Chelsea shrugged. “I’m excited.”
“You should be,” Olivia told her. “It’s exciting. But let’s just alternate wine and water tonight, yeah? We have a long night ahead of us.”
“Noted,” Chelsea said. She gave Leilah a sidelong glance. “Especially because for some of us, this is probably a working vacation.”
Olivia mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.
“I knew it!” Chelsea said triumphantly.
Leilah lowered her chin and stared at Marielle. “Are you two protecting Poppy Jones?”
“We’re helping her with a problem.” It had the benefit of being true.
“An obsessed fan? A stalker? Paparazzi trying to get nude photos of her?” Leilah guessed in rapid succession.
Marielle shook her head and smiled. “Sorry.”
Leilah huffed. “Well, I’m glad you two are helping her. She’s really very sweet. Even if she is a bit …”
“Ditzy,” Chelsea supplied.
“I was thinking flighty,” Leilah said.
Marielle choked back a laugh.
The lights dimmed. The crowd erupted. Poppy appeared on stage in a shimmer of sequins and stage lights, and for the two and a half hours, she was the brightest light in Paris.
It was impossible not to get caught up in it. The music, the energy, the pure joy radiating from eighty thousand people singing in unison, dancing with abandon, and waving light-up wristbands in synchronization.
Marielle found herself swaying to “Find My Soul.” Singing along to “Heart on Fire.” Laughing when Poppy made a joke between songs. Throwing her arms around her friends and shouting the chorus of “A Girl’s Girl.”
For one hundred and fifty minutes, she almost forgot about explosives and coup plots and assassination attempts.
Almost.
When the concert ended, they made their way backstage through the throngs of departing fans. Poppy’s security team met them and escorted them to her dressing room.
“You were amazing,” Chelsea told Poppy, her eyes shining.
“Thank you,” Poppy, still glowing from her performance high, pulled her into a hug.
“You made a lot of core memories for people tonight,” Leilah added.
Poppy grinned.
They made their way through the crowd to the waiting limo. It was slow going because Poppy stopped every two feet to sign an autograph or smile for a picture.
Once they piled inside the limo, Poppy dropped her mask and flopped back against the seat.
“I’m exhausted,” she admitted. “I just need to do it again tomorrow night, then I can catch my breath.”
Olivia handed her cold bottle of water. “So, would this be a bad time to ask for a favor?” she said in a low voice.
“We’ll talk in the room,” Marielle murmured.
“I need to change,” Poppy announced. “We have midnight dinner reservations at a little bistro I know. Classic cuisine. Not fancy, but so good. Everybody up for it?”
“Absolutely,” Leilah said for all of them.
