Then he started the medley of love songs. The audience laughed and cheered and clapped at all the right moments. And then they got to the end, with Rob inches from her, that place in the performance where they used to kiss.
There was a spotlight on only them. The rest of the room was dark. And it felt like everyone there was holding their breath.
“Do it!” someone finally yelled. “Kiss her!”
Emily lifted her face toward his, offering her permission, and he bent forward and softly kissed her, a small peck on her lips. The crowd started clapping and wolf whistling. Rob looked at Emily. She could tell there were words he wanted to say, but his mic was still on. Hers was, too. So he turned back toward the audience, slipped his fingers into her hand, and raised them both high in the air. “Thank you!” he said. And they walked off the stage together to applause that echoed throughout the room.
Emily felt like she was flying, like she was a comet orbiting the solar system; this was what she loved doing. This was where she felt most like herself. This was what she had to do. She turned to Rob, grinning. He took a step toward her, the joy she felt reflected in his face, and he wrapped his arms around her in a spontaneous hug, holding her tight.
“That was awesome,” she said against his chest.
“Totally awesome,” he replied, his lips moving against her hair.
She could hear the applause roaring in her ears, the appreciation for her music. It was a sound she wanted to bottle and keep with her always, something she could open up and drink in when she needed it.
* * *
—
Before the sound guys came over to unhook her mic, Emily pulled her cell phone out of the bag she’d left backstage, wanting to text Ari, to let her know how fantastic it was to be on stage. But when she looked at her screen, she was met with a missed call from Ezra and two texts: one from Ari saying that Ezra had called looking for her, since she hadn’t picked up her phone, and Ari had told him that she was in Mexico. The second was from Ezra confirming that she actually was in Mexico. All it said was: Are you really in Cancun?
I am, she typed back. Just for a couple of days.
She held on to the phone for a while, while her mic was unhooked, but he didn’t write back. She thought about adding on to her previous message. Telling him how great it felt to play music on stage, how much it meant to her, try to make him understand, but she didn’t have the words.
Then Diana came over. “That was fabulous,” she said to Emily.
“Thanks,” Emily answered.
“So, I haven’t spoken to Rob yet, but his PR team would love this story. Would you be up for some media interviews in Miami? And how long are you staying on tour with us? The more advance notice, the better.”
Emily swallowed. This seemed like too many decisions at once. She looked down at her phone to see if Ezra had written her back. Her words got stuck in her throat.
“Are you bothering Emily?” Rob asked, coming over and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, as if he were protecting her from Diana. “I told you she was off-limits. No questions.”
“We need to talk then,” Diana said.
“Tomorrow,” Rob answered. “I’m hungry.”
Emily smiled at him. “Me too,” she said.
57
Back in the villa, Emily was in her room alone, changing into a T-shirt that Rob had loaned her. The flannel pajama pants and thermal top she’d packed for her sister’s house in Connecticut were sweltering. Rob’s T-shirt was threadbare—the kind that had been through the wash so many times that the logo on it had nearly disappeared. Emily couldn’t quite figure out what it had once been. The T-shirt reached her midthigh. She contemplated putting on her flannel pajama pants, but it was just so hot and he’d already seen her in her swimsuit. So she walked out in the T-shirt.
Rob was outside in the dining area, looking relaxed in a T-shirt and workout shorts. In front of him was a room service feast: ceviche, marinated pork, rice, plantains, fish. And a bottle of tequila. He was sipping it from a glass.
“Want some?” he asked, lifting up the bottle.
“Sure,” Emily answered, sitting down next to him and surveying the food in front of her. She’d taken her braids out, and her hair was framing her face, resting on her shoulders.
He handed her a generous pour of tequila and then raised his glass. “To making music,” he said, and they both clinked glasses and took a drink.
“That’s the best tequila I’ve ever had,” she said, looking at the label.
“That’s what I asked room service for,” Rob answered. “A bottle of the best tequila on the menu.”