Chapter 16 #3
Dash voiced his agreement, and we spent the next few minutes making sure his hair and his costume were perfect. Then, heart thrumming with anticipation, I went to find a spot where I could watch the whole thing.
We’d put together a little scenario that landed on the sweeter side of the spicy scale, with just enough intensity to keep things interesting.
I’d been a little worried that the kind of monologues that did well on social media wouldn’t work in real life, but I shouldn’t have been.
I mean, this was Dash, right? He more than made it work.
If I thought Dash was in his element in front of the camera, it was like he came to life when he had a real audience.
He commanded the attention of everyone on the rooftop with the same ease that I ate frozen Oreos—and he gave as good as he got, directing comments to this person and hair-flipping at that one and generally making everyone feel included.
I guess I got kind of caught up in the moment, because I recorded a quick video of Dash and sent it to Tía Nena.
Who answered a couple of minutes later by saying that she was going to call me later, when she was out of the kitchen and could properly hear me tell her all about it, and then quickly followed up that text with another one.
So proud of you, Chiquita. Have you shown your mom yet?
The urge to pretend that I didn’t see the second part of the message was stronger than the applause that met Dash’s performance.
Tía Nena could be relentless, though, and lately she had been badgering me more than usual about reaching out to my mom, something about how it had been a few months and we had a lot to catch up on.
As if the lack of communication wasn’t due to my mom’s desperate search for her own identity after the eighteen unfortunate years she’d spent being, well, my mom.
“You okay?” Dash asked as he came off the stage and to the table we had set up with some of our brand-new merch.
“Huh? Yeah, fine.” The words came automatically, before I had even glanced up to see him peering at me with obvious concern. I shoved my phone back into my pocket. “Just checking our comments. Dash, you were amazing!”
And clearly, I wasn’t the only one who thought so.
Even though the movie had just begun, a tidal wave of people were approaching, asking for selfies and looking through the pins and stickers Dash had designed for us to sell.
Dash immediately switched back into Duke of Harding mode, fielding questions and comments like a pro.
I paused for a moment, watching him and coming to a realization—Dash never performed in front of me like he did with everyone else.
Like he did with his father, even when it was just a phone call and the stakes were so low they were practically on the floor.
When he was around me, Dash was just… himself.
And that was… wow. It was… not something I needed to analyze just that moment, not with Shy and Aria heading my way and the fangirls shooting curious looks in my direction.
I tried to look as inconspicuous as it was possible to look when my sheer dress was striped with multicolored ribbons, dangly earrings in the shape of stacked flowers hung from my earlobes, and a huge pair of puffy-framed orange sunglasses had been nestled in my curls ever since dusk.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t quite melt away into the background because I was supposed to be manning the merch table while Dash worked the crowd.
Dressed in ripped denim and a Lisa Frankenstein T-shirt over a black mesh top printed with red lips, Aria stepped behind the table and began helping me.
Meanwhile, Shy made quick work of neatening the stack of limited edition T-shirts we’d had silk printed with the illustration of the Duke that Dash had made.
“You’re weirdly quiet tonight,” Aria said during a brief lull, eyeing me. “Shouldn’t you be out there signing autographs, too?”
“Like any of these people know who I am.”
Even in the dimness of the rooftop bar, her gaze was piercing. “Do you want them to?”
“Nah,” I said, and explained how the fangirls would probably get weird if they knew there was a woman in Dash’s life. “Even if it’s just someone writing scripts.”
“I’d say you’re a lot more than just someone writing scripts,” Shy observed.
“In the sense that I’m a well-rounded person with interests and aspirations and all that junk?
” I shot back, determined not to give Shy the opportunity to clarify, because despite all appearances, I did understand that they were referring to me and Dash and our nonexistent relationship.
“The whole point of the Duke of Harding is to project an illusion. Putting myself front and center of it kinda ruins it.”
“So you’re letting a man take the sole credit for your creation?” Aria snapped.
“You guys are worse than Dash,” I told them, and repeated the line about not needing validation from internet strangers, which I thought had been pretty good. And fairly truthful. You know, for the most part.
Once the movie was over, Dash ducked into the bathroom to change his clothes, then the four of us made our way back to our neighborhood, squabbling cheerfully over where to stop for dinner.
After wasting almost an hour trying to decide between four different places, we ended up getting an assortment of things delivered to Second Chance, where we hung out until well after midnight.
If I was putting this into a screenplay, I wouldn’t have changed a damn thing.
Afterward, Dash and I went back to my place and tumbled into bed for another few hours.
We were both tired enough that when I noticed Dash’s eyelids drifting closed, I didn’t even shake him awake to insist he go home.
And I didn’t even have the decency to break out in a cold sweat or start spiraling. All I did was snuggle closer.