Chapter 7
RIO
As soon as Maddie and Antoine leave the room, Keith leans forward.
"Congrats on your fiancée, mate," he taunts, his lips curling up at one corner. My drummer drags out the word fiancée like it's some kind of dirty joke.
"Quite the bonny lass. When you're finished playing house at the end of the week, I may pick up where you left off."
"Sure, it’s a free country," I say, keeping my voice flat.
But remembering how he gave Maddie the once-over when she walked in makes my gut tighten.
I hadn't expected to feel jealous over a girl who's just pretending to be my fiancée.
But there it is.
A hot, uncomfortable feeling spreads through my chest. It’s not just any girl.
It’s Maddie.
Oblivious, Keith pushes his chair back and takes a step toward me. That smirk is still pasted on his face.
Prince Michael thrusts his arm between us like a barrier.
"Knock it off, guys," he says, his voice cutting through the tension. "Henry Lemon is flying in tomorrow and you'll all have to be on your best behavior."
"The Quench sponsor?" Keith scoffs. "What’s the big deal? You’ve already used that magic tongue of yours to get Mr. Moneybags back into your good graces after Rio’s snake charming act. Why the drama?"
Prince Michael takes stock of each of us in turn, an army captain inspecting his crew.
"It isn't just Lemon," Michael says quietly. "Derek Ward is arriving also. If not tomorrow, soon."
"The President of Midnight Records?" I look at our manager with new respect. "How did you score that?"
"I have my ways," Prince Michael says with that smug little smile.
"And word on the street says Ward wants you. Badly. This weekend’s rumored to be a look-see before he sends you an offer to seal the deal."
Steven's eyes lock with mine across the table. In that instant, I sense he is thinking the exact same thing I am.
Holy shit.
This is really happening. This is exactly what we dreamt of back when we were just smartass kids with guitars. We've been bleeding cash for months, funding this tour out of our own pockets since we left that small boutique label.
We need this.
We need Midnight Records to turn us from a popular band with a cult following into a household name.
"We worked hard for this," Prince Michael continues. "We have the opportunity of a lifetime in front of us. There's no margin for error."
Prince Michael steps into my personal space. “Rio, do you understand your cooperation is central? We got you your fake fiancée to convince the sponsor and the public your wild ways are behind you. Do your job.”
“Got it. Now get off my back.”
Yet I’m already distracted. I'm thinking back to the moment Maddie stepped into the room earlier. God, she looked good. Different. Sharper.
And I’m thinking about that battered ballerina-themed notebook.
I hadn't thought about that thing in years until I saw her pull it out of her bag. I gave it to her on her thirteenth birthday, back when she was just Steven's gangly kid sister with braces.
We were playing a gig at a hotel. I remember rushing to the gift shop last minute, desperate for a present.
The selection was slim. I ended up grabbing that cheesy ballerina notebook because it was the only thing appropriate for a kid.
But when I gave it to her, she lit up like I’d handed her the moon.
Later that night, I saw her sitting alone while everyone else danced.
She looked so lonely that I pulled her onto the floor and spun her around for a song. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t a "moment." It was just me humoring my best friend’s little sister.
Or at least, that’s how I remember it.
But seeing that same notebook today after all these years made me pause. Why did she keep it? Did she attach more to that night than what was really there?
I shake my head, clearing the memory. It doesn't matter.
She's here to play a role, and so am I.