Page 86 of The Encore’s Crown

“That's not a skill I've practiced.”

I turned her carefully, sweeping her hair over one shoulder. My fingers fumbled over the first button, then the second. She shivered. That helped my confidence considerably. When the last button finally came free, she turned in my arms. The gold fabric loosened, one shoulder slipping bare. For all her teasing, her expression had changed. Nervous and real. She looked as young as we both felt in each other's hands. Suddenly, it was like my first time all over again. Maybe that's how it was for her, too.

“I don’t do this,” she whispered.

I could have lied, told her I didn’t either. Pretended this was equally unfamiliar territory. That I hadn’t taken women home from parties before, hadn’t woken beside strangers and forgotten their names before breakfast. But something about her just made me open, honest in a way I didn't understand until it was coming out of my mouth.

“I do,” I admitted. A flicker crossed her eyes. I touched her cheek. “But I’ve never felt like this while doing it.” She searched my face.

“Does that make it any better?” I asked.

At first, I thought I'd fucked up. Then she laughed, tipsy and warm, the sound spilling straight into my mouth as she kissed me.

“Shut up and take my clothes off.”

And I did. Fuck, in that moment, I'd have done whatever she asked.

Chapter 35

Behave

Kiri

For the first year after that, Radhika and I dated in pieces. Something that was meant to be a one-night stand became something we couldn't let go of. We dated in airport lounges and borrowed apartments. In hotel rooms booked under fake names. In cities that belonged to neither of us, because sometimes the only way to see each other was to pick a country halfway between wherever her film had dragged her and wherever the band had a gig. Two days in London. Thirty-six hours in Paris. One night in Dubai because her shoot wrapped early and we had a gap before soundcheck in Berlin. Nothing about us happened in the right order or made sense to anyone else but us.

There were weeks when we spoke every day, calls stretching until one of us fell asleep with the phone still warm beside our face. Then there were times when she disappeared into a film set and I disappeared into tour rehearsals, both of us pretending we were too busy to notice the silence. We broke up twice, maybe three times. The first time lasted four days. The second lasted nine. The third was less a breakup and more Radhika telling me she was done answering calls after midnight when I'd been drinking, followed by her answering my call three nights later because I said I was outside her hotel.

I wasn't lying. I was there, in Prague. No one knew. Not even my manager until I missed my flight back and nearly blew soundcheck. I still made the concert. Barely. Radhika was worth Elise screaming at me when I finally showed up.

Every reunion started the same way. A door opening, two seconds of staring and then hands. Hers in my hair. Mine at her waist. Fingers under shirts, mouths already desperate, luggage left abandoned in hallways like whatever had brought us there no longer mattered. We could never keep our hands off of each other and somehow, it was hotter than anything I’d ever experienced.

Hotter than the kinks, the toys, the threesomes, and anything I’d ever been curious enough to try. A rock star’s sex life was only dull if you wanted it to be, and I’d been a horny teenager when all of this started. I’d wanted plenty. I didn’t regret any of it. Didn’t feel guilty. Sex was sex. There was no shame in feeling good or making someone else feel good for a minute, an hour, a night. By the time I met Radhika, I thought I’d done everything. Felt everything.

Then she put her hands on me, and I realized I still had so much to learn.

Sometimes, after, she'd lie across my chest with her hair everywhere and trace my tattoos while I watched the ceiling and tried not to think about how natural it felt. That's when I got scared. It was easy to ignore when I was chasing her across continents or while I was spending obscene amounts of money I couldn't really afford on last-minute flights. The fear came after. In the quiet, when I could imagine waking up beside her somewhere that wasn't temporary. Then she'd kiss me, and I'd forget why I'd been afraid.

Then, almost exactly a year after that party in Los Angeles, she called me from a set trailer in India, acting strange.

I was in a hotel in Chicago, sitting on the floor with my back against the bed because Ronan had stolen the chair earlier for Buddha only knows what reason and chairs became communal property on tour.

Radhika appeared on my screen in a loose white top, hair pulled back, face mostly bare. Beautiful as always. I watched her adjust something near the edge of her sleeve. That made me sit up a little. Radhika didn’t fidget. Not unless something had gotten under her skin, and there were very few things on earth capable of making a woman like her nervous.

“I was thinking...” She looked away from the screen. “My family is celebrating Holi next month, as you know.”

“Yeah.” I waited.

“It's at my parents’ home. There will be a lot of people—”

“Party at the Malhotras'.”

She exhaled through her nose. I smiled a little, trying to pull her back toward me. It didn’t work, and I watched her fingers tighten around the fabric at her wrist.

“I thought perhaps you could join me.”

I genuinely didn't understand. Then I did. I stared at her, and she looked like she wanted to take the words back. I leaned my head against the side of the bed.

“Isn’t that…” I searched for a way to say it without sounding as panicked as I suddenly felt. “Isn’t that a big deal? Meeting your parents?”