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“Truth,” Celeste said.
“Thanks, babe—I’m no expert in romance or anything, but thebook full of excruciatingly romantic love songsmakes me think she still loves you too.”
“That doesn’t mean it’ll work out. That’s the whole point I’m trying to make here, Val—that yeah, the book is nice and all, but she’sstillVivi Swan and I—”
“Still contain multitudes,” Val said. “You can love her and be angry with her at once, you know. You did it to me.”
Remy closed his eyes.Breathe, breathe, just breathe. He felt the decision swelling in him, needing to be made before it burst and broke forever. There was no time to weigh pros and cons, no time to make a list, no time to dwell on it. In so many ways, it was just like the decision he’d made to go on the Sweethearts tour all those months ago.
And so, he trusted his gut, just as he’d done then.
“What do I do?” he said in a near whisper.
“You give it another chance. One more chance,” Celeste said.
“No,” Remy said, opening his eyes to look at the two of them. “What do I do? Do I call her? Do I write her a letter? What do I do to tell her I’m not giving up on us after all?”
Celeste made a squealing noise, and Val grinned cockily then clapped his hands together. “Oh, man, okay, let’s do this shit. She’s all into romance, right? What if you write her a love letter and get some jackass in a cupid costume to deliver it? Send like a flower a day for every day you were together?”
“No, no, bigger,” Celeste said, flapping her hands.
Val nodded then gave Remy a dire look. “Okay, okay—show up at her house at midnight with a boom box held over your head. From the movie. What movie is that?”
“Say Anything,” Celeste answered, right as Remy said, “No way, she’s got security guards.”
Val scowled like this was a stupid response. “Punch them in the balls, leap over them, run to her window shouting her name.”
“That’s literally the kind of thing a stalker would do,” Remy said, but he was smiling now, his heart was racing; he felt like he’d OD’d on caffeine or sunlight.
Val rolled his eyes. “A stalker she’s in love with! I swear to God, I can have that boom box here in, like, anhour, man, tops.”
Remy groaned and held a hand over his face when he answered. “No, no—I need to…okay. Let me think. Where is Vivi’s next show or performance or whatever?”
“On it!” Celeste said. “I know this one! Or, at least, I know when she’ll be performingsoon. She has an exhibit at the Grammy Museum, and she’s doing an acoustic set at the opening.”
“There’s a Grammy Museum?” Val and Remy asked in unison.
Celeste rolled her eyes. “And it’s in LA. But her concert isn’t ticketed—it’s just Grammy officials and their guests. I’m only going because…” She trailed off then bit her lip. “Well. They offered me a press pass. Ages ago, Remy, I swear—”
“Can you get me in with you?” Remy asked.
Celeste shook her head. “No. It’s just for one, and I’m sure they’ll check the name on it at the door to keep people from selling theirs, so I can’t just give it to you.”
Remy hadn’t thought to ask, really, but something in his chest softened that she might have offered. He took a breath. “Okay, then I guess that show’s out—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Val said then dropped his head into a hand.
Remy and Celeste exchanged a glance; neither knew what Val meant.
“Are you saying a definite no on the boombox?” Val continued, giving Remy a hopeful look.
“It’s a definite no,” Remy confirmed.
“Right. Okay. Well, shit, then,” Val said and stood.
“At some point, Val, you’re going to have to share with the rest of the class,” Celeste demanded.
“Remy, I’ll get you a guest pass to the Grammy show. Let me make a call.” Val sounded like he was arranging his own execution. He sighed and explained further, “The tennis party gig. I’ll play the tennis party gig in exchange for tickets. The husband’s a recording academy executive, remember?”
