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He hadn’t originally planned to attend her show, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of seeing Chloe perform live on stage. Jordan had called the head concierge at one of the Royal Resort hotels in Paris and asked if they happened to know of any spare tickets that might be available. A VIP pass to a private box had been delivered to the Royal family apartment in less than an hour.
Standing with a bottle of Evian water in his hand, Jordan took in the vibe of the crowd. Being mostly young women, it had a definite friendly, safe feel to it. Squeals and excited words of delight drifted in through the open window of the private box. Fortunately he could speak fluent French, so he understood what was being said. Most of the conversations consisted of general chit chat about clothes and how much the fans were looking forward to seeing their favorite pop star. There was also a good deal of discussion about the merits of choosing comfortable shoes over fashionable ones.
He chuckled at that, recalling a female friend’s horror story of wearing white sandals to the Glastonbury music festival in England, only to discover upon arrival that it was actually held in a mud-soaked field. While her toes sank into the ooze, everyone else had happily got about in sensible rain boots.
I wonder if Chloe would ever play Glastonbury.
When the support act came on, Chloe’s fans were enthusiastic in their welcome. The artist was a local up and coming French singer and had her own fans. Jordan bopped along with the music, nodding his head.
She’s good. Probably not megastar material, but she’ll have a solid career.
He was alone in the private box, content with his own company. Chloe’s generous invite for him to have a special pass for the show hadn’t sat right with Jordan. After their time together in Berlin, he wanted her all to himself. If he’d gone back stage tonight, he would have been just another body in her already crowded entourage. Jordan Royal wasn’t one for being part of the party crowd. He’d done that and had the emotional scars to prove it.
Beyond the stage and the bright lights, he ached to discover who the real Chloe was—she was the woman he wanted to get to know, not the pop star. And as far as he could see, the only way he was going to do that was for them to be alone. But he was still intrigued enough by Chloe the artist to want to see her in concert. Tonight was too good an opportunity to pass up.
The support act came and went, followed by a half hour of people moving around the arena, eating, and drinking.
As the time for Chloe to come on stage drew closer, Jordan sensed a certain change in the air. People put their bags under their seats. Empty food containers headed for the trash cans. Phones were gripped tightly in hands.
There was a growing mood of anticipation, waiting for the lighting strike.
When the recording of one of Chloe’s biggest hits boomed over the arena sound system, forty-thousand fans roared as one. They applauded and stamped their feet. A million selfies launched onto the web.
Chloe’s Garden was getting ready to party. When their leader arrived on stage, the roof of the giant arena would be blown off. He’d never seen anything like it before, the tension as thousands of Chloe’s fans collectively held their breath.
A hush rippled through the mass gathering as the lights went out. Jordan set down his drink. The entire arena fell into dark silence.
This is incredible. I had no idea. All this is for her.
A small drum beat broke through the quiet.Boom. Boom. Boom.
A chorus of beats came back from the crowd.
The drum answered.
The crowd replied. Slowly, the beats and the feedback built. From somewhere in the darkness a violin joined in, the soaring strings breaking through the drum. Cameras flashed.
Jordan snatched up his bottle of water and took a deep drink. His heart was pounding in his chest. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he was caught up in the raw power and emotion of the crowd. With every note, Chloe’s Garden was rising.
A small red light lit the stage, and he peered hard at it. Then another light appeared. And another. All the while, the music kept on building.
He glanced down. His hands were shaking. And just when Jordan started to wonder whether he could take much more of this suspense, the stage suddenly erupted into bright light. Music filled the arena, and the monster of a crowd roared as one.
“Chloe! Le Jardin de Chloé est arrivé! Chloe! Chloe!”
Chloe’s Garden had arrived.
And so had she.
Jordan’s gaze settled on the small figure of a woman who stood centerstage. From here at the side of the arena, he could just make out her dark hair, and the glittering silver two piece costume she wore. Four giant jumbotron screens which sat either side, and on top of the stage now came to life. Chloe’s image filled every one of them.
Everywhere Jordan looked, he saw Chloe. The music and the crowd all fell away. His world became her.
The only thing for him was Chloe.
CHAPTERSEVEN
The French certainly knew how to enjoy themselves at a show. When it came to enthusiastic audiences, Paris could certainly give Berlin a run for its money. The crowd in Chloe’s Garden had been pumped to the max before she had even set foot on stage. Her support act, a talented French pop starlet, had received a rapturous welcome. Watching from the side of the stage, Chloe had beamed with happiness. It was nights like this that she lived for, when the fans and the music were in perfect sync.
