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“I…well. Not really, I guess. No, that’s not true—I sort of keep a distance between myself and the band and dancers and everything, usually. Obviously, not so much with you.”
“Why, though?” Remy asked.
“I don’t know. It’s easier, for me, if everyone knows where they fall. If someone works for me but is also my friend, it complicates things. I know, I know, I’m the biggest hypocrite right now saying this to you, but…” She looked away. “Fame complicates everything. Absolutely everything. It’s not that I can’t trust people, it’s just that I have to always remember where my relationship with them ranks. Like, is being my friend worth more to them than the hundred thousand dollarsUs Weeklywould pay for private photos of me? Is it worth more than the Instagram followers I could get them? Is it worth more than the record contract?”
Remy was struck by this and considered asking what she wondered about him—what she suspected his price tag was. One thing at a time, though. He said, “Okay, but I’m just saying—if the band stayed at your hotel, I wouldn’t need to go past anyone to come see you. No photos.”
“That’s true.”
“And, honestly, I think it might be good for you to do a nice thing from time to time for the band,” Remy went on carefully.
Vivi gave him a startled look that quickly morphed to offended. “I do! I stock the buses with whatever you guys want. The hotels you’re in are nice. I even fought to get you guys benefits for the tour. I—”
“I know, I know. I’m just saying that a more personal touch with the band might not be a bad thing. I know—they know—that you can’t be their best friend, but I know as a musician it sucks to feel like you’re canned music instead of a person.”
“No one is canned music, but I’m not a band. I’m a solo artist who tours with a live band,” Vivi said.
Remy blinked at the response. “So…doesn’t that mean we basically are canned music?”
“No, I said you’re not, of course you’re not, I said that. I’m just saying that a band is a family, and so it makes sense for a personal touch. But I’m not a band, so when I try to treat people like family, it just leads to problems—where does the family line stop? The musicians? The dancers? The tech guys? Who do I have to treat like blood?” Vivi said, voice calm but stern. She’d gone hard against Remy, and he was suddenly aware of every place her weight was against him.
“Okay,” Remy said, exhaling, avoiding her eyes. “You’re not wrong, okay? But it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. You can do the band a favor without owing them a life debt.”
“I should be able to. But it doesn’t always work that way. I do someone a favor, and if someone else comes asking and I say no—it’ll be the second time that makes the news and makes me sound like a horrible person,” Vivi said, pressing her lips together then forcing herself to relax against him. “I paid a fan’s medical bills once. The next thing I know, dozens of little girls’ families are asking me to pay their medical bills too. And it’s just…it’s awful, and I end up not knowing where to stop or where to not stop.” Her voice came close to quavering, but she held herself back. She wound her fingers up with Remy’s and added, “I know it’s complicated. Everything is complicated with me.”
“But I knew that going in,” Remy said, running his thumb along her knuckles.
“I know. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It just seems like I can never do quite what people need from me,” she said. “I always get it wrong.”
“That’s not true, Viv,” Remy said.
She laughed. “Did you just give me a nickname?”
“Hardly. I took off one letter.”
“That’s a nickname!”
“I was just trying it out,” Remy said, smiling.
“It works,” Vivi said then leaned forward to kiss him like this was something they’d done for years. “But only for you.”
“I think I likeVivibetter,” he said then pressed his mouth to hers. He wanted to tell her exactly what he meant—that he likedVivifar more than Vivi Swan. That it was impossible not to like her, once you pushed past all the people who loved her. And, ah, there was the conundrum, he knew: letting so many people in to see the real Vivi meant letting that many people in to moments like this.
They’re taking every little bit of what was just ours, for a while there, she’d said. How much of Vivi herself had they already taken? Who was she, before the media got her, before they made her sleek and put-together and secretive and hyperaware of each and every action? Remy doubted even Vivi knew; she’d been famous since fifteen.
They get everything, in the end.
