Chapter Nine. Riley #2
“Right, okay,” Luna says robotically. Even though I can’t really see her face right now, because we’re too close together and she’s so much taller than me, I can tell that the smile has been wiped off it.
“This is your dream,” Ashley says reassuringly. “It’s worth it, for the Grammys.”
“I know,” agrees Luna. “Thank you.”
She hangs up the call, but instead of stepping away from me, she rests her head on my shoulder, and I pull her closer into a tight hug.
It’s so hot that I can’t tell whether the sweat on my chest where we’re touching is mine or hers, and even though it should be gross, it’s somehow not.
“The Grammys are in February,” she says with her face buried in my hair.
“I know,” I whisper. I wish I could fix this for her. She pulls away after a moment and although her eyes are wet, no tears have fallen.
“I don’t know if I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life or stuck in a cage,” Luna says softly.
“It can be both.”
Luna starts walking toward the restaurant our guide has already disappeared into, and I follow her. “No one likes my new songs. I don’t know if I can win without him.”
“Luna, I like your new songs. And your fans love you. You earned this.”
She exhales. “Hudson got me here. Since I started dating him, I’ve blown up and our single’s blown up and my old songs have blown up.
But my new songs just … aren’t. I had the pop style down for ‘You and Me.’ But for some reason it’s not translating to my solo stuff.
Honestly, I don’t even know if I love these new songs, so how can I expect my fans to? ”
“What about that song the other day at the Eiffel Tower? I loved it.”
She shakes her head. “That’s like my old stuff. I feel like I need to do something poppier, since it’s ‘You and Me’ that made me break through in this big way. I don’t know why it’s not working, though. I’ve never not been able to write. And I’ve never doubted my songwriting like this before.”
I watch her intently as her mouth turns slightly downward in a frown and worry creases her forehead. “Maybe you should write the kind of songs you always have. Even if it took time, they’re blowing up now because they’re great.”
“They’re blowing up because people are obsessed with me and Hudson.”
“No, people found them because of you and Hudson. They blew up because they’re really fucking good.
” Luna smiles the tiniest bit, and my heart soars.
I’ve been a fan of her music for so long, I never imagined she’d have any insecurities about it.
And while I desperately want to make her feel better, I also believe every word I’m saying.
“And I mean, you’re now, forever, a Grammy-nominated artist. Doesn’t that feel incredible? ”
A smile inches its way over her face. “Actually, it does.”
We finally catch up with our guide and sit down in a dining room that’s completely empty save for us and our guide but has food out for the group of twenty that Ashley paid for.
The waiters look confused when we first walk in, then their eyes widen when they realize who Luna is.
Our guide says something to a man who I’m guessing is the owner or manager, and he sends all but one of the staff to the kitchen out of sight, and our guide starts talking Luna and me through the food and wine pairings while the remaining waiter fills our glasses as needed.
Luna seems a bit wrung out from the emotional roller coaster of the past twenty minutes, so I let her eat and drink in near silence while I pepper the guide with questions.
Eventually my questions about the food veer from the history of these dishes in Córdoba to questions about the restaurant, and Luna chimes in.
“Could the owner or chef come answer Riley’s questions? She’s actually a chef too.”
I say it’s not necessary, but within minutes the head chef and owner are happily sitting with us and schooling me on the preparation of the local fish and meats.
At Luna’s urging they even take me back into the kitchen and let me get my hands dirty and prepare a few items, while Luna snaps pictures of me on her phone and sips on a glass of wine.
I prepare an oxtail tapa, one of the classic Cordobian dishes, as well as a marinated squid tapa, and just as I’m about to taste test them, Luna stops me. “Can I have the first bite?” She opens her mouth, and I blush as I feed her a bite. “Delicious,” she murmurs.
Luna’s cheeks are rosy, and I can tell that she’s at least halfway to drunk.
In the van on our way to our next stop, in Málaga, she dozes off as the guide tells us about the history of the city, and her head drifts over until she’s leaning against my shoulder.
I slide closer to her so that she’s not straining to reach me, and she nestles her head onto my shoulder and chest. I stay like that, frozen, until we hit a bump in the road and she jerks, and then I give in and wrap my arm fully around her.
It feels too natural to hold her against me like this.
I can smell her perfume, and I can already see a hint of pink on my white shirt where her blush has wiped off, and I don’t want this to stop.
I don’t want to see her invite Hudson onstage, just to be held at arm’s length as soon as they don’t have an audience, or be forced to kiss him for the cameras so she doesn’t get bad press.
But it’s her life, and so I need to reality-check myself and remember that to her I’m just a supportive friend.
And honestly, it’s crazy that I even get to be her friend, when just a few weeks ago I was a fan who was never even going to be in the same room as her.
It would be completely delusional to think that she’d fall for me, even if she is into women.
It’s never going to happen. So instead I hold her close against me and settle for keeping her safe and happy, at least while she’s with me.