Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Juliet couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a birthday party.
Not… like, a real one.
When she’d been little – pre-Harrison – her mom had thrown her birthday parties, and she had vague memories from those.
And after Harrison…
She’d had celebrations thrown for her here and there, but they were always very public. Which, of course, meant that she couldn’t break from her persona.
She’d occasionally had private dinners with Robbie or Laura, sharing a slice of cake.
Nothing quite like the ragtag bunch of Robbie, Laura, Blythe, Colton, and Emerson all gathered in their house, currently engaging in a game of charades. Blythe and Emerson were absolutely destroying Colton and Robbie, while Laura kept score and maintained the integrity of the game.
Thief – 7:36P.M.
Okay, I’m ready
Anticipation raced through her, as she abandoned the group in a heartbeat, making her way downstairs.
Darcy had disappeared from the party twenty minutes ago – which, at the very least, gave Juliet a valid reason to abstain from charades – and told Juliet to wait for her signal before meeting her downstairs in the music studio.
When she opened the door, she was met with a bright flash, and she reared back, blinking through it. “What are you doing?”
“Happy birthday,” Darcy said, lowering her camera, and holding her arms out to the side.
Juliet dragged her gaze down.
Darcy had spent all day in her typical wardrobe; a tight tank top, and a pair of ripped denim shorts. And because they’d spent the day celebrating at home, Juliet hadn’t had to keep her hands to herself. Best birthday gift ever.
Now, though, Darcy had changed into the dark green dress she’d been wearing at the North American Music Awards, on this night last year.
Juliet had that dress burned into her memory. Everything about Darcy from that night was burned into her memory.
She still pulsed with desire at the sight, but now, she was able to enjoy it.
Darcy had also set up a little red carpet and even two velvet ropes to imitate the press line.
“Happy birthday back,” she returned, running her eyes over the room again. “Why…?”
“Because it’s not only our birthday, but also – kind of – our anniversary. If you think about it.”
Juliet scoffed. “It is not.”
“Isn’t it?” Darcy stepped forward, right into her space. Giving Juliet the most perfect stare down into her cleavage. “Tonight is the anniversary of when you completely took me over.”
“Well, you did that to me before tonight,” she murmured back, entirely honestly.
“But tonight was the night it became mutual.”
“I am struggling to argue with you while you’re wearing that.” Juliet couldn’t keep her eyes in one place, roaming all over Darcy’s exposed skin.
This dress hit at all of the right parts in her mind. Which – fine, maybe that meant Darcy was right. Maybe this moment last year, where Juliet had been unable to control herself from commenting on Darcy to Serena had been where it all started.
A sexy, satisfied smile slid over Darcy’s face.
“I know that everyone’s upstairs, and I probably should have waited to do this until they leave,” Darcy acknowledged. “Because I can see what you’re thinking.”
Juliet was unrepentant; she wasn’t trying to mask her thoughts. She was going to have Darcy fuck her while wearing this dress tonight. She merely smiled back at Darcy.
“God,” Darcy breathed out, before shaking her head. “I just, I didn’t want to wait. To give you your card.”
They’d agreed that they weren’t going to do gifts. Not only did it not make sense financially – they could always just buy whatever they wanted, anyway – but it was both of their birthdays.
Instead, they’d opted to exchange cards with an inscription.
That… well, that meant way more to Juliet than anything with monetary value could, anyway. She wanted to pick apart Darcy’s brain and know everything that went on in there. Darcy writing her a message was something she’d been looking forward to.
Darcy reached down to the coffee table, and presented Juliet with her card, a cute smile on her lips.
Juliet wasn’t about to play coy. She took the card right away and tore it open.
Juliet –
This sounds a little silly, maybe, but… back before I ever Made It, I sometimes would see your interviews online and think we were living parallel lives.
I would hear how you talked about music. The passion you had. The drive. The obsession. And I felt that, in my bones.
Added to that, we both had single mothers when we were younger… AND –
We were born on the same day, in the same year.
I never thought in any way that I knew you or anything like that.
But I just – I sometimes, in my wildest dreams, imagined we were put on this same track in life.
It used to give me hope to see you be so successful.
Like maybe, if there was some sort of destiny or something, it meant I could do it, too. If we were running parallel lives.
Now, it doesn’t feel wild at all.
You’re mine, Juliet. And I’m yours.
And I think it was always meant to be that way, with how we entered the world at the same time.
Happy Birthday.
P.S. I know we’ve been brainstorming for your next album title. What about Half-Truths?
“Half-truths,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
“I think it really fits the concept,” Darcy said, both hopeful and nervous. Clearly wondering if Juliet liked it.
She did her best to keep her hold on the card light, because she wanted to preserve this. To preserve everything Darcy had said.
She blinked, her eyes a little bleary with tears, as she nodded. “Half-Truths is perfect.”
It did fit the album. The album that was entirely about Darcy, only no one knew it. The album about all of Juliet’s real feelings, but no one on earth, save for a small handful of people, had a clue.
Without missing a beat, she reached into her back pocket, pulling out the small card she’d had in there for Darcy.
Darcy blinked down at it, amused. “Have you just been carrying this around all night?”
“I wasn’t going to be caught unprepared.” She urged Darcy to take it, gripped by the need for her to read it.
Darcy took the card from her, sliding the envelope open, and Juliet bounced onto her tiptoes.
“I want you to know that I’ve thought about this a lot,” she stated, before Darcy read what she’d written. “And there’s no pressure. But… I mean it.”
Darcy wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion given that she had no context. “I’m intrigued.”
Juliet held her breath, thinking about what she’d written to Darcy. She’d discussed it with Laura, she’d turned it over and over in her mind.
And she continued to reach the same conclusion.
Happy Birthday, you little Thief,
In the last year, you have stolen my clothing, parts of my sanity, my ability to put up a perfectly detached front, all of my deepest desires, and every part of my heart.
But – you know all of that.
What you don’t know, is that you’ve also taken my aspiration to perform by myself.
You told me in the past that you loved working with Blythe and Emerson because they made you better. Because you were your best self when you were working together and collaborating. I didn’t understand that, before.
But I really do, now.
I have never felt so fulfilled, so engaged, so inspired, so pushed to being MY best self, as I am when we work together.
I’ve never known it was an option for me. To not have the pressure entirely on my own shoulders. I’ve never had anyone who would want to throw their lot in with mine, to succeed or fail with me. But I want that with you.
When my fifth album is done, if you’re ready to dive back in (and I know you will be, given how much you are still constantly writing and composing, even when you’re not working on an album right now)… what do you think about We, The Romantics version 2.0?
J
Darcy didn’t seem to have the same ability to contain herself from crushing the card in her hand. She could see the trembling in Darcy’s fingers as she read, before she stared up at Juliet, as breathless as if she’d run a marathon.
“You really mean this? I mean, you have the right name for it.” She breathed out a tremulous laugh, choked off by her own sharp inhale, before she asked, “You really want us to be the we, in We, The Romantics?”
Juliet told Darcy the thought she’d had, continuously, over the last several weeks: “I think we already are.”