Page 43 of K-Pop Double Life

“Don’t jinx it.”

Sunny joined us halfway through the technical rehearsal. As Jin sang an English chorus, “My heart is for you,” he looked offstage for a moment. “See Sang-hoon in the wings?” she asked as his attention immediately returned to the audience.

“That’s sweet,” I said.

“Even more important, he’s put his own heart into that song, and the audience recognizes it. I compile stats on each performance, and his have been growing like crazy since Cannes.”

“Since the explosion?” Liam asked.

“Something happened between them after that,” Sunny said. “I have been watching them for years, and I was sure they were in love with each other, but I believe they finally acted after Sang-hoon rushed to rescue Jin.”

She smiled. “They’re good for each other.” She sighed deeply. “I just wish their circumstances were different. I’ve only spoken about this with Jason, because of the clause in both their contracts that prohibits idol-staff romances. We are worried that Eun-ji might be forced to separate them, and that would be a disaster for the tour.”

16

TWO FACES

JIN — AMSTERDAM

After rehearsal we went to an Indonesian rijsttafels restaurant for dinner. The restaurant had pushed three tables together for us in a private room at the back, which was probably the only way to accommodate Pryzm without turning dinner into another public appearance. By the time everyone had found a seat, we filled nearly the whole room with members, staff, and security, with Aidan and Liam taking the chairs closest to the door.

“Rijsttafel is a Dutch-Indonesian feast,” the host said when we were all seated. “You will find a large assortment of small Indonesian dishes, served in a banquet format developed during Dutch colonial rule.”

I sat across from Sang-hoon. That was a mistake.

Not because anyone would notice anything. We’d spent years sitting across from each other at meals, in dressing rooms, on airplanes. I knew exactly how to look at him without looking at him.

The problem was that after Paris, I knew more about his body than I’d ever known when we were simply working together.

I reached for my water.

“What exactly are we eating?” Haneul asked.

“Everything,” Eun-ji said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It will be in about two minutes.”

She was right.

The first servers arrived carrying rice, followed immediately by more with small dishes that began spreading across the table. Then more dishes came. And more. Satay skewers glazed from the grill. Beef cooked dark in a thick sauce. Chicken, vegetables, fried things I couldn’t identify, eggs stained brown with spices, pickles, peanuts, bowls of sauces in red, gold, and nearly black.

“Banchan,” Haneul said happily.

The Dutch woman serving us laughed. “Not exactly.”

Sang-hoon laughed, and my eyes went to him automatically.

He caught me looking. For half a second, neither of us looked away.

Then I became extremely interested in the beef in front of me.

It was rendang, the server told us, cooked slowly with coconut milk and spices until almost all the liquid disappeared. I took some with rice. The meat came apart under my fork, rich and slightly sweet at first, then hotter as the spices built.

“Oh,” I said.

Sang-hoon looked up. “Good?” I nodded and passed the dish to him.