10
Once I down a chocolatini—might as well splash out on the company dime—my stomach reminds me that I need to feed it more than just liquor.
I make my way over to the buffet on the other side of the ballroom.
The enormous seafood tower with huge prawns, crab legs, and lobster tails, three-tiered sushi boat, and Viennese dessert bar call my name.
Immediately I think about Juliet, how those little raspberry chocolate tartlets look exactly like the ones we spent all night arranging on tiered stands for her wedding reception.
It hits me like a gut punch—that I miss her more than anything in the world and I regret not being there for Kristy’s first Christmas.
I take several photos of the food and text them to Juliet.
I hope she still loves me enough to respond.
I load up my plate and hustle over to a spot where I can enjoy my feast in quiet.
I’m polishing off a mini cheesecake when my phone dings. I squeal with joy. Juliet has reacted to my pictures with exclamation emojis. A little typing bubble dances on my screen before her text pops up.
Juliet: Send pics of celebrities!
Me: Who needs famous people when you have food like this?
Juliet: Only you would choose lobster tails over celebrity sightings.
Juliet: I guess that’s because you’re one of them now.
Me: Don’t worry, I won’t let them leak any pictures of me stuffing my face.
I laugh and some of the tension in my body eases. It’s good to be able to joke around with my BBFF like usual.
Juliet: You’re not going to get papped!
Me: That’s what you think.
Me: I’m breaking a lot of hearts with my fiancé.
Somehow the words don’t fill me with as much excitement as they did only an hour ago. When I don’t hear back from Juliet—not even any little bubbles indicating she’s typing, I start to feel the nerves creeping back.
Me: Send me pictures of Kristy.
Me: I need something to cheer me up, stat, because these lobster tails aren’t quite doing it anymore.
I imagine my family has finished the Noche Buena dinner and is in their pj’s eating popcorn mixed with M&M’S and watching some Christmas classic, either It’s a Wonderful Life if Mom gets to pick or Die Hard if it’s my brother’s turn.
When still no text from Juliet comes through, I feel my appetite disappear completely. So I stand and head toward the stage to find a seat.
I’m halfway across the room when someone calls my name—high-pitched, excited, and unmistakably familiar. “Oh my god, Mary! There you are.”
I turn to find Chuck, Sherry, and Roxanne, aka the Cobra Nest. They are Dale’s bandmates’ partners.
While they’re not wearing high fashion like me, they glitter like disco balls under stage lights.
Everyone looks so stunning and grown compared to the days when we’d hang in the back of gigs together in rundown bars and small towns.
“You look amazing!” Chuck pulls me in for a hug. Despite his tuxedo, his wild curls and ink-stained fingers make him look like he just rolled out of an art studio.
“Seriously, glowing,” Sherry squeals, round-faced and warm, in a stunning forest-green dress.
Roxanne, our unapologetic goth girl in black lace, joins in and we form a group hug.
I don’t think I’d be friends with any of the Cobra Nest if it weren’t for the band, but our shared experiences together created a common bond and lots of stories.
And right now, the feel of their arms around me is enough to have me tearing up.
“You all look incredible, too!” I say. “Merry Christmas!”
Roxanne pulls back, a grin on her face as she looks me over. “Wow, you look front girl status. Have you asked Dale again about letting you guest on ‘Venom Kisses’?”
“I thought Cobra Strike was all-male vocals?” I say, the lobster tail turning in my stomach suddenly.
“Please.” Sherry waves her hand dismissively, her fingers full of rings glittering in the light. “You’re the only one who can hit the harmony the right way. He sounds pitchy alone and he knows it.”
“It’s all right.” My legs wobble but I stand straight, remembering how I basically got Cobra Strike here, and that’s more important than me singing. Plus, Dale told me he couldn’t do any of this without me. “Performing isn’t really my thing anymore, especially since I’m focusing on managing now.”
Sherry’s glittery lips purse in a frown. “I thought Kristoff was their manager?”
“Wait.” Chuck glances around the room before leaning close. “Do you know something we don’t know? Spill!”
“I knew he was no good,” Roxanne says, brown eyes wide. “Please tell me they’re getting rid of him.”
“I—” My mouth goes dry. So I’m not the manager. The hurt from earlier comes rushing back. I stutter. “No—no, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Chuck watches me with narrowed eyes.
“Okaaay,” Sherry starts.
And suddenly I’m replaying Dale earlier—how he and Kristoff disappeared backstage without inviting me, how they dismissed me.
So I did all that work for him to land the New Year’s gig, but Kristoff is the manager? What did Dale mean then, that he couldn’t have done any of this without me? Was I just doing it all for free?
Robbie’s voice echoes back in my mind, sharp now instead of encouraging: I know it’s not the same as performing, but you might have a career as a band manager after all.
At the time I smiled. Silly me.
Now it sounds more like:
Good job giving up your dreams so Dale can chase his.
Maybe you can manage him since you’re not doing anything else.
Maybe that’s all you’re good for now.
Before I can spiral further, the lights drop. A roar tears across the crowd as Cobra Strike hits the stage. The first chord vibrates through my ribs.
The Cobra Nest grabs my arms, and we run toward a roped-off VIP seating area the record label reserved for us. Kristoff is already there with other exec-looking people.
The audience erupts as Dale hops onstage. His band strikes up the familiar chords to “Love Hard” and the audience somehow screams even louder.
I can’t help but notice what an amazing front man my fiancé has turned into as he belts the familiar lyrics. I get butterflies when he turns and points in my direction as he sings.
You’ve got to love hard
Even when your odds
feel no better than a poker hand
Love isn’t in the cards
It’s something you demand
As Dale commands my attention, his fans still swoon and make kissy faces, in hopes he’ll notice.
“Like I said”—Kristoff leans to whisper into my ear—“you’re breaking a lot of hearts. We’ll need you to stay backstage next time so the fans still think they have a shot with him.”
I swallow. Dale’s focus has been dragged back to some girls in the front row, who are smiling up at him with stars in their eyes.
“I’m not going to hide,” I say to Kristoff.
“Of course not,” Kristoff acquiesces. “But a single Dale means money. You don’t want to jeopardize your paychecks. Especially with the tour next year.”
I purse my lips hearing his words. If we’re on the road, hiding our relationship, how will we have time for visiting my family? Will we even have any time together alone?
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Juliet: Here’s baby Kristy! Isn’t she adorable?
Three pictures appear—tiny fists, a gummy smile, a Christmas onesie two sizes too big. My throat tightens. I miss home. I miss my family. I miss me.
And as the band plays under bright, burning lights, I feel smaller and further away than ever.
Onstage, Dale is grinding his hips against the microphone stand.
He glances back my way and silently mouths “love you.” The words hit me in the chest, instantly lifting my mood once more.
I shout the same back to him. Who cares what Kristoff says?
Dale loves and supports me and is proud to call me his.
“Guess what, Cobra Nation?” he says, lips to the microphone as close as a kiss. “I’ve got a special treat for you.”
The crowd begins to cheer and something fizzes in my chest. What is he doing?
“We have a surprise guest singer,” Dale says, and his band begins to play the intro for the next song. My pulse races, hearing the beats for “Venom Kisses.”
Dale nods toward me, holding his hand out.
Bolts of electricity race through my body as the crowd turns my way. Is this it, the moment Dale has me sing with his band? After all these years, I feel myself tingling with nerves and anticipation. Am I ready to finally take the stage again?
I feel someone touch my back, as if to push me forward. But then they step past me, and I see who it is: a woman in a long, flowing midnight-blue dress.
Dale leans into the microphone, voice husky and low. “May I introduce… Lady Lunas!”
Lady Lunas?
My blood runs cold. The woman in the midnight-blue dress takes the stage beside him.
My heart stops in my chest when I see her. It’s Madam Lunas—my Uber driver. What is she doing here? And why is she singing with my fiancé?
The crowd goes wild as Dale takes her hand and kisses it.
As she turns to face the crowd, I stare at her through tear-blurring eyes. She looks the same as she did in the Uber, except in a glammed-up Oscar-style way, her dress long like a lounge singer’s gown.
Hurt turns to anger inside me.
The music swells as Madam Lunas cradles the mic and begins to sing.
“Can you believe I finally convinced him to get a woman to sing harmony in this song?” Kristoff asks, leaning close to me.
I barely hear his words over the crumbling of my heart.
The truth hits me as hard as the cheers and surprised howls of glee from the audience: I can’t stay here.
This isn’t my dream life. Dale might know all the right words to say, but he is just using me—he’ll never support me in the way I want, and I’ll always feel small and bad about myself.
To him, I’m just a side piece and not a true partner.
Tears burning the backs of my eyes, I force my way through the crowd toward the exit. But the crowd is raucous, screaming the lyrics alongside Dale and Madam Lunas onstage, shoving and clamoring to get closer.
A member of the audience pushes into me, my stiletto wobbles, and I knock into something cold and hard before hitting the ground. In the tangle of bodies, I can only watch in horror as the big light fixture above me tips over and falls, plummeting straight toward me.
And then everything fades to black.