“Excusez-moi.”
We all looked up. The same waiter from earlier stood behindIggy, now accompanied by a trolley holding a pitcher of orange juice, and an ice bucket cradling a bottle of?—
“We would like to offer you some champagne as an apology for our earlier mishap,” he said. “There is also orange juice, if you would prefer a mimosa.”
I straightened in my seat, and across from me, I saw Iggy do the same. The champagne bottle was behind him, but visible to me over his shoulder, and I could see the way he trembled as he resisted the urge to turn and look. His fingers curled around the glass of water beside his bowl, knuckles whitening.
While I watched him, the others were watching me. Every single one of them. Measuring my breathing, the set of my jaw. Waiting to see if I was about to crack and demand the bottle be opened right away. Honestly, even if I tried, I was pretty sure Riff would pin me to the ground before letting it anywhere near my glass.
But what they didn’t realise, even as Iggy’s gaze stayed locked on a point directly behind me, was that I wasn’t the only one fighting off old ghosts. Not anymore.
Riff opened his mouth to speak, but I lifted a hand to stop him. It would’ve been easy, comforting even, to let him shield me. To let him wrap me in cotton wool like some overprotective parent. But he wouldn’t always be there. Sooner or later I had to stop leaning on everybody else and learn to stand on my own two feet. To grow some balls and say no.
“N–no.” My throat felt like sandpaper. I swallowed and forced it out again, louder. “No. No, thank you.”
“Are you sure,monsieur?” the waiter asked, brows lifting like he couldn’t fathom anyone turning down free champagne.
“He said no,” Riff snapped before I could speak again, shooting the man a glare sharp enough to cut. “We don’t drink.”
The waiter gasped and bowed his head. “My sincerest apologies,monsieur. I will bring more fresh orange juice instead.”
“It’s okay,” Clara said, giving him a polite smile. But from where I sat, I could see it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We need to head out anyway. Can you just charge the meals to our rooms?”
“Of course,madame.”
When he finally disappeared, taking the trolley and that damn bottle with him, I slumped back in my seat and shut my eyes. A long, shaky breath slipped out of me, and when I opened them again, the whole table was looking my way.
All except Iggy.
He stared down at his lap, shoulders tight, looking even paler than before. His fingers toyed with the edge of his cardigan, twisting the fabric like he needed something to keep his hands busy.
“You did good, man,” Riff said, reaching over to squeeze my hand. Mick bumped my shoulder in quiet solidarity.
“Okay, boys,” Clara said gently, her voice pitched low like she was scared of startling me. “Time to head out. Micah, Rafe, we’re getting a cab to the station at two thirty. Luca, you’re meeting the podcast team in one of the hotel conference rooms this afternoon. Theo, I’ll come to your room before the Threadline call.”
We all nodded or grunted in acknowledgement.
“Iggy,” she continued.
His head snapped up, eyes immediately on her, like he’d been waiting for his cue.
“I’ll show you around backstage when we head to the venue,” she said. “You can relax until we leave for the arena just after five. The boys aren’t onstage until eight thirty, so you’ll have plenty of time to get them ready. Sound good?”
“Got it,” he said. And maybe no one else noticed, but his voice had the slightest tremor to it. One I recognised all too well.
“What’s on my agenda today?” I asked Clara, who was already scrolling through her phone, probably juggling ten different fires at once.
She glanced up and gave me a real smile—not the professional one she’d used on the waiter, but the warm kind she saved for us. “Absolutely nothing. You’ve got an interview before the show in Amsterdam, but today?” She flicked her screen off. “You’re free as a bird. So relax, okay? Take some time to just chill out before the show.”
I nodded, relieved . . . but also restless.
The seven of us left the table and headed back towards the elevators. Clara had told me to take the day easy, and part of me wanted to explore Paris, even if only for an hour or two. But after what had just happened, after how close that champagne bottle had felt... wandering off alone didn’t seem like the smartest idea. I could pretend I was strong enough, but I knew damn well where “just a walk” could end.
Not today.
The elevator deposited us on our floor, and I drifted down the hallway, gnawing at the side of my thumb. I was halfway to my room when a hand settled lightly on my shoulder.
“Bodhi.”
