Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
W e move into a suite in a hotel downtown on Saturday morning.
“It’ll just be easier, traffic-wise, to be down here,” Matt explains.
He hires a stylist to help me after seeing the terror in my eyes at the idea of having to pick out a dress that will be photographed for the entire world to see. I stand in the middle of the room while a woman with a severe bleached blond bob, and an equally blunt attitude, thrusts different dress options at me. I dutifully march into the bedroom, change, and come out to see what everyone thinks. Matt sits quietly on the couch, watching me closely. His first question is always, “How do you feel in it?” I love him for that. I dismiss the first three options—they feel too high-fashion for me, gowns that are on trend but make me feel ridiculous.
In the end, I settle on a black strapless Saint Laurent gown. It has intricate beading around the bodice, and its heavy fabric falls to the floor in a puddle with a high slit that reveals most of my left leg. It is undoubtedly the sexiest dress I've ever worn. I feel classy and confident with my best assets on display. Plus, the dress needs almost no alterations—a practicality given the time constraints.
The stylist hands me a pair of black strappy sandals, and when she starts fussing over my jewelry, Matt says, “I’ll take care of that.”
After I change back into my jeans and white button-down, everyone has cleared the suite. Matt walks over to me, a boyish grin on his face, and pulls out a Tiffany Blue box from behind his back.
“I saw these and had to get them for you.”
I open the box and gasp when I see a pair of platinum and diamond dangling earrings. The afternoon sunlight bounces off the diamonds, throwing sparkles all over the room. They are stunning and intense. Just like Matt.
“What do you think?” he asks, eyes ardent.
“These are beautiful.” I lean forward to hug him. “Thank you, I love them."
“And I love you,” he says softly.
I back up, surprised yet not surprised at all. Hearing those words from him feels like something I've known forever. His eyes are blazing and vulnerable as he looks at me.
“I don’t expect you to say anything back. But I need to say it. I need for you to hear it. To know it. It’s been bubbling up inside me for weeks, months. Being with you has been incredible, more than I could’ve ever imagined possible. I sometimes feel like I'm dreaming. And I love you, Jules. So much. I just needed you to know that.”
I nod, silent. Overwhelmed. He kisses me, and we start the familiar dance that I know will end with us tangled in the sheets, making love to each other. It seems only right to consummate this moment.
* * *
The morning of the Grammys is like nothing I’ve experienced before. People come and go from our hotel suite faster than I can keep track of. I sit like a statue in a makeup chair for what feels like ten hours as every inch of my body is buffed and polished, my hair is styled, and makeup is lacquered on with what I feel sure is some derivative of concrete. I'm feeling much better about my general everyday appearance knowing that an entire team of people are responsible for making celebrities look so good. Matt spends the day greeting the people in our room, fielding phone calls, doing interviews, and eventually taking a fifteen-minute shower and changing into his charcoal gray custom Tom Ford tuxedo.
“Must be nice,” I call out from my perch. “I’m going to need an ice scraper to get all of this off,” I say, gesturing toward my face.
“You are beautiful.” He kisses me deeply.
“No, no, no! No kissing until after photos!” clucks the makeup artist, shooing Matt away from me. She reapplies my lipstick and gloss before spraying my entire face with what I think is hairspray. “Nothing will move until tomorrow,” she explains.
The glam team starts packing up as I head to the bedroom to get dressed. Matt stands behind me, watching me in the mirror as I put on the earrings he gave me.
“Hold on, don’t move.” He darts into the suite. He comes back with his phone, opening the camera app. He stands off to the side, careful not to get his reflection in the mirror, and says, “Okay, go ahead.” I continue putting my earrings on, my mouth pursed in concentration. Matt snaps several photos.
“Perfect.” He turns the small screen toward me, showing me the photo. I look good. Really good. My confidence soars. I almost don't recognize myself.
But what I do instantly recognize is the similarity between the photos Matt just took and my wedding portraits we were looking at earlier this week.
“I love you,” he says, coming up behind me and resting his head on my shoulder, arms around my waist. We look at our reflection together in the bathroom mirror. His hair and his eyes, just a shade darker than mine. There is no denying how fantastic we look together.
“I can’t wait to show you off to the world.” He nuzzles my neck.
I smile but can't ignore the flash of discomfort that shoots through me as I wonder why he is trying to recreate a sacred memory of mine. I shove it off, and we head down to the waiting limo.
* * *
My chest tightens and my breath quickens as we join the line of limousines inching closer to the theater. Matt is holding my hand, giving me reassuring squeezes.
“It's going to be fine. Just pick one spot and look at it, smile if you feel like it, and hold tight to me. I won’t let you go,” he soothes.
I try taking deep breaths, but it is not helping. My hands are shaking with nerves. He pours a small glass of tequila and passes it to me. “Drink this, it’ll take the edge off.” I down it in one gulp and feel the warmth soak through my body, immediately aware of the fact I’ve had nothing but coffee today.
Finally, it's our turn.
Despite Matt’s pep talks, I am not prepared for the noise and lights that assault us as we step out of the limo. Matt goes first, then reaches his hand down to help me out. I immediately start shaking all over. He turns to me with his sexy side grin plastered on his face. “I am right here. Hold my hand, we will walk through quickly. Don’t listen to anything anyone says. I love you.”
I grip his arm as the stylist hops out to adjust my dress. She looks at me and notices my quivering knees, and I see the first hint of kindness from her.
“Julia, chin up. You are stunning and perfect. Go show them,” she says sternly. It's enough to propel me forward on Matt’s arm with my head held high.
“Matt! Long time no see, dude!”
“What song are you performing tonight?”
“Who is your date?”
“I love you, Matt!”
“That's the chick in the sweatshirt!”
“What's her name? Is she your girlfriend? How long have you been hiding her from us?”
“What’s your name, sweetheart?"
Reporters and fans scream at us as bulbs flash, and I start seeing spots. “Keep walking, we’re almost to the first stop,” Matt says through his smile. We pause at a spot on the carpet where the bulk of the photographers are waiting. I try to remember what the makeup artist told me about posing: Give them different angles, keep moving, bend your knee, the one with the slit, lean into Matt, soft smile , but it all abandons me. I just stand next to Matt and try my best not to appear like a deer in the headlights.
Don’t look scared! My mom's voice echoes in my head.
Matt is completely at ease in this situation. He smiles, seemingly unruffled by the deafening barrage of questions and the bright lights. At one point, I step to the side so Matt can be photographed by himself. I feel much more comfortable in this role, lingering in the background.
“Thank you all,” he says, reaching out for my hand again, and we keep walking. He picks up his pace as we pass through the next several sections of the carpet without stopping.
“I have to say hi and do a quick interview with my friend before we go in. It won’t be more than a few questions.”
I nod and follow him. He walks up a few steps to an elevated platform—a mini stage of sorts—and I wait down below, taking in the chaos. I can’t hear what Matt is being asked, but I do notice a camera panning down toward me. I do my best to appear aloof, but I start waving at the camera like a complete idiot. After only ten minutes, Matt comes to retrieve me, and we head inside the theater.
“You did it!” He leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “Let's get you a glass of champagne.”
“Yes, please.” I exhale.
He grabs two flutes, and we find our seats.
Once inside with the bulk of the cameras and noise gone, I feel my nerves calm, and I'm able to enjoy the show. Shortly after it begins, Matt leaves to get ready for his performance. When he takes the stage, I am in complete awe once again.
And once again, I am not alone. During earlier performances tonight, the crowd chattered throughout, but when Matt takes the stage, it’s dead silent. I glance around to see a room enthralled by him. He is surrounded by the best of the best in his industry: artists, producers, managers, musicians. His talent and his passion transcend a normal listening experience, practically holding us all captive.
In this room full of powerful people, Matt seems completely unfazed. I know this hasn’t always been the case for him, as he once described a bout of crippling stage fright in his early years, the insecurity that followed him around to open mic nights, and the self-doubt he harbored. But all of that is clearly long gone, and I watch him tune it all out and lock into whatever mode he goes to when he performs in another stratosphere.
At one point during his song, he finds me in the crowd. When our eyes connect, the air charges, and I feel like I'm floating. I'm instantly reminded of that night in Baltimore after his performance, my body humming with energy. I feel a slow pulse in between my legs. The lights, the crowd, this giant venue, the buzz from the champagne—I realize in this moment and without a shadow of a doubt that I am completely in love with him. And I should tell him as soon as the right moment presents itself.
His performance ends, and the applause is thunderous. Several minutes later, he makes his way back to me, ducking down so he won’t obstruct people’s view of the stage. I grab his hand as he sits back down in his seat, and I lean in to whisper, “That was incredible. And I am going to fuck your brains out. At the first opportunity.”
A giant smile spreads across his face. “Is that a promise?”
“Yes.”
“Well, all right, then.”
The show continues, and during a commercial break, I excuse myself to use the bathroom. It is packed, and I find myself standing in line behind someone familiar—one of the women I saw sitting at the table with Matt earlier this week. Alexa? Alison? I can't remember her name, but she turns toward me with a faux smile. "Oh, my God, hi, Julia, you look gorgeous." Her voice is a pitch too high. I know she doesn't mean it.
"Thanks. You too."
"So, I guess it's official now, huh?"
I stare at her.
"You and Matt," she prompts.
"It's been official for a while now, but only our closest friends were in the know."
"That's so interesting. Because I know for a fact that he was on a date with a dear friend of mine at the end of the summer. And it wasn't the first date. Maybe third or fourth?" Her smile is venomous.
I keep my face calm, ensuring that this woman does not get a rise out of me. I smile at her as sweetly as possible and say, "Enjoy your night," before ducking out of line. I head back toward the theater doors with a smile painted on my face as I rewind time in my head, trying to remember when Matt and I went to DC.
By the time I find my way back to my seat, I'm feeling unnerved. Matt grabs my hand as I sit down. "I missed you." His eyes are so earnest. I've only been gone for a few minutes, but I know he means it.
He kisses me, and I know in my gut that the woman in the bathroom was fucking with me. Plus, I remember we didn't even say we were exclusively dating until the end of September—which helps to ward off the doubt that is threatening to seep in. But was that technically the end of summer? I second-guess myself. What does it even matter? We are here now. We watch the remainder of the show, hand in hand.
Matt does not seem bothered that he isn't nominated for anything this year. “I’ve done this whole song and dance before,” he told me over lunch earlier in the week. “At first it was all I wanted, a Grammy. I thought it would make me feel like this was all worth it, somehow it would validate my spot in this industry. And certainly, that was a special moment for me. But now I feel like it’s just something; it doesn’t have to mean anything. I didn’t even come to the show for years because I stopped caring, didn’t buy into the hype. But then I was reminded of how fun it is to be here, with all the people in my profession who I admire and respect in one room. To be able to play in front of them—that is what gets me amped. And I think it’s very cool they still consider me enough to invite me. That’s an honor, and really a testament to my fans, the people who love my music no matter where I play it. But winning or losing a statue doesn’t define me, not anymore.”
After the show is over, Matt is still riding on the high of his performance, and it seems nothing can bring down his mood. His energy is contagious and combines with the adrenaline I've been feeling and the three flutes of champagne I've had. We navigate through the sea of people exiting the theater and are stopped at least a dozen times by friends and acquaintances saying hey, man and great job and enjoying quick catch-ups.
I'm introduced to more people than I can keep track of. Most are cordial but seem indifferent toward me, focusing solely on Matt. Like he is the sun and everyone else is just orbiting around him. It is then I have the thought: Matt is a rock star .
My next immediate thought is, What am I doing here?
I do my best to ignore it.
Eventually, we make our way back to our limo and collapse against the seats. Matt loosens his bow tie and tosses it into the cupholder. I watch him with his bright eyes, his tamed hair, his tuxedo—the cut, fit, and color of it divine. He is so insanely sexy that I think I might combust.
And he's mine . The thought is electrifying.
“What a night! And it's just getting started.” He briefed me this morning about the handful of after parties he has to stop by. “Some just to show my face, some for us to actually have fun,” he said then.
Now, he asks, “What did you think of my performance?”
I sidle over to where he's sitting, gathering my dress around my waist to sit in his lap.
“I thought you were absolutely fantastic. Unbelievable. The room was enchanted by you.” I kiss him. “Watching you up there was such a turn-on. You made me—and I think a lot of other women—very, very, wet.” Desire floods my system.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I bite on his bottom lip. He twists away from me momentarily to look for the button for the partition in our limo.
“Do you want to make good on your promise?” he asks with a seductive smile as the window separating us and the driver slides up and seals shut with a thunk.
"Yes."
It's on.
We crash into each other, mouths colliding, his tongue sliding in and meeting mine. I lean into him, grinding my hips against him with an urgency I can’t quell. We kiss as I try to rip his tuxedo buttons off. At the same time, he tries to get to the zipper on the back of my gown. We're fumbling, panting, the intensity and adrenaline making us both frantic.
“Fuck it, just keep my dress on,” I say breathlessly, and I move off him long enough to slide my panties down my legs. I hold the silky fabric out to him with one finger and cock my eyebrow. “Want to see just how wet you made me?”
His eyes go dark as he takes my soaked panties and puts them in his mouth, biting the delicate fabric with his teeth.
“You are so fucking dirty,” he growls.
I wrestle with the buttons on his pants, finally freeing him. I take a moment to look at him, so full and thick, his velvet head dripping in anticipation of what’s about to happen. I'm practically salivating. At this moment, I see a flash from a camera outside the limo, and I drop to the floor like I’ve been shot.
“What the fuck!” I scream.
Matt starts laughing. Hard.
“No, no, don’t worry, babe, these windows are so tinted no one can see through. Trust me, it's been tested many, many times.”
"Oh, thank God."
I get up and climb back into his lap. He is still laughing as he flings my panties across the limo and buries his face in my cleavage. He licks a trail in between my breasts and back up my neck, to the lobes of my ears clad in the diamonds he gave me. It is tantalizing. His fingers work in between my legs, stroking me with a rhythm, the rhythm, the one only he knows. The one that builds my orgasm quickly. Too quickly. I gasp and reach down and start pumping his cock with my hand, trying to match the pace he's set. We're all gasps and moans, teeth and hair; the air inside the limo fills with the smell of our sex.
When I can't take it for another second, I grab his shoulders with both hands and lift myself up onto his perfect cock. I tease him for just a second with the wet opening before I plunge down onto him. A moan rips from his mouth as I take a precious minute to work myself onto him fully. I stifle a sigh and feel myself clench, precariously close to the edge, then I move up and down in a deliciously fast pace, grabbing hold of his thick, gorgeous dark hair. Sooner than either of us expect, Matt gasps, "Fuck. Fuck . I'm coming," and explodes into me with a shudder. The feeling of his orgasm, knowing that I caused it, that I am the source of his undoing, and so quickly, is all it takes to put me over the edge. I cry out as I come with him.
“Incredible,” he says.
“Incredible,” I repeat.
"Just when I think it can't get any better…" He trails off.
I catch my breath and pull away to see Matt's smug, relaxed smile plastered on his lipstick-smudged face, his eyes at half-mast. A portrait of a satisfied man.
I climb off and land in the seat next to him, resting my head against his shoulder. We both remain silent. Content.
Eventually, the limo driver maneuvers us out of the crawling traffic to a side street. Matt kisses the top of my head and says, “Just so you know. I’d take that over a Grammy any day of the week.”