Page 157 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“We’d only been together a month—I didn’t know if you’d run away,” he protests.

“Maybe I would have,” I admit, throwing myself into his arms as he kisses the top of my head. “But I’d have come right back into your arms! And you need to stop being so cautious with me—I’m your woman, Anthony!” I say, giving him a light slap that hurts my hand more than it does him.

“You’re a firecracker, you know that?” he says, making me laugh as he kisses me.

“I know, A.J.” I cross my arms, pretending to be mad. He looks puzzled.

“But I’m still waiting for you to say those three words…” I huff, watching his dimpled grin spread. I could kiss him for hours, if I didn’t have dozens of industry execs to impress.

“You know I love you, Alexandra. I have no idea when exactly I fell for you—or the first time I realized I loved you—but it’s hard to remember my life before my partner, my girlfriend, my love,” A.J. says, kissing my forehead. “I love you so much, thank you for letting me be part of your life. You’re my woman,” he tugs me closer, “talented, fierce, and fearless. And that’s why your show will be incredible—not because I love you.”

“But you love me?” I bat my lashes.

“More than anything. You gave me a home, you brought my parents back, you let me love you against all odds, and I’ll love you forever. You have my word and my heart on that.”

My throat tightens. I want to say a thousand things, but instead I lace my pinky with his and smile. For the first time tonight, my heart slows. I breathe—and withmeu amorby my side, I remember I can do this.

***

The lights go out. The audience’s murmur rolls over the theater like a wave. My heels click on the stage, echoing louder than the world. I sit at the piano bench, fingers resting on the keys as the spotlight finds me.

The applause and whistles come, but it all feels polite—nothing like Brazil. I turn my head to the right, looking for familiar faces, and see the girls. Then I spot Thalia, and hold my jaw in place. I had no idea my cousin would come—I’ve missed her so much.

But like a magnet, my eyes drift to the man in the suit in the front row—my dad.

There he is, truly here. As I’ve always dreamed, but never believed I’d see. His tender, proud smile and eyes locked on me make my heart skip. If I weren’t so far away, I’d know if he’s crying tears of joy or sorrow.

I stand, walk across the stage toward the darker side where my guitar awaits for the second set. But in this moment, nothing matters except this first song. I pause, and the whole theater falls away until it’s just me and him.

I take a deep breath and play the first note. The audience’s noise barely registers, so I lean into the mic and look straight into my dad’s eyes.

At that table, he always sat, always telling me what it means to live better.

Singing this song to him is like ripping open my chest in public. It’s hard, but liberating. No one but the two of us and A.J. knows the stakes tonight, no one knows what this song means. I’m so happy to see him here, mouthing the words as if singing no longer hurts him. My chest swells with joy because music is no longer a battleground where we stood on opposite sides.

With eyes locked on his, we trade the lines—this song is like a poem about longing—knowing that despite everything, our love is greater. When the final note trembles out, I let a single tear fall for my mom, who I know is at peace now that Dad and I are together. A moment of silence holds the room—and then the theater erupts in applause.

My heart brims with happiness as I return to the piano, ready for the rest of my first 2025 solo show.

***

These people love MPB, but they can’t sing it—and that’s a good thing since no one tries to understand the language. Victor’s team picked the setlist from the fifty songs I sent: Belchior, Cartola, Chico Buarque, Gilberto Gil, Clara Nunes, Adriana Calcanhotto, and of course Elis Regina. Each one lifts me to heaven.

One after another, I see how these songs can move the audience—and there’s nothing I love more than seeing how music brings people to life.

When the last song ends, I rise and walk to the mic stand center stage while the band steps back. A.J. leaves the audience to join me with his guitar. It’s our first time performing “Unbroken,” and since Anthony can’t sing in Portuguese yet, he handles the guitar while I play piano. But first, I have a few thank-yous.

“Good evening, Los Angeles,” I say, brimming with love and certainty I’m exactly where I belong. “Thank you all for being here—and especially my friends and family up front.” My dad and Thalia smile. “And to the musicians who supported me tonight.” I point to the side of the stage. “But I need to thank a few more people: Victor, for believing in me; Vicious, for welcoming me; my dad, for being here; my mom, for never giving up on me; and A.J., for reminding me every day who I am…and letting me do the same for him.” I turn to the suited man beside me. “I love you,meu amor.”

That gets the biggest reaction of all—and the kiss A.J. gives me in response.

We’d agreed to go public after the Vicious tour, so our romance wouldn’t eclipse the band’s rise—and I didn’twant people thinking I only toured Europe with them because I was dating one of the members. It was a simple, positive arrangement for everyone.

But a month’s passed since the tour ended and we never got to share how happy we are. Today, as he’s granted another of my impossible dreams, it’s the perfect moment for everyone to celebrate our love.

“I brought my boyfriend here to play a song we wrote together about mourning, loss, pain…” My eyes find my dad, then A.J., who meets his parents’ gaze as I once studied Dad’s. If this song tells one truth, it’s about us and our family struggles. “But also about finding someone you’ll love more every day, forever. So this is a song about someone worth it.”

I bow under thunderous applause—so much more engaged now—and sit at the piano for the bonus song while A.J. strums the opening chords on guitar.

---