been there for so much of my unlikely rise.
Now, he got to revel in this for a few moments.
I thought of my mother. It was bittersweet because she would love to know the UK finally took a UniVox title and that I was part of it.
I had to believe she felt this. I turned and made eye contact with Betty.
As her cohost droned, she shot me the most beautiful smile. I could have drowned in it.
Then, she was back to professional.
“The last result depends entirely on the delegation of Sweden,” Betty’s voice rang. “Let’s go to Stockholm where they’ve cast their votes.”
I saw a woman on the monitor before the Riksdag ready to relay the vote. She was a beloved tv presenter in the capitol.
“The people of Sweden cast their votes for…”
A drumroll kicked off, heightening the setup. It was hard not to fall for this like it was real. It wasn’t. Everything was perfectly manufactured and choreographed. Part of me suspected Betty already knew the truth. But, like any good royal, she’d not let it show.
“The UK. To The Zamboneys for—”
The rest didn’t matter and couldn’t be heard because the place lit up.
What hadn’t been my best performance and certainly lacked the rage I really needed to make the song work, had still been enough.
I was enough. I came back. Even after being robbed of joy and agency, I returned to a career I was told I could never have.
I won fair and square with some of the most beautiful people I knew.
We did it with a silly band name, an angry song about reclaiming my power, and amidst more chaos than EastEnders screenwriters managed.
Nothing else mattered. As we celebrated beneath the glittery confetti shower, I could barely believe it happened.
Betty approached. Gone was the princess.
Here was the woman who cheered from backstage to celebrate my victory—all in that ridiculous pink dress she came out in. Ridiculous or not, her smile melted me.
“Congrats,” she mouthed. “I’m proud of you.”
“I’m proud of me, too,” I declared.
I pulled her by the hand, until close enough to kiss.
I knew I shouldn’t. Betty wasn’t allowed to do that, right?
That was a thing royals didn’t do. For a while, she beamed back as things devolved.
Then, she leaned in and kissed me. She didn’t think about it.
Not one bit. It was instinctive. She was mine. I was hers.
I pulled back, concerned. “You’re not still mic’d up are you?”
“No. It’s over there,” she said in my ear.
I sighed of relief.
“Relax, rockstar, this isn’t going to be our next scandal.”
I debated whether I’d break it to her that she again kissed me in front of millions of people.
And by tomorrow? Probably billions of people, but for now, I didn’t want to ruin it.
I made it back into the public eye, though grudgingly, and had a ride-or-die to bring with me.
Betty was there. She just wanted me to be happy. We were a team.
So, I cupped her face, sweeping her in another kiss. I soaked up the feeling that someone loved me this much.
“Was it worth the five-year-wait?” Betty asked.
“Though painful, the best things are worth waiting for, Bets,” I said. “And you were at the top of the list.”