“It was good TV,” Melody breathed.
The producer sighed. “That would be an understatement.”
They passed a sign that read: Melody Gallard is my love language.
Another one read: They’re totally fucking.
Last: The “only one bed” trope IRL! My life is complete.
Huh?
Police sirens cut through the quiet midmorning air, officers wading through the crowd to push the mass of bodies to one side or the other, allowing the SUV to drive through the exit. Several members of the crowd chased after the SUV, one of them holding out an open ring box, though Melody wasn’t sure if they were proposing to her or Beat.
Danielle clapped her hands together. “Now that we’ve escaped Belody Mania—”
“What was that?” Beat interrupted.
“Belody is your ship name. It’s what they’re calling you.”
He fell back against the seat, taking Melody with him. They were still being filmed.
What had her life become?
“Beat, do you have any plans over the next couple of days? I just want to make sure we get the itinerary straight before communicating it to the associate producer.”
“Plans.” He raked a hand through his hair, looking over Melody, as if to determine whether or not she’d escaped the mob without a scratch, even though they were inside the vehicle. “I . . . yes. Based on the number of missed calls on my phone, I’m guessing my mother either caught some of the live stream last night or heard about it. I should probably do some damage control there. Other than that, I have a Christmas party tomorrow night at seven. Small one at my friend Vance’s place.”
“Ahh, I see. Two events at once.” Danielle chewed her lip and made another notation. “Maybe we can do a split screen, Mel at bocce, Beat at the party—”
“Ma’am, we’re here,” said the driver.
“Thank you.” Danielle started to gather her things, gesturing for Melody to do the same. She’d been so caught off guard by the crowd she’d been slow to recognize her surroundings, but realized now that they’d stopped at the rental car section of the airport. “Melody, our driver and the new cameraperson are meeting us here.”
Beat sat forward. “She’s leaving now?”
“I’m leaving now?” she said at the same time, stopping just shy of reaching for Beat’s hand. Which was ridiculous. She needed time and space to get her infatuation under control. Not to mention, come to terms with everything that had happened last night with her mother, like finding out Trina never even spoke about her. Maybe her mother loved her in some backward way, but Melody mostly felt like a bill that needed to be paid while Trina played make-believe with the adventure club—and that wasn’t what Melody wanted. Or needed. Whether or not Melody earned the million-dollar payout from Wreck the Halls, she didn’t want to be supported by her mother any longer. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t mourn the loss. For that, she needed time.
This break from Beat was good. This was healthy.
She turned to Beat and kissed his cheek. “See you in two days.”
His voice was like gravel when he responded, his big chest lifting and falling. “Yeah.”
If she left things unsettled between them, she’d regret it for the next forty-eight hours. Melody turned to look at the camera, then back at Beat, leaning close to whisper in his ear. “I think you hold yourself back, because you were taught—we were taught—that the truth is ugly and should always be private. Suppressed. I think you hold yourself back because you were outcasted by those kids after you opened up to them,” she whispered, wetting her lips. “What you enjoy is beautiful if it’s for the right reasons. But if it’s for the wrong reasons, I’m just not sure I can . . . do what happened last night . . . again. No matter what, though, Beat, we’re best friends. I think maybe we have been this whole time without even seeing each other. If we can still be best friends after one crazy night, I think that means we’re in it for the long haul.” She searched for the right words. “Maybe we just needed to get it out of our systems?”
He huffed a sound. “You’ll never leave my system, Mel. You’re one-half of it.”
Again, she had to resist crawling into his lap and wrapping herself around him like a bow, but she remembered the jarring loneliness of last night too well. Not being trusted with all of him was worse than having none of him, wasn’t it? Yes, it was. Especially when she wanted to give him everything. All she had. “It’s not possible to get you out of mine, either. But maybe if we pretend long enough, we’ll start to believe it.” She savored the graze of his lips on her cheek. Accidental? “I don’t want to go back to never seeing you.”
Joseph cleared his throat.
They both reared back slightly, Beat visibly resentful of the interruption.
She slipped out of the SUV, feeling his gaze on her back while they met up with the new driver and drove away, knowing he watched until she disappeared.
But she didn’t allow herself to look back once.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Beat walked into his mother’s dining room later that afternoon—the new cameraman plodding in behind him—he could have heard a pin drop.
Octavia picked up her tall, slim glass of seltzer garnished with cranberries and sipped daintily, watching Beat over the rim through narrowed eyes. He sat down across from her with a sigh, setting his iPad and paper files down in front of him. He folded his hands and waited for her to start making sounds again. It might be time to face the music about his trip to Trina’s New Hampshire compound, but he’d also be getting some work done.
Work. That was all he’d done after being dropped off. He treasured his position at Ovations and took it seriously. But today? He was just thankful for the distraction. Without decisions to be made regarding the scholarship, he would be climbing the walls.
Even now, it was a feat of inhuman proportions not to punch a few buttons on the iPad and watch Melody’s live stream. He’d watched long enough this morning to make sure she arrived at a hotel and made it to her room safe and sound, before forcing himself to turn it off. Obviously, she’d wanted time alone and he should respect that. Millions of people were watching her every move. Then again, the person she’d needed space from was him.
Beat rubbed at the strained muscles of his throat and reached for his own drink, a tumbler of scotch, that had already been waiting for him upon arrival. He started to sip, but the burn was too welcome and he downed the whole goddamn thing.
“My goodness,” Octavia murmured, leaning back in her chair. “Trying to banish the memory of my ex-bandmate? Can’t say I blame you.”
“Remember you’re being recorded.”
“What, me? Forget about the cameraman? He doesn’t exactly blend in, dear.”
Beat’s eyes ticked up to the oversized mirror hanging on the wall, catching the reflection of the new guy. Ernest. Octavia’s entire dining room was decorated in a pristine white. A crystal candelabra and chandelier sparkled, along with the white garland and twinkling lights she’d added for the holidays. Ernest, who said to call him Ernie, was in black-and-gray flannel, his beard red and bushy, looking about as comfortable as a wrestler at a dance recital.