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“Let it run?” Greg put his head in his hands. “Listen, kid, I’m on your side. Quit treating me like the damned enemy. I do what I do for a reason. You might not know what that reason is, but I always have one.”
“You’re just afraid your gravy train is going to run dry,” I countered.
Greg gave me a sharp look and then met Dale’s eyes over my head.
“Did you ever think about what would happen to Sara if it leaked out that she’s your girl—fiancée? She’s going to be hounded, constantly, by the paparazzi. And they can be brutal. Once they know her name, they are going to uncover everything they can about her. And I mean everything.”
“What?” I felt suddenly faint.
“Didn’t think of that, did you, sweetheart?” Greg gave me a sad little smile.
“Fuuuuck.” Dale drew the word out, arms tightening around me, resting his cheek against the top of my head. “I’m sorry, Sara.”
“It’s not your fault.” If anything it was my fault, for nudging Matt to ask Dale to be a bridegroom, so we could walk down the aisle together, even if it wasn’t my wedding. What had I been thinking? Of course it would mean they’d dig into my past. They’d find out about the stepbeast, about my mom. About everything.
“Well I’m glad you both now see the gravity of the situation.” Greg leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Well what do you want me to do?” I threw up my hands, exasperated. “Become a hermit and never leave the house again? Move to Taiwan? Kill myself?”
Dale’s arms tightened at that last.
“No of course not.” Greg sighed. “Well… maybe that first one… just until the tour is over…”
“About that…” Dale kissed the top of my head. “It’s probably not the best time to bring it up, but I want to bring her on tour.”
The manager looked at him, aghast, and so did I.
“Absolutely not.” Greg’s jaw tightened. “I forbid it.”
“Everyone already knows, right?” Dale shrugged. “So if she’s on tour with me, we have round the clock protection. If she’s here?”
“I’ve been fine here,” I protested, glancing at John. “We’ve been fine, haven’t we?”
“True.” John nodded. “But that was before they were focused on you. Now they have a name to go with the face. We’re secluded here, but not that secluded.”
o;He’s here.” Dale nodded to the Porsche 911 that reminded me of a squished VW Beetle in front of the house with the license plate: SPD DMN. Speed Demon. It was like he was asking to get pulled over, but that was Greg—bold, brash and in your face.
“Awesome.” I carried the bag with our clothes in it up the steps. “I can’t wait.”
John and Greg were sitting at the kitchen table. I smiled at John but I didn’t even acknowledge Greg as I passed them on the way to the stairs. The townhouses were built with one, two, or three bedroom units. We had the latter. John’s bedroom was on the ground floor and ours was upstairs. The third bedroom, on the other side of the bathroom from ours, he used as an office.
“Sara!” John called after me. “I made cinnamon rolls!”
He knew they were my favorite.
“We ordered room service,” I called back over my shoulder, seeing Dale standing there, hands in his jeans pockets. He’d told me to go straight upstairs, that he would handle things with the manager. Which was fine with me. Greg Richer didn’t like me and vice versa. It was always better when we weren’t in the same room together.
“Are you sure?” John asked.
“I’ve got to get ready for work.” I trudged up the stairs, heading into our room at the top of the stairs. I loved coming home. When Dale was gone, I spent a lot of time in our room, on the bed where we made love, smelling him on the sheets. The room was an amalgam of us—my easel and paints, his guitars and sheet music.
I tossed the bag and crawled into bed, hugging my pillow and closing my eyes. I hadn’t slept much the night before—not that I was complaining—but the moment my body hit the mattress, I realized how tired I really was.
I hadn’t shut the door so I could hear them. At first it was just talking, mumbled voices, nothing clear. Then the voices got louder. And louder.
“I don’t give a flying fuck if they know!” That was Dale. “I’m going to marry her. If I lose some crazy little girl bubblegum pop fans because they can’t handle that? Well so fucking what!”
“If this gets picked up by the teen mags, you’re over before you even started, kid.”
