Chapter Six. Luna
Chapter Six
Luna
When I look out at the audience halfway through the first night of the tour in Paris, my breath catches.
There are thousands of girls here, and they’re all waiting with bated breath for me.
And what really breaks my heart a little is that most of them are in long flowy skirts and romantic blouses and sundresses.
And I’m here in a sparkly jumpsuit so tight, it leaves red imprints on my ass.
Even though I’m contorting myself in hopes that pop-star level publicity will get me a Grammy, these girls love the me I’ve always been.
The heartbreaking folk-pop songs that are my favorites are what they sing the loudest for, even if those songs didn’t chart until I made a pop song with Hudson.
I’m about to say fuck it and play another song from my last album instead of the new pop single that we’ve rehearsed and choreographed to come next, when I see him in the VIP tent. Hudson is here. And if I’ve seen him, that means everyone else has too.
Thank god I’ve done these sets so many times during the US leg of my world tour that I can snap back into performer mode and not totally lose where I am, even though I’m beyond shocked.
He couldn’t spend ten minutes even calling me to say goodbye, but now he has time to fly to Paris so that my fans can take videos of him here and he can get some press out of it?
I belt out the rest of the song as though I don’t have a care in the world, but when my backup dancers run up to me with a bottle of water and a towel while the stage resets, I let the mask drop for a moment. “Why did no one tell me Hudson was here?”
No one says anything. Eventually one of the dancers, Rhia, shrugs apologetically. “Ashley looked surprised too.”
Before I can say anything else, the lights change and that’s my cue to go back out there for the surprise song.
I had already prepared the song I was planning on playing, “No More Romeos.” It’s the single from my first album, and it’s how I kicked off the US tour, too.
It’s extra sentimental because the chorus was inspired by a late-night dating debrief with my mom.
I didn’t feel the same energy from the crowd during that last new pop single, and this is a song that I know they’ll be excited for and know every word to.
But now I’m put in a hard position because I know that now everyone out there will be disappointed if I don’t play my song with Hudson.
If he had just told me he was coming, I could have prepared for this.
I let my dancer slip my guitar over my shoulder, and stride back out to the front of the stage in my custom four-inch crystal-studded Louboutin boots. I hate that I’m being thrown for a loop on the first night of my European tour. But I paste a huge smile onto my face.
“Je t’aime, Paris!” I shout. The crowd screams back at me, and for a moment I forget everything else. I can’t believe I filled this arena. All of these people are here to listen to me. And I will not disappoint them.
“I already had something special planned for you tonight,” I say with a wink.
“But I just learned that my someone special came here to surprise me on the first night of my European tour!” The crowd screams. “And I’ve heard that Paris is the city of love …
so, baby, will you come up here and sing a love song with me? ”
Hudson steps out of the VIP tent and the crowd goes wild.
Security escorts him to the stage and he jumps up.
He clearly expected this to happen: he’s in a full Louis Vuitton fit and has his hair and makeup done just so.
He waves at the crowd before pulling me in for a kiss onstage, which I end swiftly by strumming the opening line of our song on my guitar.
Back before I realized it was a performance, I used to love when he did over-the-top romantic things like this, because I thought they were for me.
“Do you mind sharing a mic?” I say, like we’re the only two people there. The crowd eats it up, even though Hudson and I both know I’m just playing it up for them.
“With you? I’d love to.”
I start playing our song on my guitar, and I sing my first verse solo while he gazes at me in that way that he only ever does while I’m singing.
It’s like I’m invisible once we’re offstage.
But I’ve watched videos of him looking at me while I sing and it could almost make me love him.
His verse comes and I try to match his intense gaze, but it’s hard to imagine I’m not falling short.
But once we’re both belting out the chorus together, it no longer matters, because our faces are practically touching while we share the mic and the crowd is going more wild than they did for any of my own songs and I know that this will inspire hundreds of viral videos before the concert is even over.
And when we finish, I know I can’t break up with him tonight, even if I decided it was worth the risk to my career. If I dump him after this performance, everyone in the fucking world will call me a heartless bitch.
When I go back to my dressing room after the show, I’m expecting to see Hudson waiting for me.
But what I find waiting for me is a giant bouquet of flowers, a garment bag, and a gift box.
I sigh, exhausted. All I want is a hug and a heartfelt congratulations on this huge milestone.
Instead it feels like he’s given me an assignment.
I open the garment bag and find a dress that matches his outfit perfectly, plus a pair of heels, and inside the box is a stunning purse to go with both.
I wish gestures like this still felt like love.
I snap a picture of it all for my Instagram stories and tag him, then change into the dress.
As I’m buckling up my shoes, there’s a knock at the door.
I finish the shoes and open the door, only to see a tray with escargots and a slice of chocolate torte on the floor.
I step over it and look down the hall, and catch a flash of blond turn the corner as Riley leaves.
I should be thrilled by how well tonight went, but for some reason instead I feel like I might cry.
At least this makeup is so sweatproof, it wouldn’t budge.
I sit on the couch and start with dessert.
I take a huge bite of chocolate torte and almost moan when I taste it.
Fuck. Riley’s food is incredible. I eat the rest quickly, then text Ashley I’m ready to go, and she gets me from my dressing room and helps me sneak out the back door, where Hudson is waiting in my car.
I run past the screaming fans and flashing cameras and duck into the car. Hudson, who was gallantly reaching for my hand as I stepped in, back when we were in view of the cameras, goes back to his phone once we’re in the car.
“Great job, babe. LV is hosting at Matignon. We’re on the list. Heard Kala will be there.”
It kills me that he doesn’t look up. I reach over and squeeze his thigh. “Thanks for coming tonight. It was a surprise.”
“Wanted to help you start things off with a bang.” He glances at me for a moment. “You look nice.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly. He’s back to his phone.
The silence between us feels so loud. “You do too.” He doesn’t say anything.
Each passing minute we sit in this car feels like an eternity.
I know breaking up now will make me look bad, especially after tonight.
But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t take it.
“Hud,” I say finally. “We need to talk. I think we should—”
“Here,” he interrupts quickly. He straightens his shoulders and opens the door before I can finish, and I’m stunned.
Did he not hear me? He must know what I was about to say.
No sentence that starts with We need to talk is going anywhere good.
But now the door is open, so I wipe the stunned expression off my face and smile so that when we walk into the club, we look like the couple that everyone wants to be.
Inside, it’s so loud that I can’t hear myself think.
I am so tired. All I want is to go to bed, before I do this all over again tomorrow for our second night here.
Hudson leads me to the bar, and when we get there, he orders us both champagne, zero proof for him and regular for me.
The bartender pours two glasses and hands them to Hudson.
“This one is the nonalcoholic?” Hudson asks, raising the glass on the right, even though the bartender already specified when he handed them to him.
I can hear the tension in his voice. I know the past few years have been hard for him.
When we first met, I imagined that I’d be able to listen, offer support.
But he’s never opened up to me, not about his sobriety or about anything beyond music.
I take my glass and go to cheers it against his, but before our glasses can connect, Hudson snaps a picture of them, and instead of taking a sip, he posts it to his Instagram story. My light in the city of lights, he writes.
I take his chin and gently guide his face up so he’s looking at me. “Hudson, I need to talk to you. This is just—”
He leans forward and kisses me briefly. “Relax, babe. Just dance, enjoy the night. We can talk tomorrow. I need to go say hi to the designer real quick. I’m trying to land them for a campaign. Be right back.”
He walks away, leaving me with both glasses. I exhale in frustration and turn toward the bar. “Do you have anything stronger?”