I think about that. Although I’m fairly certain my young fan wouldn’t bat an eye, regardless of how convincing it was or wasn’t, because who in their right mind lies about a relationship? The answer is: you’d be surprised.
He continues on. “Okay, so no kissing. Maybe forehead or cheek, if given a heads up first.” I nod, and he clears his throat. “Holding hands or maybe a hand on the lower back. Got it.”
My champagne burns my throat as it froths back up into my nose. “Wait. What? Lower back?”
“It’s, like, a normal thing. If we’re in a crowded place, and we’re navigating through, it’s easier if you do it with your hand on your girl’s lower back.”
I grimace and tip the champagne back until it’s gone. It punches me in my senses like it’s seeking revenge. “Sure. Why not? That’s half my pictures with my exes anyway.”
“The paps love the lower back move.”
“I’m sure my manager and publicist will have something to say about the guidelines.” I trace a finger along the edge of my glass, hoping that if I focus on the movement hard enough, he won’t be able to see the sadness cropping up at the thought of Callum. Something I’d hoped the champagne could bury for the night. “They’re gonna lose it when they find out I just jumped in without consulting them. It’s not just me who has to approve of it.”
For this to work—and to not circle back and bite me in the rear—I know I need to tell them. We need a contract in place. An airtight one only my mother and our trusted legal team could come up with. I wish that weren’t the case.
“Why?” His voice rises, and I can’t help but to meet his eyes. “Isn’t that why you agreed to do this, Lena? So you can approach it on your own terms? Forget about their approval.”
He isn’t completely wrong about part of the reason I’m agreeing to this right now. I’m sick of needing approval for half the things in my life, but I hesitate, still debating if I should tell him about the King’s fiasco. Everything surrounding that night feels so wrong. Part of me wonders if letting him in on my motivation would alleviate some of the burden. Antonia woulddefinitely advise against it, and my mother would probably keel over at the mere thought of me offering up a confession. Which makes blabbing to Decker all the more appealing. I wrote a song about urges like this once. It was titledSelf Sabotage.
I clear my throat. “It’s not seeking their approval, it’s respecting their roles in my life so I still have a functioning work environment when all this is done.That’swhy I agreed to do this.” I shift in my seat, scanning our surroundings as though anyone can hear us over here in our corner.
He leans closer, lowering his voice. “When is this done anyway?”
I think for a moment, but I already know the answer. “It only ends when we both feel like we’ve met our goals.”
“Which are?”
The words flow as easily as the champagne, pouring out of me before I can stop them. “Evading arson charges and whatever you’ve set your sights on for your next big career move.”
“Arson?” Decker sputters, bubbly dribbling down his chin as he mops it up with the back of his hand. His eyes go wide. “Does this have anything to do with the music hall and Gable’s?”
I nod, biting my lip so hard I’m shocked I don’t taste blood.
“Is that what all this is about?” When I don’t answer, expletives hurl from his lips as he runs a hand through his wavy hair. “I thought your publicist told my manager you needed to partner up for a charity thing. Because you were getting bad press after a breakup.”
“Well, kind of.” I sigh and ease into the story of the beginning of my downfall two nights ago at the music hall. When I finish, Decker is silent for a long time. Too long.
“You realizethatwas my ‘next big career move.’” He quotes the last sentiment with sharp strikes of his fingers.
“What was?”
“Gable’s Restaurant and Lounge. It’s for sale. I was going to buy it.” He shakes his head, flags down our passing waitress, and asks for an old-fashioned.
My stomach sinks. Not only did I ruin countless other people’s plans that night, but now I can put a face to a victim of my destruction. My eyes sting, and I wonder if I actually feel bad for him or if I’ve had one too many drinks. I watch as he stares at his hands, wondering what to say next, wondering whathe’sgoing to say.
Finally, he pinches the bridge of his nose, his lips parting as he processes the news. “You do realize you somehow managed to destroy two historical landmarks in one night?”
“Ugh. Why is everyone so caught up about the landmark thing? I didn’t mean to.” Which is true. I wasn’t aiming the bottle at the candles, I was aiming for Callum’s head. That’s why I get paid to sing and not to play offense on a field. “It’s not like anyone died.”
“How can you be so casual about this?”
I chew my cheek, biting back a fresh surge of emotion. My only option is to be casual. If I’m not, I might cry, and once the tears start, who knows if they’ll stop. My choices are limited: detach and keep it cursory, or lean into my feelings and fall apart in public. As nonchalant as I’m trying to be, I can’t squash the panic beginning to rise at the thought of him abandoning our plan. If he backs out, it’s my fault. Not only do I have to see him disappointed in me, but I’ll have to face a very disappointed—and probably very irate—manager, and that’s the last thing I want on my list of failures for the week. The way Decker is staring across the table at me now reminds me of the millions of times my mother has disapproved of something I’ve done. I hate it. Something crumbles in me under his rigid gaze, and suddenly, I’m back to seeking approval from people I shouldn’t be seeking it from.
“Does that change things? You don’t wanna be my fake boyfriend anymore, do you?” I lean forward, my head feeling heavier than normal with all the golden bubbles I’ve been guzzling. “You’re gonna tell someone it’s my fault, aren’t you?”
“I should.”
“Should. Could.Will.” My tongue feels thick as I form the words, and I force a smile at our waitress as she drops off his drink and hurries off again. “It’s fine. It’s probably time I take a career break anyway. Nothin’ like a little prison down time, ya know what I mean? It’s a shame I don’t look better in orange.” I pour myself a half glass and knock it all back in one swallow, trying to force away the lump building in my throat and the blur creeping in at the edges of my vision.
