Bailey laughs. “I’ve got to earn my keep around here somehow.”
Aria smiles, then pulls down a hearty gulp of the icy drink. Bailey may worry about whether she’s making a contribution, but Aria doesn’t. She’s told her—at length, on many occasions—how much Bailey does for her. Bailey is the listening ear Aria needs when she’s faced with a hard decision. Bailey is the comfort person when Aria has problems in a show. Bailey is the shoulder to cry on when unkind rumors are spread online about her. What Bailey gives is far more valuable than being her personal beverage concierge.
In fact, Aria has worried more than once ifshe’sthe one holding Bailey back. Being her tour buddy is an easy choice for Bailey, but if that hadn’t been an option, would she have pursued something more meaningful for herself? Is Bailey really getting what she wants out of life by living on tour or backstage? Aria worries that she’s being selfish by keeping Bailey at her side.
“You don’t have to earn your place here with me. But if the day comes when you want to spread your wings and leave me behind in the dust, I won’t be anything but happy for you.”
Bailey wraps her arms around Aria from behind and drops her chin onto her shoulder. Her hair tickles Aria’s cheek, teasing the corners of her mouth into a smile.
“I know I’m not chained here, sis. I just love it.”
Aria reaches up and squeezes her sister’s hand. “Me too, Bails. Me too.”
Bailey releases her arms and pulls herself upright. She headsfor the sofa along the far wall of the room and flops down onto it. Aria spins her rolling chair to the mirrored wall on the opposite side, and in the reflection she notes not a speck of her makeup has budged.
Aria reaches for her makeup remover and gets to work. “I’ll tell you what, the hair and makeup team are killing it. Hours of sweating my rear off onstage, and every bit of this is intact.”
“You’d better keep them on staff. Remember Dallas?”
Aria shudders at the memory. She was a newbie back then, a teen with big dreams and big curls and little else to show for herself, but through sheer will she’d landed a spot at an outdoor country festival. At that point, all she could afford was drugstore makeup (some of which she still swore by) and a setting spray. As it turns out, no setting spray can go toe-to-toe with the Texas summer sun, and by the time she was five minutes into her set, heavy makeup was running in ravines down her face and into her eyes, stinging them as she strummed her guitar. It was the only time she counted herself lucky to have had a short set.
“I’ll only ever do indoors in Texas now. Lesson learned.”
Aria and Bailey laugh. As Aria scrubs what feels like permanent makeup from her face, Bailey pulls out her phone and scrolls.
“Dang. People are talking about Griffin again,” Bailey says.
“I’m so relieved bringing him onstage didn’t flop.”
“Honestly, I think the crowd would’ve loved it even if he’d just stood there. But the two of you together? That was next level.”
“What do you mean, ‘the two of us together’?” Aria turns slowly to face her sister, her eyes narrowing.
“The two of you were so natural together. Like you’d known each other forever. Or like it was staged.”
“Well, itwasstaged.”
“You know what I mean—as in you’d practiced the lines. Sure, the setup was planned, but the rest was... just the two of you.”
Aria shrugs and whirls back to the mirror. He’d made for a fine side act, she wouldn’t argue that fact, but there also wasn’t any point in harping on it. Griffin was a blip on the Aria Wilder timeline—a nice one, but nothing that would last.
“I’d do anything for the fans. We all know that. So this little stunt is my pleasure.”
Aria just about has the makeup scrubbed off when a knock comes at the door.
“Come in!” Aria calls, then turns toward the door.
The door squeaks as it’s pushed open a crack, and Kelsey appears in the gap, her chestnut-brown eyes sparkling like they do whenever an idea strikes. “Hey! Got a second?”
“Sure thing. Come on in. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.” Aria waves, and the door swings open into the room, Kelsey entering in jeans, boots, and a bedazzled coat. Somehow the statement is nineties mom fashion but also entirely contemporary chic at the same time.
Kelsey drops into the second rolling chair and props her elbows on her knees.
Aria swallows. She knows this stance, and it usually entails far more than the “second” of time Kelsey asked for. Aria doesn’t mind the publicity work. She enjoys the spotlight like any other performer, but as her career and success have grown, so has the pull to make appearances and give interviews. That in combination with the fact that Aria now owes another album of a variety she’d rather not pursue, it feels like anotherforce pulling her from what she wants so badly: to reconnect with the joy of making music, the thing that kicked off this career all those years ago.
“Okay, so we have an idea.” Kelsey grins wide, enthusiasm bubbling in every syllable.
“Okayyy.” Aria pulls out the word to make it sound like an invitation to go on.
