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Remy forced himself into being more amused than offended—he didn’t like making her feel embarrassed, after all. “Wait, wait, wait—youplannedon sleeping with me? As long ago as Spain?” he asked, the corners of his lips curving up.
“I didn’tplanon it like that. I just knew that I liked you and that I wanted…”
“Vivi Swan,theVivi Swan, was fantasizing about me. That’s what you’re saying,” Remy teased.
“That’s not what I’m saying!” Vivi laughed, looking relieved that Remy wasn’t angry with her. She shoved him and hit him with a pillow, which he caught and tossed away easily.
“Forget the tattoo story. This is what I’ll sell to the press: how a lowly drummer managed to become an object of Vivi Swan’s sexual desires.”
“You are the worst,” Vivi said, shaking her head, but she melted close to him and kissed him, her lips tight from the smile she was trying to hold down. When they pulled away, he looked at her, eyes serious.
“Did you really think I’d tell?” he asked, more intensely this time. They’d written a song together, one about being together, one about being each other’s person—and yet, she’d still tested him? How could she both feel so strongly and doubt so strongly at once?
“I know now you wouldn’t,” she said. “Are you mad at me?”
“No, I’m just…I’m surprised,” Remy said, narrowly avoiding saying that he wasjust disappointed. He went on, “I don’t know. It’s not exactly normal dating protocol, to write music together and spend so much time together and sleep together and then…bait me with a lie.”
“Well, I’m not exactly normal,” Vivi offered.
“No, you aren’t,” Remy answered with a deep exhale then kissed her again. “And I have to go.”
“Why?” Vivi pouted.
“Sound check. Which means you have to go too—but unless you want us to walk into the arena together, I need a head start.”
Vivi squeezed his hand. “Thanks for thinking of that.”
“Of course,” he said then pulled away from her. “See you out there.”
They had a second night in Paris, but somehow, the entire show felt new to Remy. It wasn’t just that he knew what she looked like under her glittery costumes or even that, lately, she made a point to wink at him during the finale, when she was encouraging the audience to roar for each member of the band. It was—pride. Yes, that was it. Remy was proud of Vivi, and as pride was something he thought adults only felt for children or perhaps puppies, it took him a long while to pin down the emotion.
But he was proud. Of how hard she worked on the show, of how hard she worked on the songs, on her image, on her interviews, on being Vivi Swan. It no longer seemed insane to him that a crowd of forty thousand would come out to scream for her—it seemed deserved.
“Where are we next?” David asked absently as the whole of Bus Three gathered in the band dressing room during Vivi’s acoustic set. They’d leave for the next city immediately after the show, without so much as a stop by the hotel.
“Amsterdam,” Parish said. “Which means legal drugs, friends.”
“That’s for a younger man. And I think there’s a line in the show contract about it, so be careful,” David said.
“Pshh,” Ro said. “Who’s going to tell?”
“The spy,” David suggested. “Whoever it is.”
“You still think there’s a spy?” Remy asked, half laughing. He was surprised to see so many of them shrug in response—not a yes, but not the resoundingof course not!he was expecting.
“I still think it’s one of the dancers,” Laurel said, avoiding Remy’s eyes completely, almost as if he weren’t in the room at all.
“Fine. I don’t want to get high with them anyway,” Parish said, ransacking the craft services table to make himself a turkey sandwich.
Remy stepped outside for the remainder of the intermission, propping the stage door open with his left shoe. It was straight-up cold out here, but the time change meant this would likely be his only chance to call his brother, and the venue size meant this would be the only place with a semblance of privacy. “Motherfucker!” Val answered the phone sleepily but far more cheerfully than the word merited.
“Hey. Did I wake you up? What time is it there? I seriously have no idea,” Remy said, grinning at his brother’s voice.
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Then why the hell are you asleep?” Remy asked, listening to the shuffle of Val climbing out of bed. It was easy to picture him making his way out of the bedroom and onto the patio—after all, the room had once been Remy’s.
“I was up late. What are you, our mother? I have a few more new pieces I’m dicking around with. It’s like a floodgate, man. It opened up, and now I can’t stop it.” It was the most joyful complaint Remy had heard from Val, perhaps ever. Val went on, “So how are things with…you know. I mean, is it still going…or?” Val said, pausing, navigating.
