Page 46 of K-Pop Double Life

The interviewer was impressed, and I was relieved. I would have said I wore a lot of T-shirts and comfortable slacks. I’d have to look at the labels on some of my clothes when I got back to the hotel.

“I can see you have a close relationship with your stylist,” the interviewer said. “You’re very lucky.”

I looked at Sang-hoon and smiled. “Yes, I think so.”

One last interview before lunch. I answered in English when I could and let Grace translate when the questions became complicated.

“You seem especially close to your team,” she said.

I smiled on cue. “We’ve been together a long time.”

“Who’s the person you rely on most?”

My heartbeat stumbled. Of course I wanted to say Sang-hoon. It came so naturally I almost spoke it aloud. Instead I caught myself. “Everyone,” I said. “My stylist, the makeup artist, wardrobe, tour management. Even the lighting techs who make us shine.”

The interviewer laughed. “That’s a diplomatic answer.”

Thank god I had years of training at Starhouse, coaching us on almost any question we could be asked. Never call someone a favorite, never act in a way to create negative headlines. Never tell the whole truth.

After lunch I had a radio appearance, conducted completely in English, and then all of us gathered for a promotional video for the Dutch concert promoter. I looked for Sang-hoon, and spotted him adjusting Tae’s jacket, completely focused on his work.

Then, as though he felt my eyes on him, he looked up. For one second we smiled at each other. No one else in the room noticed.

I hoped.

We sang a number, danced around the promoter’s logo, and then took a break. Grace appeared beside me while Wan-suk patted down the shine on my forehead.

“You’re a big hit with the Dutch,” Grace said. She turned her tablet toward me. Someone had posted a photograph from yesterday’s technical rehearsal, and the camera had captured me looking offstage.

An arrow pointed toward the edge of the frame. There stood Sang-hoon.

There was another photograph, and another glance. The caption read:

HE ALWAYS LOOKS FOR THE SAME STAFF MEMBER.

I laughed. Because everyone around me expected me to laugh.

Grace shrugged. “Fans create romances every week.” She closed the tablet. “It’ll be something else tomorrow.”

I looked toward Sang-hoon again. He was helping Woo with an earpiece. Completely unaware of what might be happening to us in the press.

Just before we left for the arena, Sun-hee-noona gathered us in the hotel lobby. “Same security procedures as Paris.”

Jason reviewed evacuation routes, and Liam reminded us to keep moving if anything unexpected happened. “One of us will be right there. Don’t worry about anything.”

It was all routine and professional. But it reminded me of Cannes, and how Sang-hoon had rushed into danger to rescue me.

As everyone began walking toward the elevators, Sang-hoon brushed past me.

“So handsome,” he murmured in Korean, too quietly for anyone else to hear. Before I could answer, he was already two steps ahead of me.

I spent the entire elevator ride trying not to smile.

Standing in the darkness before the first song, I realized something. For years I’d walked onto stages thinking about choreography. About vocals, about breathing.

Tonight my first thought was I wonder where Sang-hoon is standing.

I found him almost immediately in the wings. He gave me the smallest nod, barely visible, but enough.