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I hunch into the oversized sweatshirt.Hissweatshirt. I borrowed it from his closet. Even though it was washed, I'm sure I can smell him on it. I miss him so much today, I wore it to my meeting with Harry. Yep, I’m pathetic. The man, clearly, doesn’t see me as a priority in his life, while I wear the sweatshirt he wore because it makes me feel closer to him. Loser with a capital L, that’s me.
"When are you meeting him next?"
"Meeting who?"
"Declan?"
"I have no idea."
"Hmm…" Harry purses his lips. "I could check with Giorgina and let you know."
"No thanks." I jerk my face in his direction. "I don’t want her thinking I don’t know what's going on with Declan. If he wants to see me, he’ll reach out to me. And then… I'll think about whether I want to see him."
He frowns. "That’s not going to help your profile."
"Fuck my profile." I glance at my phone, which I use mainly to record my songs.
"You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew how many views the video of your song racked up."
"How many?" I ask, pulling up the playlist of the tunes I’ve recorded. I need to listen to them and figure out how to improve on them. Harry found me a band on short notice, and it's lucky we clicked on the very first try. That’s what happens when you’re a singer who can’t play a musical instrument. You’d think my mother would have allowed me to play the piano. After all, it's a musical instrument that fits right in with her traditional outlook of a woman’s role in society, right? But nope, the only pianist available locally to train me was a man, so that was ruled out. Didn't matter that he was old enough to be my father. That’s how sheltered an upbringing I had. That’s when I decided to make my voice my instrument. Which is fair—but as he pointed out, and this time he was right, if I was going to perform on stage, I'd need a band. So, I agreed to let him help me put one together.
"Twenty million views."
"What?" My phone slips from my nerveless fingers onto my lap. "B-b-but the last time I checked, it was five million."
"A second wave of listeners came in. It happens sometimes. I'm sure the headlines with you and Declan didn't hurt."
"O-k-a-y." I lean back in my seat. "So, that’s good, right?"
He nods.
"Which means, I don’t have to worry about additional PR and stuff?"
Harry laughs. "It doesn’t work that way. You’ve got some massive momentum going, but you need to build on it. And the best way to do that is to be seen with Declan and—"
"Not happening." I hook on my earphones and scroll down my list of recorded tracks.
"But the press is going crazy for the two of you—" He waves his phone at me. "Forty-eight hours since that pap clicked the two of you, and they still can’t stop talking about #Declene."
“#Declene?”
“Yeah. Declan plus Solene equals Declene. You have your own couples’ hashtag.”
“O-kay?” I raise a shoulder.
“That’s all you have to say?” He stares.
"Actually, I’m not sure I like the sound of it.”
His jaw drops, then he seems to collect himself. "Nonsense. You’re the biggest thing since Bennifer and Jelena."
I look at him blankly, then shrug. "Who are they?”
"What?" His eyes bug out even more. "You don’t know who they are?”
"Of course I do," I lie.
Shit, all that time spent hidden away in Napoli under my mother's careful scrutiny hasn’t helped my pop culture knowledge. But it has meant I've had a lot of time to write, and enough lyrics and song tunes to fill many records. And thankfully, I sang. In secret... A lot. To keep myself company but also, because deep inside, the dream of becoming a singer and using my voice in some form never went away. But becoming a popstar? Nah, that never factored anywhere in my realm of possibilities.
