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“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
As she kissed him, she sifted her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, awash in cool evening breezes and the shush of ocean water dragging on sand. When she pulled away, finally sated, she sighed. “That was perfect. You’re perfect.”
She wanted to stay on this island in a bubble of happiness forever.
Instead of going to bed after the movie, they snuggled in the hammock built for two. The ocean lapped against their porch, and palm trees swayed in the breeze. Their bodies were pressed so tightly together, she couldn’t figure out where she ended, and he began. Idly, she caressed his chest. “Is the band really over?”
He bent his arm, letting his head rest on his hand. “Yes. My brother’s done. You helped us see that.”
“I’m going to be the most hated person in America.”
“Nah, this has been brewing a long time.” His fingertips traced lazy patterns on her back. “We just kept ignoring it. Everyone wants us to keep going, keep pumping out the hits, keep touring, but you’re the first person who’s ever bothered to ask us what we want, if we’re happy. So, yes, now that we’ve discussed it…it’s over.”
“And you’re not sad?”
“Not sad so much as…worried. I’ve never seen myself doing anything else. I don’t know who I am without Van Claybourne.”
“Who you are is the music you write when you’re alone and no one’s listening.”
“No one but you.”
“I know you’re not ready to hear this, but that should be the next phase of your life. Whether you’re performing it or selling it, those songs are Bexley Sinclair, and the world needs them. And Van…I think he’s got real potential as a photographer.”
“Reid,” he said quietly. “That’s his real name.”
“Reid and Bexley Sinclair. So where did Van Claybourne come from?”
“Believe it or not, it’s not related to us at all. We had to come up with something that wouldn’t tie back to our family.”
“Are you kidding me? You pulled a name out of a hat?”
He nodded. “Pretty much.”
“You both must be so tired of pretending and hiding. Well, you’ve made enough money to provide for your family, so no one ever has to work again. You can take a nice, long break and figure out the direction you want to take next.”
He gazed out across the ocean. “I already know what direction I want to take.”
“Oh. You do?”
“I want to be with you.”
Happiness bubbled in her chest. “Well, that’s a given. But you’ve still got to do something other than rocking in a hammock with me on a private island.”
“Why?”
She grinned. “Oh, come on. You couldn’t stop writing songs if you tried.”
“I’m not going back to that life, Della. I can’t do it. It’s not just Van who’s done. I am, too.”
“The next phase of your life doesn’t have to look like this one. You can make an album of your songs. You can tour them. It doesn’t have to be an eight-bus production where you mastermind behind the scenes. You can play small venues instead of stadiums. You can make an album and not tour. It’s your choice. But isn’t it time to come out of the shadows and be the real Bexley Sinclair?”
“This is him. Right here. You get him. Why would you want to share him?”
“I don’t.” And yet she couldn’t shake the sense he was still hiding from his true self.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
She buried her face in his chest. “I told you. I’m going to start an event planning company.”
