CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ROYCE
In the interest of keeping the peace, we all stay in our own rooms for as long as possible. It isn’t until Ava comes through, banging on everyone’s door, shouting about the car being here shortly to take us to the awards that everyone slowly but surely comes creeping back out.
Angel is sitting lazily in the recliner when Hudson and I join him in the living room.
“How long you been out here?”
He shrugs and points the remote at the TV to turn it off. “All fucking morning. Came back in here after everyone cleared out. Figured between make up sex, post cat-fight sex and whatever man on man action you two were getting into, I’d have the living room to myself for a while.”
I’m about to explain to Angel that man on man action is also considered sex when Sammy comes strolling out of Derek’s room and heads straight for Ava.
“Ava?”
She cocks her head slightly to the side, her ‘I don’t really give shit face’ already in place. “What?”
“I just wanted to say I’m really sorry. I was freaking out when I got here, and everyone was so weird about it. I didn’t realize how much our problems were affecting the whole band. It’s just been a really rough year for Derek and me. Anyway, I just wanted to apologize.” Even though she says all the right words, it doesn’t mean shit. And one look at Ava tells me she feels the same way.
Rather than say so, she counters Sammy’s counterfeit speech with one of her own. “It’s fine. Really. I should have been more understanding. I knew this tour was taking its toll on you guys. I shouldn’t have jumped all over you for an accusation we all knew was just a cry for help on your part.”
It’s patronizing and completely insincere, but unless Sammy wants to blow her own mock apology to shit, she has no choice but to take it and smile. Which she does.
“Oh good. Both my favorite girls are getting along again.” Derek wanders up behind Sammy and wraps his arms around her waist. It’s only about the dumbest fucking thing he could say, given the circumstances. Even ‘foot permanently lodged in his mouth’ Nolan knows that.
“Are you fucking kidding? What, like they’re sister wives now? How about you don’t claim both of them after one just accused the other of banging you, k?” Blaise scowls at him as he goes to plant a sloppy kiss on the top of Ava’s head.
Then, because shit is already unraveling at a nice and steady pace, the penthouse door opens and in marches Francis with Petra right behind her.
“What’s up, party people? Check out the hot little number I picked up in the lobby.” She stops when she spots Angel. “She’s probably more your type than mine though, so I guess I’ll let you have her, Angel.”
“So very generous of you.” He grins as he stands up from his seat to properly greet his date. While the two proceed to play a game of oral twister for a solid minute, Francis makes the rounds saying hi to the rest of us. Then, when Angel finally breaks free from Petra’s mouth, he apparently feels he needs to extend a proper, albeit delayed, welcome to Francis as well. She’s slightly out of his reach when he leans in toward her.
“Whoa, dude. I don’t know what sort of expectations you have of the women who walk into this room, but I’ll stick with a fucking handshake if it’s all the same to you.”
Francis actually holds out her hand and the expression on Angel’s face is enough to have us all rolling. Well, almost everyone. The only person who’s noticeably unamused, is Sammy. Her mouth is twisted up so tightly you’d think she just stuck her nose in the ass end of a skunk. It has to sting watching Francis stroll in and be treated like she belongs when Sammy is now unofficially and unpleasantly outside of the inner circle. Especially considering she married into the family and Francis is no more to her than the hired help.
“Meanwhile, you all know the fucking car is downstairs waiting, right?” Francis says dryly, in her usual state of totally annoyed. She’s like the real-life version of MTV’s Daria. Except with darker hair and no glasses. Same damn expression and monotone voice though. Not to mention, outstanding sense of humor.
“Yes!” Ava starts waving her arms around in her usual attempt to herd us to her will. It works. Naturally.
We all make it into the Escalade limo without any further drama induced obstacles and even though I wind up sandwiched between Francis and Hudson, he doesn’t seem too concerned about her presence as of yet. Unlike Ava, who continues to stare at me while making odd movements with her mouth and eyebrows I’m sure are a side effect of her attempts to communicate with me via telepathy. Something she has as of yet not mastered but insists she will eventually. According to her, people can only live in close quarters for so long before their brainwaves start to overlap and match up. I told her she was confusing brain waves with menstrual cycles, but she insisted they were close enough.
And maybe they are, because the reality is, in spite of my best efforts to shut out her accusations via mental telepathy, I can hear her voicing each and every one of them loud and clear. I respond the same way I always do. By ignoring her completely.
Then. BOOM. My little self-made bomb blows up right in my face.
“So, girlfriend, how do you want to play this? Am I like your ‘date’ date? Or just a body to fill the seat beside you. I mean, I notice I didn’t get a corsage or anything - not that I’m complaining, but a girl has hopes, you know?” Francis waves her empty wrist around, glancing at it wistfully.
Inevitably, all eyes are on me. Most of them making me wish I was wearing a set of steel fucking armor.
“Hadn’t really thought that much about it. Figured we’d just go out and have fun, you know?”
She flashes me her crooked grin. “I like fun. Fun works.” Then she notices the awkward expressions coming back at us. “Ava, you gonna have fun tonight? Because you look like you might fucking hurl.”
“I think all the hot air in here is just getting to me. I’ll be fine.” She leans into Blaise’s shoulder, burying her face in his shirt and I can’t help but wonder if she’s biting him to keep from saying what she’s thinking. Judging by the way half of his face twitches when she disappears back there, I’m probably not too far off in my assumptions.
Meanwhile, I’m not about to look at Hudson. Although, even without facing him, I notice his leg has moved and is no longer pressed against mine. It could be meaningless; except I know it isn’t. It’s only the beginning. He’s pulling away from me. But I tell myself repeatedly that it’s just for tonight and that I’ll be able to undo any damage I cause. He’ll be pissed, but he’ll get over it.
When we arrive at the EMAs, Blaise and Ava are the first to get out. Followed by Derek and Sammy, then Angel and Petra. Leaving me with my date and my boyfriend for last. I can’t get out of that fucking limo fast enough. I know the second we hit the red carpet, everything else will fade away. Ava’s glare. Hudson’s cold distance. Everything will blur in the noise and chaos of fans and media people.
The flash of cameras blinds me the moment I step out of the car and it’s the best fucking feeling ever. Not because I relish being the center of attention. I hate that actually, but because it makes me feel invisible, ironically. It’s like that stupid thing you do when you’re a kid and you cover your eyes saying, ‘you can’t see me’. Total bullshit. But that’s how it feels. I can’t see you. So, clearly, I’m hidden.
This is the same way. Unable to make out much of anything other than the bright red path that lies ahead, I smile and wave and just keep on walking in the safety of the lights.
It isn’t until I hear my name being shouted by one of the reporters doing interviews along the way that I grab Francis by the hand and pull her toward me, knowing Hudson will be right there as well .
“Royce! Royce, over here. Do you have a minute to chat with me?” A tall blonde wearing a skin-tight platinum colored dress is waving her microphone in my direction.
“Absolutely. Mandy, right?”
She smiles broadly, and I know I got her name right. At least there’s one thing I haven’t fucked up about this evening.
“So nice to see you again, Royce. You’re looking handsome as ever. And tell me, who is this lovely woman by your side?” She winks and holds the microphone toward me.
“Thank you, thank you. You’re as beautiful as ever, yourself.” I turn halfway toward Francis to make sure she has her game face on. “This amazingly sexy lady here with me tonight is Francis Hollister.”
“Francis, pleasure to meet you. Tell us single girls out here, what does it take to land a rock and roll hottie like Royce Lemmi?”
I hear a distinct snort behind me, but I ignore it and hope like a motherfucker, Francis and Mandy do the same.
Francis laughs. “I’m afraid I don’t have any good inside info, Mandy. I kinda landed this guy by default.”
“Francis is a member of our management team,” I explain.
“Damn, that’s two of you boys lost to management now. Well, there you have it girls, you want to land a rock star, you gotta get yourself on their payroll.”
Another audible snort.
“Before I let you catch up with the rest of the Finding Nolan crew, tell me Royce, what can we expect from tonight’s performance? Any hints?”
With everything going on, I temporarily blank on the whole fucking thing. I couldn’t have told Mandy if we were doing anything out of the ordinary, let alone what fucking song we’re even doing. Thankfully, Francis jumps in to cover for me.
“You know he can’t give anything away, Mandy. That would ruin the surprise. But I will tell you this, if people have been digging the tour thus far, they’re going to flip when they see the performance tonight!”
And then I remember. We’re doing a compilation of songs. Like the entire fucking concert rolled into one performance. It’s going to be crazy. And really fucking awesome if we manage to pull it off. Which we will. Provided I don’t forget again between now and then.
Mandy and I exchange the polite cheek and kiss business and then Francis and I are free to go. The trip down the red carpet seems to last an eternity, but with each little meet and greet we do, Francis and I fall more comfortably into our fake relationship and by the time we’re walking into the building, she has her hand firmly on my ass while my arm is comfortably snaked around her tiny little waist. Isn’t like I’m getting turned on by any of it, it’s hilarious to me more than anything. Until I catch a glimpse of Hudson’s face.
Then, to make matters worse, I realize Francis sees it, too. Instantly, her hand drops from my ass and she takes several steps out of my embrace.
“I’m sorry. I was just messing around,” she mumbles. “You know that, right?”
Hudson’s brow lifts in acknowledgement, but he says nothing. Just turns and starts shooting Blaise and Ava, who are completely entangled in an embrace which can only be described as disgustingly romantic. Naturally, I feel like an even bigger piece of shit. Not only that. I’m crushing my own fucking heart in the process. I want that. I want to be standing here, sharing the night with Hudson. Not playing fucking pretend with Francis.
“Did you work this out with him ahead of time?” I hear her hiss in my ear.
“Did I work what out with whom?” I don’t know why I think playing dumb will be helpful at this point.
“Don’t dick around with me, Royce. Your boyfriend looks devastated and I’m experiencing flashbacks of what it felt like when I found out my ex had a wife. From her. I don’t like the feeling, Royce. Not one iota of it. So you better fucking tell me right now what’s going on.”
“Please, Francis. Just fucking be a friend. I can’t do this right now. Not here.” But she isn’t going for it. “Come on. It’s not like I’m cheating. And you’re nobody’s other woman for fuck’s sake.”
“Then why do I suddenly feel like one?” She’s still scowling at me, but at least she lets me get close enough to her to be able to keep our conversation relatively private.
“Look, he doesn’t understand. Okay? He doesn’t get what it’s like. What it means to be a fucking public figure and the fucking hoops I have to jump through to maintain some sort of goddamn privacy. Which, incidentally, I don’t think is too much to ask for. Why should the whole fucking world have to know about my love life? Huh?”
She shrugs. “I think the bigger question is, why are you trying so fucking hard to hide your love life from the world? The word ‘love’ in love life implies that you love something. Most people aren’t ashamed of that. Quite the opposite actually. Mostly people seem to be annoyingly and disturbingly proud to display their heart’s desire for the world to see.” She gives an obvious glance in Blaise and Ava’s direction.
“Yeah, well. If most people got stuffed in lockers with the word fag spray painted across the damn door, they’d have a little less pride to work with too.” The words sort of slip out involuntarily. Airing my most humiliating business isn’t generally my style, but in this case, it pays off. Francis changes her tune. She understands.
“Fine. You want me to be your decoy and keep you from popping up on people’s gay-dar, I will. But I’m telling you, Royce, you’re going to regret having asked me to.” She takes my hand, still shaking her head, and I lead her out into the auditorium where we take our seats.
She’s right. I know she’s right. I just can’t do shit about it.
HUDSON
Watching Royce and Francis makes me wish I was a violent fucking person. Because if I was more aggressive, I could run to the restroom and pummel a trash can or punch a fucking mirror or something, anything to make me feel better. Except I’m not the beat the shit out of inanimate objects type, and I definitely am not the beat up a girl type, so that leaves me with the agonizing reality in which I’m a fucking pussy who has to fight back actual goddamn tears while his boyfriend goes about humiliating him in public.
Fine. He explained not coming out in public. And I understood. I didn’t fucking agree, but damn it, I understood. But this? Bringing an actual date while I’m standing right beside him? It’s like going from being a secret to being fucking invisible.
I can handle not being seen by the world but having Royce stare through me like I’m not even here, not standing two fucking feet in front of him, that is unbearable.