Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
GIA
Strutting across the piazza, I feel like a woman in one of those old-school Italian movies Nonna swoons over.
The golden light of magic hour kisses my skin, and somewhere in the distance, scooters roar.
The fantastical Duomo of Milan is almost enough to make me believe in a god, but I have my own—the one holding my hand and making every head turn.
JC’s loose, flowing hair catches the last rays of the evening sun.
He’s on fire in a jet-black suit. So yummy, it makes my head explode.
We’re out as a pair, together, for the first time, and JC walks more slowly to accommodate the sky-high heels I’m navigating, lifting my hand to press a kiss against it.
My chest warms as his eyes sweep over me.
“You look stunning. Giving every goddess a run for their money.”
“Thanks to you.”
I'd better look hot. The beaded lilac dress I’m wearing weighs almost as much as it costs.
A saleswoman in Rinascente (a department store for the ultra-rich) zeroed in on us immediately.
Two young, slender types, one of whom could actually afford the price tags that made me a little green.
I tried not to think about what Audrie texted me the previous day: that our Zurich hotel cost ten thousand francs.
Every dollar JC spends on me now feels like a weight.
“I like spoiling you.” JC leans in to nuzzle my neck. “I like everything about you.”
My bright smile hides the prick of disappointment. Like isn’t love, but it’s moving in the right direction.
“Who else is coming tonight?” I ask.
“The boys. Shae and Sawyer. Mario, the promoter. Maybe one of his guys.”
“So lots of shop talk.”
He glances over. “Your favorite.”
Is it wrong that I want to spend all my free time alone with JC? Flashes of him touching me, all the sweet, aching places, have tormented me all afternoon.
“I promise to be nice to Sawyer and eat all his precious tweezer food."
JC chuckles, his warm hand landing on my hip to stop me mid-stride. He tugs me closer, looking down at me like he’s Edward the vampire and I’m Bella. Very serious. Very sexy.
My chin quivers, and I hold his gaze.
“I feel I can say this to you now,” he starts.
My eyes are on his lips, I hear the words loud and clear, but my brain goes blank. I take a deep breath and try to settle down.
“Okay.” It comes out slowly. “Spill the tea.”
His hand touches the back of my neck. He lifts my chin with the other hand, and our eyes hold for a long moment. He's looking at me with so much tenderness, my heart aches.
“Have you ever heard that saying, ‘You catch more flies with honey than vinegar’?”
Something happens in my chest. A crack. Not the kind I want. “Yeah. Why?”
“This industry is a people business, and you need people,” he says kindly. I'll give him that. “The heights you want to scale require a team to lift you. Sawyer's trying his damnedest to make that happen for you.”
My lips part, but nothing comes out. Does he think I’m difficult? Too rough around the edges? And maybe my silence radiates more than I think because he brushes the softest kiss on my lips, like that’ll make it easier to swallow.
“All I’m saying is, sometimes you have to dial back the opposition.”
Even though I know he’s right, everything that makes him JC shines through at this very moment. My infatuation with him gets tangled in a wave of disappointment.
What he didn’t say.
“I know. It’s just…” I trail off, my gaze following two young girls skipping with balloons tied to their wrists. “I want it all so bad. I’m too impatient.”
His warm hands cup my face. Nothing makes sense after what happened with the song this morning. He’s holding something back, his shuttered expression when I asked about the lyrics a dead giveaway. But how much more can I push?
“Have faith,” he says. “You’re so close to the top. But don’t be reckless with the people who have your back. Don’t burn the empire before it's built.”
He pulls my mouth to his. Kisses me, hot and filthy. It feels like sparks are shooting up my spine. The crowds milling in the dusky twilight start to cheer, egging us on. JC lets up his perfect tongue torture and laughs, taking a mini bow to all the applause.
I tug his hand, a flush spreading over my chest from all the eyes on us. “Hey. You're trying to steal the spotlight?”
He twines his fingers into mine. Winks. “As if.”
Ten minutes later, he ushers me into a restaurant that makes me less mortified about the sum JC spent on the dress.
To be clear: at lunch with my relatives, my basic black bodycon held up just fine.
The rustic hole-in-the-wall had spaghetti sauce-splattered menus and an endless pour of cheap Chianti.
But this place…
The restaurant is typical Sawyer. Elegant and expensive. Dark lighting, so the prices on the menu don’t make you pass out. A hostess wearing a beautiful, slinky cream dress walks us across the cobblestone to a private room in the back. As advertised, six people sit around the massive wooden table.
Mario and Luca, team promotion, with deeply Italian accents. Shae is in a blouse that doesn’t look ironed beside the ever-impeccable Sawyer. Brady and Tai try to look the part in their thrifted designer duds.
Everyone seems to be having a good time.
Introductions fly back and forth as we take our seats next to each other, and a waiter—older, bald, possible member of the mob—appears to fill our glasses with wine. Sawyer leads the toast—Salute all around. I take a sip, and damn, this Barolo beats mouth-puckering Chianti.
Just as I’m starting to relax, Tai discreetly leans over. “Can we hang for a sec?”
“What’s up?” I ask, speaking low.
The waiter circles the table, taking notes on the appetizers Sawyer starts to order on our behalf. His Italian isn’t half bad.
“I’m going to show Gia the wine cellar,” Tai announces to the table. “We’ll be right back.”
JC shoots me a quizzical look, and I reply with an uncertain shrug because none of Tai’s earlier texts hinted at the intensity he’s projecting. We walk single file past tables filled with runway-ready couples, the handful of people waiting to be seated.
In the darkest corner of the packed bar, away from the smiling clusters of drinkers, Tai stops. He looks like he’s bracing for impact.
“Okay, dude,” I say. “What gives? You’re acting like a Russian spy.”
Tai doesn’t laugh, just shifts his weight from foot to foot, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news…”
Suddenly, I feel my heart beating in my throat. “But?”
He coughs, glancing toward a row of cozy booths. “Brady and I got here early. Sat over there.” He nods at the end booth with a half-moon bench. “Sawyer and the promoters came in a few minutes later. They didn’t see us, and we didn’t say hi. Figured it was business time.”
“And?” It squeaks out.
“Sawyer was talking about how this tour is all about JC’s second coming. A way to relaunch him.”
Something shuffles around under my skin. For some reason, I know the worst is yet to come.
And bingo.
“Said JC’s been writing songs. Plans to release an album soon,” Tai says into the tense silence. “And that song you wanted? Sounds like it's meant for the solo project. Did you know about that?”
A pounding echo starts full force inside my head. Can you give me a few weeks? Can you give me a few weeks?
I stare silently at the wall, willing the words out of my head. JC had so much Italian love heaped onto him during lunch, cheeks pinched to last a lifetime. I gave him my trust. My body. Cashed in my V-card for him. And he’s lecturing me about recklessness?
“Gia,” Tai says gently. “Breathe.”
I take a deep, steadying inhale. All this information is making me feel claustrophobic.
But that doesn’t stop my mind spinning back to the pre-tour meeting JC and Sawyer cut out of while we ate pizza.
They camped out in Sawyer’s office for a good twenty minutes.
Suddenly, an entirely different picture emerges.
Trentons conspiring.
“He can do what he wants,” I say. “We don’t own him.”
Tai rubs my shoulder with a sympathetic look. He knows how gutted I am. “I’m sorry.”
My eyes start to prickle. That’s why he’s not giving up the song. All the fucked-up emotions of last night swarm on my skin, and a panicky thought hits me. Is Amber in on this? Resurrected as the drummer for JC’s new band?
Tai flicks his gaze past me, eyes sharpening. “Incoming,” he warns.
And—
“There you are.” JC’s voice slides through the crowd like a smooth four-bar blues riff. I turn, and he’s suddenly there, haloed by the golden light spilling from the bar. Looking at me with so much like in his eyes.
“You stealing time with my queen?” he teases Tai. Makes no mention that we are nowhere near the wine cellar.
Tai doesn’t miss a beat. “Just make sure you treat her right.”
He claps JC’s shoulder, slipping past us to avoid further conversation. Bonus points for how he handled this, because I feel sick to my stomach.
JC looks at me with that searching, quiet look. “What was that all about?”
“Tai just got some family news. Kind of heavy. He needed to talk.”
I force a smile. JC studies me a beat too long, as if he’s processing the weird tension and whether to address it. How easy would it be to put him on the spot and force him to acknowledge this thing? To say it out loud. But I don’t.
He threads his arm through mine, walking us back toward the table. His warmth pressing against my side feels strangely numbing, even as he drops a kiss on my cheek, telling me how proud he is of me. How beautiful I am.
The entire time, I’m wondering how to get through dinner with this hanging over my head.
Good little Gia won’t make a scene. I won’t be reckless.
But if one more lie spills from his lips, I will torch this dress, throw his fucking trendy suitcases onto the bonfire, and watch the empire burn.