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He runs his finger under his collar. "It’s an unprecedented accomplishment, I grant you, but it might have been even better received if you’d followed my advice."
“Are you referring to your recommendation of making my song more mainstream?” She scoffs.
Harry swallows, then squares his shoulders, “I stand by what I said.”
“And I appreciate it. I do, but...”
“But?” he scowls.
“But—"She jumps up from my lap, pulls down the sweatshirt—my sweatshirt—over her hips, then walks over to him. "Who am I?" she asks him.
"Excuse me?"
"Who am I, Harry?" she asks in a voice dripping with exaggerated patience.
"You’re Solene."
"And what am I in relation to you?"
He frowns. "My client?"
"Bingo. And you’re my manager. And if you want to get the credit for being the person who discovered the hottest talent in town, then I recommend you shut your trap and understand, while I value your advice, the final word is mine."
He seems taken aback, then slowly nods.
"Benissimo, I think we finally understand each other." She leans in and plants a kiss on his cheek.
Harry flushes, then thrusts out his chest. "Of course we do."
"Bene." She turns to me and asks, "What’s next?"
33
Solene
"I didn’t think this is what the photoshoot was going to turn out to be." I pout up at my boyfriend.My boyfriend.I’m still getting used to calling him that. To think, less than a month ago, I was headed for an arranged marriage. And today, I’m on the brink of launching my own album, and I have the man of my dreams wrapping his arm about my shoulders and pulling me in.
Giorgina set up this event overnight. She and Harry convinced me it was a good idea to do a joint photoshoot with Declan for the paps. She had a point when she said it was better to do that, and control the narrative, rather than have them trying to tail us and sneak pictures of us. They’ll probably still do that, but at least we’ll be ahead of the curve by releasing the first picture of the two of us on our own terms.
I'm a novice at this game, but her rationale made sense. However, I didn’t anticipate it would turn out to be such a circus. There are at least a hundred—I kid you, not— a hundred photographers lined up to photograph us on the steps of the most exclusive boutique on Rodeo Drive.
I glance at the lenses, which instantly flash and flinch.
"Look at me, baby." Declan tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, eliciting another ripple of flares going off.
I know I’m safe. Declan’s with me, and he’s positioned Rick and more of his security team on either side of us, keeping the camera guys at bay. Still, the anticipation of those assembled is a palpable sentiment. It’s not unlike the salivating of beasts in the zoo when it’s feeding time. A shiver of nervousness judders under my skin. He must sense it, for he notches his knuckles under my chin and tips up my face. "You’re safe, baby, I promise. It's like ripping off a band-aid. Power through it, and it will be all over before you know it."
"Promise?" I raise my gaze to those heady blue eyes of his and am instantly snared. A hot flush oscillates under my skin, and my stomach flip-flops. There’s something in his eyes I've never seen before. A tenderness, a protectiveness, and it’s mixed with another sentiment I can’t quite place. Maybe a mix of pride and surprise? He’s as bemused as I am by the interest this impromptu photo session has evoked among the journalists.
"Kiss her, Declan," one of them calls out.
"Kiss!" Another one cries.
"Kiss."
"Kiss."
More voices join in.
