33. Dating My Diva
THIRTY-THREE
dating my diva
Another day, another red carpet.
Brianna and I retreat to her house not long after her rehearsal to prepare for the star-studded event. I’m in a sleek black designer suit instead of a tux, but it still only takes me ten minutes to get ready. Brianna has a team prepping her in every way. She’s pampered and fussed over for hours before the limo arrives to take us to the tribute.
Her hand grips mine as her head rests on my shoulder. She’s engulfed in absolute calm—such a stark contrast from our first red-carpet event, when we “hard-launched” our relationship, as Char put it. Back then, we were both freaking out.
“How far we’ve come, Bree,” I say into the peaceful hum filling the cab. “You’re completely at ease, and I’m rock-solid.”
She squeezes my hand. “Mmm, it’s like we’re not freaking out about some random stalker out to get me.”
“Isn’t it more than that?”
“Like?”
I lean my head against hers, our fingers locked together as the car slows to a crawl in the drop-off lane. We’re almost there.
“Like, now we trust each other. We aren’t worried about what the headlines will say in an hour about how our relationship is doomed.”
“Speak for yourself. I’d love for people to cheer us on.”
“Oh, the people will. They already are. It’s the paparazzi that have other agendas.”
“Boo.”
I laugh. “Exactly.”
“Time’s up though. We’re here.”
I kiss her cheek before stepping out onto the arrival path, turning immediately to take Brianna’s hand and help her out.
The instant her head appears, the flashes explode. She looks like a goddess, as always. Her dress is a figure-hugging dark red—my favorite color on her—and her hair’s in a messy updo. I guess the messy bun look works with the red carpet nowadays. I’m not complaining—I’m drooling. But the part that has my blood roaring to get my hands on Bree isn’t the dress or the color or the messy updo. It’s the genuine smile on her face, not a hint of the diva mask she’s carried for so long.
If I hadn’t already fallen in love with her, I would now. The real woman behind the Brianna Royce brand is standing in front of me, and she’s never looked more beautiful.
We walk the path, pausing for pictures every few inches. Reporters blast us with questions about our dinner with Colleen and the trip to my family’s ranch.
“Is Colleen staying with you?”
“Will your next single be called ‘Reunited’?”
“Are you sticking with Zack, or is another boy toy in your future?”
What a fucking question. I’m standing right here.
We simply smile as we’re blinded by flashes, then we duck into the theater as soon as possible.
Once we get past security—now increased by the venue after everything that went down with Logan—Brianna kisses me on the cheek and dashes away to prepare for her set. Char escorts me to the VIP box she’s prepared for our party. Elle and Colleen are already seated and bouncing with nervous energy. The two of them together are like a small hurricane, so I’m worn thin before the show has even begun.
Not a minute too soon, the lights go down, and a pulse of energy moves through the audience. My heart hammers in my chest as I sit on the edge of my seat waiting for Brianna’s introduction. I’ve never seen her perform live, although once her tour starts, it’ll be a nightly event. My own anticipation is off the charts. I can’t imagine how she must be feeling.
The deep voice of the master of ceremonies—some radio host I don’t listen to—fills the theater as Brianna is introduced. She’s kicking off the entire thing.
No pressure there.
“Paying tribute to the queen of all divas, Diana Ross, here is everyone’s pop sweetheart, Brianna Royce!”
My heart pounds.
The melody of a familiar tune begins to play, but this version mixes the sound of old and new. String and brass instruments belt out the classic song, but a few beats later, they’re paired with a modern synthesized harmony. The result leans into rave territory, but I have to admit, the sound is a perfect passing of the torch from one generation to the next.
The lights twinkle throughout the stage, flashing all over like little stars, slowly getting brighter before finally settling on Brianna center stage.
She’s breathtaking .
My heart literally constricts, beating in awe of the moment. As she stands for all the world to see, she looks offstage and up into our VIP box. Her eyes find mine. Brianna raises her lips and blows me a kiss. I pull the whipped boyfriend move of actually catching it. I’ll gladly take the railing I’m about to get from Clinton and Jacob. I couldn’t care less what anyone says about turning in my man card, because Brianna just told the world she’s with me one hundred percent .
Her gown sparkles with silver beads—a sharp contrast to the red dress she wore as we arrived—shimmering along her curves and hugging all the right places. It’s sexy without revealing everything. Char’s team certainly knew what they were doing. This dress is a statement.
Brianna Royce isn’t just a diva; she’s pop-star royalty.
Her voice carries over the music as she starts singing a Diana Ross classic. Now I understand her desire to keep the song a surprise. It’s our story; what we’ve just gone through to be together. “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” We’ve risen above the valleys and crested the mountains that stood in our way. Now we have each other.
The pride I have watching her, listening to her voice, is indescribable. This is the woman I love, the woman who loves me, singing the hell out of this song. I can’t help the smile on my face. I feel a few eyes on me from down below. My seat at the edge of the box puts me on display, but for the first time in all this, I don’t care. The only person who matters is Brianna. And seeing her smile again makes everything it took to get here worth it.
As she finishes her song to a round of massive applause and a standing ovation, Brianna looks up at me once more. And the smile I love—the one I know is genuine—fills her entire being.
I’ve never been so fucking happy.
I take a casual pose in the wings as I wait for Brianna to emerge from her dressing room. As soon as she finished her tribute, I had Char bring me back here to wait for her. I want this girl on my arm for the rest of the night, and it starts right now.
“You sure do look snazzy,” Clinton whispers, borrowing Elle’s term, as he takes the spot next to me backstage. “What’s that question those red-carpet reporters are always asking? ‘Who are you wearing?’” He elbows me in the side.
He’s one to talk, with the black Hugo Boss suit Char slapped on him, claiming Brianna’s security needed to look the part.
“Armani, or so I was told.” My reply is sharp. I’m not a fashion kind of guy. Most of my time is spent in workout shorts and dry-fit shirts. But I have to admit, wearing the dark blue suit and the Tom Ford loafers feels ... dang , I don’t even have a word for it other than “fitting.”When you’re on the arm of the girl who’s turning every head in the building, you want to at least appear like you belong with her.
I know I don’t need to worry about appearances. Brianna has never been that girl—the one with expectations of me to be anyone other than who I am. But an event this big calls for some compromise. And I’m totally fine to dress the part.
“Anyway,” Clinton continues, “things have settled down for now. Logan’s in custody, and Rachel is back out in public.” He chuckles. “Remind me never to arrest her again. She’s kind of a wildcat.”
I stifle a laugh, because we’re backstage and I don’t want to get kicked out, but it’s pretty funny that earlier I was thinking the same thing about my sister. I shiver at the thought of what could go wrong if the two of them are ever in the same room. No, thanks.
“Where is she now?” I ask absentmindedly. At this point, I’m just making conversation while I wait.
“In the VIP box with Elle and Colleen.” Clinton’s words are as casual as my question. As if his answer didn’t just make my blood pressure jump to unhealthy levels.
“What? Are you serious right now?” I whisper-shout, because we’re still standing backstage. “That’s got disaster written all over it!” I’m not excited about the possible outcome of this new development.
Clinton shrugs. Now I have zero desire to return to that box for the rest of the tribute. In fact, I wonder .. .
“Hey, baby!” Brianna’s voice draws my attention. She’s back in her red dress and looking as beautiful as ever.
I snake my arm around her waist and pull her close, then I lean in to whisper in her ear. “You were amazing, babe.” I kiss her cheek.
My girl blushes at my words, even after receiving a standing ovation. How can my simple praise do that to her? Honestly, it must really be love.
Still leaning close, I put my idea in motion. “Elle, Colleen, and Rachel are waiting in the box. It’s a good thing I didn’t invite Jacob—that really would have been a huge disaster.” I laugh quietly.
Brianna has a stricken look on her face at the thought of all of them together, so I decide to act on my earlier thought.
“Want to ditch them all and leave?”
It sounds like a joke, but I’m completely serious. And if I know Brianna, she’ll jump at the chance to avoid all the drama waiting for us in that box.
“You read my mind, Zack.” She winks and smiles.
Fuck me, she’s beautiful when she’s happy.
“Clinton, can you let them know we had a previous engagement and we’ll catch them later?” I know he won’t like this idea, but the dude owes me for all the headaches he’s given me over the past few days. I’ll consider this payback for being kept in the dark so long.
Clinton shakes his head ruefully. “Yeah, fine. I kind of figured you’d take off as soon as you heard Rachel was here. I tried to talk her out of coming, but you know Rachel.”
“Wildcat, right?”
“Dang, kid. I’m a cop. A ten-year veteran. I served in combat. And she scares the crap out of me.”
That earns a laugh from me and Brianna. “Thanks, man, for everything.”
I shake his hand, then Brianna gives him a hug. The two of us don’t wait another second to leave, heading to the back entrance, where Brianna’s ride is waiting.
“What’s the plan?” she asks as we get into the black SUV. Thank goodness it’s not a limo this time. We can play Where’s Waldo? with the paparazzi and keep them guessing.
“No plan except to avoid the drama.” I shrug. “Want to have a movie night at home? Pajamas and popcorn? If you’re ready to go back.” I raise a brow in question.
Now we know the break-in was staged, I wonder if she’s comfortable returning.
She rests her head on my shoulder as she wraps both arms around mine. “That sounds perfect. Let’s go home. But maybe we can sleep in your room tonight.”
I kiss her temple in agreement.
We sit close in the back of the car as it winds through the streets of Hollywood. My fingers tangle with hers as the anticipation of a night alone builds between us.
I lean my head against the seat, tilting to the side to gaze at Bree’s profile. “Are you sure you’re okay with us leaving so early?” I watch, hypnotized by her calm presence—something I hope becomes her default rather than the miracle it is.
Her eyes flutter closed as she takes a deep, satisfied breath—the kind you take on the other side of a rough road. “Perfectly fine.”
I bring her fingers to my lips, kissing each one gently. “My favorite look on you. Contentment.”
My words bring a smile to her lips as her eyes find mine. “Did you ever in your wildest imagination think we’d get here? That you and I would be together after all this?”
I brush a lock of hair away from her face. “My imagination could never.”
She hums at my lame attempt to joke with her.
“I knew what I felt when I saw you. I knew I wanted to see this look on your face.” I touch her lips with mine. “This one right here. And I desperately wanted to be the man who helped put it there. But back then, I was just a fool lucky enough for the diva to look my way.”
Brianna leans closer, her lips touching mine in a featherlight kiss. “ And here we are now. Another Hollywood diva falling for her boy toy.” Brianna winks as she laughs.
“No.” I lean close to kiss her. “I’m no toy. I’m your secret weapon.”
She smiles.
“And you’re not another diva. You’re the girl of my dreams.”
Brianna throws her arms around me. “And you’re the man of mine.” It’s her turn to kiss me, which she does. “Take me home and make me popcorn.”
So I do. It’s as close to perfect as it could be. I can’t ask for any more than that.