Chapter 1
Chapter One
Darcy Kincaid was ruining her fucking life.
Juliet’s hands stung from having to clap for her.
Her cheeks were sore from maintaining this fake smile.
If she let the facade slip, she had no doubt that long before morning, she’d be branded as an ungracious asshole, who couldn’t be happy for someone else beating her for Best Country Album.
And, of course, she wasn’t happy.
If it had been someone else – anyone else who’d been nominated – she was reasonably sure she’d make peace with it. She wouldn’t be “happy,” because who the hell was happy to lose?
This was supposed to have been her year.
She’d poured everything she possibly could into Whiskey and White Lace, had worked on it tirelessly and obsessively for years, and it had paid off. After her last two albums, she’d made a comeback. Upon the release, there had been immediate buzz for album of the year awards in her near future.
Then… Darcy happened.
As soon as the ceremony officially came to a close, Juliet was ready to escape.
She’d become keenly aware of Brett Bradley from her label, trying to lock eyes with her from his seat multiple times, and she knew he’d want to talk.
Most likely, he’d want to figure out a way to force her into an official introduction with Darcy, too.
Not happening.
She was the first person out of one of the side exits, grateful for the quiet, for the moment alone.
Unfortunately, she’d only grabbed one nice, deep breath before she realized she wasn’t quite as alone as she’d thought.
Serena Fisher, one of the more dogged interviewers Juliet had crossed paths with in the last several years, had clearly been waiting.
More than anything, Juliet wanted to ignore her and walk out to her town car. Giving Serena a little evil side eye as she went for waiting here at this door. Technically, not against any laws given her press access, but certainly skirting the conventional understanding.
Serena was visibly excited, she and her cameraman already in her orbit within seconds.
“Juliet! We’ll keep this interview short and sweet: how are you feeling about the outcomes tonight?”
Like shit, thank you.
Juliet forced a smile, mentally reciting the party line: it was an honor just to be nominated. She’d been practicing it over and over in her mind since the second Darcy had been announced as the winner.
If she had to be brutally honest with herself, she’d been preparing herself to say the line since both she and Darcy had been announced as finalists in the category a few months ago.
“I feel great, really,” she effused, and in Juliet’s humble opinion, she thought she sounded convincing. “It’s a cliché for a reason, but it truly is an honor just to be nominated.”
There. She’d pulled it off.
“I’m sure it feels great to see your hard work pay off, having one of the top five country albums of the year,” Serena continued, her focus intent and unwavering, glued to Juliet’s face.
It would have felt better if she’d won, that was for damn sure.
“It really does. I put so much of myself into Whiskey and White Lace, and to see the reception – to see it up with all of those other incredible artists – it’s such a rewarding moment.”
Which wasn’t a lie.
After Backyard Stars and Echoes had completely fizzled, panned by critics, quickly forgotten by listeners, Juliet had what she was forced to qualify as somewhat of a nervous breakdown.
Who was she, then? She’d poured everything she had into making this happen since before she could even remember, in all of the pageants and talent shows her mother shuttled her to since she’d been able to walk.
Sure, she’d been cute as a damn button parading around on those stages. But, even as a kid, the show stopped when she sang. Every time, she knew she’d captured the win just from the look on the judge’s faces, from the response from the audience.
When her mom had married Harrison Jacobs – a man who had money and connections – she’d gone from talent shows and pageants to more serious pursuits. Intensive lessons with voice coaches, piano and guitar instructors, getting homeschooled so she could put all of her focus on music. On making it.
Had Passing Notes, the album she’d debuted as a fresh-faced seventeen, really been her peak? The highest reach of her career?
Whiskey and White Lace meant the world to her, and the response had been everything she could have hoped for. No, everything she’d craved, what she’d needed.
“And on the night of your twenty-sixth birthday, too,” Serena commented, bringing her back into the moment.
It was her birthday, and that made her loss sting even more. She’d been hoping for some birthday magic tonight.
“Yeah–” Her response was drowned out by the burst of noise and energy that came from behind her, the side door opening again. Both Juliet and Serena’s attentions turned to the steady stream of people filtering out, and –
There she was.
Darcy Kincaid, in all of her glory.
Juliet hated every single thing about her.
She hated her startlingly green eyes.
She hated her blonde hair that was perfectly styled but also looked so damn good whenever she was pictured out and about, all messy-casual.
She hated her sharp jaw and her full lips.
She hated how curvy she was, and how she seemed to have no problem showing it off, all of the fucking time.
She hated Darcy’s powerful, throaty voice, and the catchy songs she wrote.
And she’d done everything in her power to avoid being in the same place as this woman since she’d learned of her existence six months ago.
“Of course, yours isn’t the only twenty-sixth birthday tonight. How is that for ironic?” Serena asked, a tittering laugh on her lips.
Juliet turned her attention away from Darcy, feeling this now-familiar buzzing, burning feeling slide through her veins. The feeling she got every time she was reminded of Darcy’s very existence.
“It’s sure… something,” she managed, her voice tighter than she’d have preferred.
But Juliet wasn’t a fucking actress, was she? Normally, she could put on a good – no, a great – public face.
When she wasn’t confronted with her nemesis standing less than ten feet away. Her nemesis who couldn’t let her have one thing tonight, not even her own birthday.
“With Copper Canyon signing We, The Romantics for a new album, I’d imagine that you’re familiar with the group.” Serena laughed again, that light, fake sound that made Juliet want to scowl at her.
She didn’t, but she wanted to.
Of course Darcy had signed with the same label Juliet was at. She’d been so thrilled when she’d gotten the news a few months ago.
She hummed, noncommittally. “Who isn’t?”
The better question was who could have avoided We, The Romantics in the last six months? Juliet would pay to know their secret as to how.
Serena’s eyes seemed to light up a little, narrowing slightly even as her smile sharpened. “Would you say you’re a fan? I wished I could have been inside to see their live performance tonight.”
Juliet was prepared to lie her ass off. She was trained – literally, hours and hours of media training – for moments like this. To give a good public impression, even when she wanted to snarl out the truth.
And then she heard it. She heard Darcy’s laughter from somewhere behind her, the sound grating in her ears the whole way down. It sounded bawdy and so full, like she didn’t have a care in the world, and Juliet knew it belonged to her even though they hadn’t met.
She would have known it even if she hadn’t watched Darcy’s interviews – when she couldn’t stop herself from obsessing – trying to spot her weaknesses, trying to find some real, big character flaws. That laugh just sounded like her, the same Darcy as her singing voice.
And the words escaped Juliet before she could stop herself.
“You know – the thing about Darcy Kincaid is that she is talented. Truly. Very talented. But there is a bit of a difference when I’m recording, and especially when I’m performing.
It’s not the same experience when you don’t have two other people to lean on.
It’s a lot easier to shine when you’re not doing it all by yourself. ”
Juliet had been alone in the truest sense of the word when it came to her career for a long time.
Obviously, she had her management team. Harrison – particularly when she’d been younger – had overseen all of her meetings and contracts. She worked with her co-writers and producers on her albums.
But when it was all boiled down: Juliet was the only person who got ripped apart when she didn’t do well.
And when she’d been shoved into the limelight, she’d stood in it by herself.
When she was on stage, she had a background band and dancers that brought a show to life, but if something went wrong, it was all on her shoulders.
Tonight, as she’d watched Darcy on stage – performing and seeming to just be having a grand old time with her sister and best friend – she couldn’t help but make those internal comparisons.
Which were now external ones.
Serena’s eyes gleamed, and in that instant, Juliet was cursing herself and her big mouth for letting her feelings get the better of her.
“Oh,” Serena drew the sound out for several beats. “So… you wouldn’t say you’re necessarily friendly–”
“Sorry, ma’am, but I just have to get this pumpkin back to the carriage,” Robbie’s voice cut in, coming up swiftly behind Juliet.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, using his other hand to tip his cowboy hat to Serena as he flashed his slightly crooked, charming smile at her.
Without waiting for a response – in a way that Robbie Calder, a male heartthrob, could get away with without being labeled as a dick in the media – he led her away, swiftly toward the curb.
She allowed him to do so, even as she rolled her eyes at him. “You’re aware that the pumpkin is the carriage, right?”
He stared quizzically at her. “Huh?”
“The metaphor you just used with Serena. It makes no sense.”
“Like I give a good goddamn if my metaphors make sense,” he scoffed back at her, letting the drawl he used in public drop away.
It really didn’t matter to the women that mooned over him that Robbie was actually from a Chicago suburb and had only started spending a lot of time in the South after he’d graduated high school, in the pursuit of his music career.
But his public image relied on him exaggerating that twang in his voice, and he did it well.
“Where is your common sense, hmm?” He pressed, opening the door to the car and guiding her into it.
She set her jaw, irritation with herself bubbling up inside as she dropped onto the seat, scooting in to give him space next to her.
Of course, she knew that he was referencing her putting her foot in her damn mouth with Serena.
She was so irate, with losing and with Darcy Kincaid, did she really have the depth and energy to expend on being frustrated with herself, too?
Yes, she did, because she was a woman of multitudes.
“Whatever. It won’t go anywhere,” she muttered, her hands curling into fists, like she could will that to be true.
Robbie didn’t look convinced, and it was for good reason.
On the heels of Passing Notes, Juliet’s image had been decided for her.
By listeners’ perceptions, which were deeply reinforced by the label and her management team.
She’d been branded with the reputation of the “perfect” young woman on the rise in the country world: sweet, pure, innocent.
Beautiful, but not in the way that she was ever supposed to exude sexuality.
It wasn’t only her physical look, though, that had been very deliberately cultivated and marketed, but also her personality. Part of the Juliet Jacobs image that had been decided – and, in her hunger to make it, she’d agreed without hesitation – was her agreeableness.
Not to have strong opinions when it came to anything that held weight, because Copper Canyon Records wanted her as their ideal country woman, to appeal to their biggest demographic.
Be positive. Be likeable. Be pretty and desirable, but not sexy and sultry.
Be supportive. Be kind. Be relatable, but not too relatable.
The image remained unchanged nine years later, in spite of the fact that she was now very much an adult.
And in spite of the fact that she was sometimes kind of a bitch. Self-owned.
But how could someone – man, woman, everyone who identified in between – actually thrive in this industry if they weren’t a little bit of a bitch sometimes?
Fame, she’d learned very early on, would eat you up and spit you out if you didn’t cut its tongue with something sharp to make it spit you back out first.
But Copper Canyon was still steadfast in the pursuit of Juliet being the girl-turned-woman-next-door.
And Juliet didn’t always hate it; sometimes it was good to have a schtick, to be known for something.
It just occasionally sucked to have to live up to that persona.
Robbie tilted his head to the side. “Your answer was kinda… interesting.”
Juliet had her eyes closed as she sighed. “Yes, I’m currently giving in to the fact that I’m going to be on the phone with Talia first thing in the morning.”
Her publicist was not going to be pleased. Especially because she was about to begin her forty-show national tour next week; this was not the ideal time for her to be going off-book. All eyes were going to be on her.
“Well, yeah,” Robbie agreed, slowly. “But, Serena asked how you felt about We, The Romantics.”
She snapped her eyes open at him, arching an eyebrow. “Yes, and I told her very directly.”
“You didn’t, actually.” He rubbed his hand over his chiseled, stubbly jaw. “You didn’t talk about how you feel about We, The Romantics. You talked about how you feel about Darcy.”
“Darcy is We, The Romantics,” she scoffed. Serena had known what she was talking about, and so would everyone else.
“If you say so.” Robbie obviously didn’t agree.
But Juliet didn’t need him to agree.
Robbie served a very specific purpose in her life, much as she did in his.
And that purpose tonight had been during all of the red-carpet interviews before the show, when they’d been dutifully seen together, just as they’d be photographed entering the afterparty they were currently heading to.
Their arrangement of appearing to be together served them very well.
Juliet Jacobs, the brand, was straight. Juliet Jacobs, the public image, was implicitly in a relationship with Robbie Calder – who was also definitely not gay as far as the public knew.
Behind closed doors, Juliet could have sex whomever she wanted.
She turned to look out the tinted window as their car started to inch into traffic. Her eyes unintentionally but unavoidably landed on Darcy again.
Behind closed doors, she could also fucking hate whomever she wanted.