Chapter Twenty-Five Fitz
It was only when they pulled up in front of the hotel in Nashville that Fitz remembered how he’d splurged on this one, anticipating the way doubt might creep in at the last minute before his internship interview, hissing in his ear that he wasn’t law firm material, that a kid like him couldn’t begin to hang in the world he hoped to conquer. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was a heap of steps up from where they’d stayed so far, and he could see the intimidation flood Ren’s posture the moment she stepped foot in the lobby.
Everything was marble, crystal, brass. The atrium had towering ceilings, with a glass dome far up in the air. To one side was an imperial staircase, on the other was a cluster of plush seating areas. There were urns spilling fresh flowers everywhere, uniformed employees hovering near every wall, ready to jump to service. The lobby was full of guests, too, chatting in small groups, greeting each other across the space, embracing. The park outside was full of booths and tents and chaos that spilled into the hotel. There was definitely some sort of event happening, that much was clear.
“Holy cow, Fitz.” Ren stepped closer, sliding her hand into his. “Are we staying here?”
“We are.”
“You really are rich.”
There was no edge in her words, only awe, but for the first time in years, it bothered him that someone thought Robert Fitzsimmons’s money was his, too. He’d let so many omissions and white lies linger between them. He should clarify right there, should tell her that the cash she got at the Screaming Eagle was the most cash he’d ever held in his life, that he was a scholarship kid, too, that everything was riding on his grades, and that’s why she found him in Audran’s office that night. But instead, he swallowed it all down, squeezed her hand, and led her to the reception desk.
Ren’s attention was behind them during check-in, watching all the bustle in the hotel lobby with rapt attention.
As soon as the woman stepped away to program the keys to their room, Ren tugged on his arm. “Fitz. Look.”
He followed her gaze to where a handful of people pushed carts loaded with boxes through the front lobby doors. Others were still checking in or chatting in the adjoining coffee shop, with brightly colored cowboy hats tucked under an arm or wearing flashing LED necklaces around their necks.
“Four hundred people checking in today alone,” the clerk said wearily. “You here for the festival, too?”
“Festival?” he asked.
“Beer, Bubbles, and Barbecue.”
Ren stepped forward. “Bubbles?”
“Champagne,” Fitz told her, and watched as the woman looked up from her monitor, her gaze doing a slow, fascinated sweep of Ren’s hair.
“It’s the biggest downtown festival of the year,” the clerk told them. “Two music stages. Vendors, food trucks, fireworks. Loads of these people are still setting up.”
“Then yes, we are absolutely here for the festival,” Ren said confidently.
Worried she was about to be disappointed, Fitz reached for her hand. “It’s probably sold out.”
“Actually, it is,” the clerk said. “But because we’re going to be in the middle of the whole thing, the hotel got an allotment for VIPs. I might have a couple left if you’re interested. Let me check.” She disappeared into a back room.
“She called us VIPs,” Ren whispered.
“In fact, I think her implication was that real VIPs didn’t want these tickets.”
“Well, we do!”
Fitz looked down at her. “You really want to go?” If this was his last day with Ren, he wanted her all to himself.
“Don’t you?”
“The title names three things, and two of them are booze,” he said. “If you want to hang out with a bunch of drunks, we can watch The Hangover in our room and order champagne.”
Ren chewed on her lip and stared up at him. “It’s just that I’ve never been to a festival before.”
“It might be crowded. You might hate it.”
“I assume it’s a lot like a fair, but with less manure. And it’s free.” Her eyes grew round and pleading.
“This is emotional manipulation,” he whispered, fighting a laugh.
Doubling down, she pushed out her full bottom lip. “Come on, Fitz. I just want to see it. Please.”
She clearly saw what that please did to him because her expression went from pleading to triumphant in a blink.
“Fine,” he said finally.
Grinning, she pushed up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. A strange feeling was carving out a space in his gut, like a door had been blown open in his torso. He didn’t have time to examine it because the clerk was back.
“You’re in luck. The last two. Because they’re VIP, they’ll get you side-stage access to most of the shows, a discount on food”—she leaned in—“and access to air-conditioned porta potties.”
“Doesn’t get much fancier than that,” Fitz said.
The clerk slid the tickets and a flyer across the counter. “Welcome to Nashville. Have fun, and enjoy your stay.”
Fresh from a shower, Fitz buttoned up his jeans. Ren had wanted them to dress up a little for the festival and had dragged him to a thrift store a few blocks from the hotel. The jeans were a clean pair of Levi’s he’d brought with him, but the shirt currently folded on the bathroom counter was new. Well, new to him, at least, and a fancier brand even than the interview suit he’d splurged on two weeks ago in Spokane. In fact, when Ren handed him the shirt over the dressing room door, he’d recognized the designer as one he’d find in his father’s closet.
God, his father. Fitz hadn’t thought of him all day. Or Mary—who was only a twenty-minute drive from where they were staying. His twin motivations in life: revenge and restitution. In the past seven years, had he ever gone longer than an hour without thinking of one of them?
It was all because of Ren. Thinking about her was so much better than anything else.
Fitz imagined telling Mary about how things had changed with his road trip tagalong and felt the warm glow of embers behind his breastbone. But the sensation cooled as he thought about everything he still needed to tell Ren.
He’d never kept secrets from Mary, and he’d never felt bad about keeping secrets from anyone else. But Ren was different; everything was different now. And as he met his own gaze in the still-foggy mirror, he made a silent vow to talk to her as soon as she was finished dressing in the other room. No more chickening out, no more lies. No more pretending.
There was a knock on the door, and when he opened it and saw her standing on the other side, every thought melted from his brain. Her hair was braided in a delicate crown atop her head, with a few silk flowers tucked between the plaited strands; beneath it, her skin seemed to glow. Her sundress was lavender with thin straps and a soft, sloping neckline. The fabric looked delicate and breezy and fell just to the tops of her knees. She wouldn’t let him see it at the store and told him only that it was simple, and it was, but simple was a lie. The dress was made for her. For a few painful seconds, he forgot how to breathe.
“I worried you got sucked down the drain you were taking so long,” she said.
He tugged her inside with him, and she let out a little squeak as he closed them into the steamy space.
“You’re supposed to put on that shirt.” Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, very pointedly not on his bare torso.
He pulled her closer, drawing her hands up to rest on his chest. Touch me, his mind screamed.
“What are we doing in here?” she whispered with a smile, looking to her fingertips as they traced the line of his collarbone. She was getting the flush he’d seen a couple times now, whenever her thoughts seemed to drift to everything they could do when they were this close.
“Well, I did want to kiss you,” he whispered back, bending just shy of resting his lips on hers. “But also, I had something very important to say.”
She blinked up, meeting his gaze. “What’s that?”
“That you look amazing. Nobody’s even going to notice the fireworks tonight with you there.”
She bit down on her bottom lip, and he reached up, freeing it with his thumb, staring. She kissed it and then pulled away, smoothing the front of her dress. “You really like it?”
He pretended to consider her, but in reality, he was afraid of the sound that would come out if he opened his mouth. He was sure he’d never seen anyone so beautiful before. “It’s not an oversize T-shirt and cutoff shorts, but it’s pretty good.”
She grinned and turned toward the mirror. He reluctantly let her go, watching as she examined her reflection. He liked the way they looked together. “My shorts would at least have somewhere to put my room key.”
“I’ll carry the key.” He came up behind her, bending to kiss the nape of her neck.
She put her hands over her mouth to hide her smile. “I’ve never worn anything this pretty before.” Turning away from the mirror, she sent her arms around his waist. “Thank you for doing this with me. And for letting me come along on your road trip.”
“I didn’t let you,” he reminded her, kissing the crown of her head. “You forced me.”
She rested her cheek against his bare chest. “This has been the best week of my entire life.”
For a moment he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Something inside him wanted to shy away from the weight of her confession, from the tender clench of his heart that felt a little like an exposed nerve. Being soft and open with people had never given him anything good. But with a deep breath he pushed all that down and leaned in to hug her back.
If Ren had had access to Google her entire life, she’d probably be president by now. By the time they made their way to Public Square Park, where the festival was being held, she’d already learned the names and significance of the surrounding buildings, what bands were performing on which stage and when, located the food booths she wanted to visit, and read enough reviews of last year’s festival to know where each and every portable toilet could be found.
Thank God she used her powers for good.
Nashville reminded Fitz of Vegas, with less neon and a lot more cowboy hats. The sidewalks were packed, the streets blocked off now as the sun began to set, and the sound of tuning guitars could be heard through the cacophony of crowd noise.
They exchanged their tickets for VIP lanyards and a stack of free food and drink coupons, which they used right away at a food truck called Fire-N-Smoke. When they were done eating, Ren tugged him toward the main stage, where a band he’d actually heard of was in the middle of a song that had been on every playlist already that year. And yet he barely noticed any of it, his thoughts full only of Ren dancing and jumping and singing along to the handful of words she’d managed to pick up in the chorus.
When the set ended, they wandered around the festival. It was fully dark now, and strings of glowing Edison bulbs shone overhead, illuminating the crowded park. Fitz held her hand as they wound their way from one vendor booth to the next and she told him about the fairs back home, and how she’d wanted to stay late and join in the festivities, but they always packed up as soon as they were done. Fitz promised himself then and there that he would stay as late as she wanted.
Ren never moved from his side, silently drinking in every sight: A couple kissing enthusiastically. Two kids playing with a puppy. A group in Dolly Parton cosplay. Ren pointed to a man making rainbows and giant flowers out of colored clouds of cotton candy, but then their attention was drawn to a news crew and a crowd of protestors with megaphones and signs just outside the park, their shouting drowned out by one of the bands.
Ren frowned as she scanned the signs. “They don’t approve of the festival?”
“Looks that way.”
“What exactly do they think is happening in here?” she asked.
“The devil’s music and fornicating.”
“But people are just having fun.” Her frown intensified, and he wondered if she was thinking of her parents and what they would think of all this. Would they be holding signs and protesting, too? Probably not, and only because they’d never let Ren this close to begin with. That’s when he noticed the cameras capturing footage of the crowd, and an uneasy chill made its way down his spine.
“Let’s go,” he urged softly, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, and gently led her away.
Determined to bring back her smile, they shared fried Oreos, and Fitz bought her a tiara with PRINCESS twinkling in golden LED lights across the top. And he couldn’t seem to stop touching her.
Another band was playing on a smaller stage surrounded by tables and a makeshift dance floor. Fitz left her just long enough to grab them each a glass of champagne and handed one to Ren.
“Ooh, champagne!” Ren took the plastic glass, lifting it to watch the never-ending path of bubbles from the bottom to the surface. “Was it expensive?”
“I bought it from a guy wearing a T-shirt that said SUDS AND BUDS. I’ll let you answer that.”
“Would you be surprised if I said I’ve never had champagne before?”
“Not even a little bit. Should we make a toast?”
She sucked in an excited breath. “What should we toast to?”
“How about adventure?”
“To adventure!”
They clinked glasses and then she tipped hers back, eyes going wide as she swallowed a huge gulp.
“Careful,” he said, laughing. “Champagne hits people differently.”
“Even cheap champagne?”
“Especially cheap champagne. You could be on the floor in an hour.”
Ignoring this, she cheekily drained the glass and set it on a table before tugging him out to dance. “Then you’d better be there to hold me up.”
Fitz tried to resist but, unable to deny her anything, let her lead him into the crowd. They danced and drank and laughed as the music played around them.
“You know, for someone who’s never been to a festival before, you’re a natural,” he said, twirling her and pulling her back in.
“Are these things always this fun? Is this what I’ve been missing?”
The music slowed, and he placed his hand on her lower back, tugging her closer. “Sunshine, I don’t think anything has ever been this fun.”
“Why do you call me that? You only say Ren when you’re being serious.”
He stiffened. “Do you not like when I call you Sunshine?”
“I do. I like that you give me nicknames. I’d never had one before….”
She trailed off, and he placed a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to his. “But?”
“But I only call you Fitz. I don’t even know your first name.”
His blood cooled. He’d put the Fitz mask on for the first time seven years ago and never once took it off. But with her staring up at him like that, it hit him that he wanted more than anything to feel safe being the real him.
“Edward,” he told her. “My name is Edward.”
She met his eyes, and, as hard as it was, he held the contact, letting her recalibrate with this new name on her tongue.
“Edward,” she said, and her fingers brushed through the back of his hair. “I love it.” Ren closed her eyes. “The origin is English. The name means ‘guardian, protector, wealthy.’” She snorted, opening her eyes again. “I guess that fits.”
It was funny how not funny it was. He was none of those things, but of course Ren wouldn’t know that. “You are an encyclopedia of random information.” He grinned down at her. “How about more champagne?”
Ren gave him a dorky thumbs-up. “Champagne is my favorite.”
“Stay here, and I’ll grab us a couple glasses.”
But when he returned, she was gone. Things were really in full swing now, loud and riotous. There was a fiddle player on the stage and people clapped along, faces rosy from drink, noses sunburned. The dance floor was almost completely obscured by moving bodies, and right at the center was Ren, dancing with a crowd of men and women who had brought her into their circle, arms around each other.
He found a chair on the side and sat down to watch. She was a blur of lavender and gold, arms over her head as she spun, blond strands of hair slipping from her intricate braid. A bottle of pure sunshine uncorked, spilling across the park. The song ended and the dance floor exploded in applause for the band, for each other, for the experience they were all sharing. People hugged Ren, touched her hair in wonder, took her hand, and brought her back to the floor for another song, and then another, until finally she escaped, tripping in a giddy tangle over to Edward, where she fell across his lap.
“There she is,” he said, catching her.
“I love dancing!”
“I can tell.” Gently, he brushed a few sweaty strands of hair from her eyes. Her tiara was crooked, and he smiled, straightening it. “If only you were more outgoing.”
“That was the nicest group of people. I’m so exhausted, though.”
“How many proposals did you get out there?”
“Only a few.” She fixed her focus on his lips. “Came over to hear your offer before I went back with an answer.”
He looked closely at her, at the tipsy glassiness of her gaze and the blissful elation in her smile. “Then I guess I can’t let you go back out there.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
He wanted to kiss her—to really kiss her like he had last night in the hot tub, with depth and heat and hunger—and knew that if he sat here much longer, he would. He would tip forward, fall into her, and maybe never be able to find his way out again. He’d started to lean in when the first firework shot across the sky, signaling the end of the festival. They both blinked away, looking upward to where a flash of color exploded overhead, followed by another, and another. They watched for a moment, Ren having gone still in his lap, before she looked over at him, a halo of golden sparks raining down behind her.
“I didn’t think this night could get any better,” she said.
“Proposals and fireworks. That all it takes?”
“I never did hear yours, by the way,” she said, running her finger along his jaw.
“How about this: We get out of here and go back upstairs, put on our pajamas, brush our teeth, and have a slumber party?”
“No one made an offer even a fraction that good,” she said, closing the distance to kiss him. “Take me upstairs, Edward.”