Page 133 of The Encore’s Crown

“She’s close enough to be annoying.”

“That, I’ll drink to.”

I snort. Rithy holds his glass out between us. “To the blackest of sheep.” I look at him. His smile is crooked, beautiful, tragic in the worst possible way. “To the fuckups,” he adds.

I clink my glass against his and down my drink in one.

Kiri

After a few photo ops with the band on a balcony so perfect it barely looks real, we head back inside.

My eyes go straight to Natalia.

Julian Mercer has returned while Rithy's been gone. He’s sitting beside her on the velvet couch, much closer than he was before. One arm stretches along the back behind her shoulders. His body angles toward hers, their knees almost touching. Natalia’s legs are crossed. Julian’s free hand rests beside her thigh, his whiskey glass tucked into the narrow space between his palm and the black fabric of her dress. His fingers shift whenever he speaks, close enough that if he moved them an inch, they would be on her.

The reaction hits every part of me at once. Heat climbs the back of my neck. My stomach tightens. Every muscle in my shoulders locks as though my body is preparing to remove him from the couch by force.

Radhika slows beside me. I make myself look at her. Her gaze follows mine to the couch just as Natalia laughs at something Julian says. Then Radhika looks back at me.

“You know her?”

“Nat. Kasia’s sister.” I take a whiskey from a passing tray. “She joined part of the tour.”

Radhika’s attention returns to Natalia. Julian leans closer to speak into her ear. Natalia doesn’t pull away.

“She’s very beautiful,” Radhika says.

“Yeah.”

The word comes out before I can make it neutral.

The party keeps moving. People come over to speak with Radhika. Label executives congratulate us on the tour. A photographer forces the band together for pictures, then insists Radhika join one because apparently nostalgia is excellent for engagement.

I smile when I’m supposed to but my attention keeps returning to the couch.

Julian touches Natalia’s back when she stands.

Later, I see them near the bar. He leans against it while she talks, giving her his full attention in that polished executive way that probably makes people feel as if they’ve been selected from a crowd.

Radhika asks me something.

I have no idea what.

“Sorry?”

Her expression becomes thoughtful.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.”

“What did I say before?”

I stare at her.

She raises one eyebrow.

“I’m sorry.”