Page 170 of The Encore’s Crown

“It’s only been a couple weeks.”

“It’s already more serious than most, no, actually, all except one of your previous relationships. You told me you fucking love her.”

“No, I asked what if I do.”

“You said you'd marry her.”

I drop my fork onto the plate.

“I’m gonna tell them.”

“When?” Rithy drags both hands down his face. “You need to tell Rafe before he finds out some other way.” Rithy’s voice softens. “You’re really serious about her?”

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t keep her hidden so long she starts feeling like something you’re ashamed of.”

I think about Natalia taking my calls behind a closed bedroom door. Muting me whenever Mama walks past. Posting the perfume, clothes, and makeup as though they appeared by coincidence because neither of us can explain why six brands suddenly decided she mattered.

“I’m not ashamed of her. She knows that. I’ll deal with it when I get back to Seattle. When I've had time to think.”

“Before you get caught.”

“Preferably.”

The next week disappears after that, wrapped up in Nat and the next time we'll talk. Phone calls from the studio parking lot. Voice messages sent between meetings. Pictures she takes with every product I arranged, each post sexier than the last as her numbers begin to climb.

I like every single post from my public account when it won’t look suspicious. I send links to people I trust. I make sure the right photographers and stylists see her work without ever telling them why.

The calls get even better at night. They start normally enough. She tells me about Mama rearranging the sewing room after the packages took it over. I tell her Ronan spent six hours trying to change a drum fill no one else could hear. She shows me makeup looks. I play her unfinished bass lines.

Then one of us says something that changes the air. The conversations slow. Voices drop. She tells me what she’s wearing. I tell her what I remember. The calls become breath, heat, and promises neither of us can keep from a thousand miles away.

Every night leaves me wanting her more. Every video call gives me another image to carry into the studio the next morning.

By the final week, I can barely think about landing in Seattle without picturing her climbing into my lap the second I pull up outside her house. When the plane finally touches down, it’s just after one in the morning. We'd agreed to meet up the next day but now, in the same city as her, twenty minutes away from her place, I can't stop myself.

I call her before I’ve even made it off the jet bridge.

She answers on the second ring, voice thick with sleep. “Kiri?”

“I landed.”

There’s a rustle on her end, then the sound of her sitting up. “You’re here? What time is it?”

“Late. I’ll pick you up in thirty.”

Silence. Then, “What? No.”

I smile as I follow the signs toward baggage claim.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. Mama and Tata are asleep. You can't pull up outside my house at one a.m.”

“I’ve been thinking about you nonstop for an entire month.”

I grunt as I lift my bags and head for the exit.