Page 39 of It Happened on a Sunday
“‘Blue,’ ‘Wanting,’ and ‘So Nice to Greet You.’” I like to change up the encore every few days.
Bianca, who followed Jace in, arches a brow. “Those are certainly interesting choices.”
“Don’t start!” I snap, then immediately feel like an ass. “Sorry. It’s just I’ve had them planned for days.”
Which may or may not be true.
“No worries.” Her smile is understanding, if a little worried at the edges. “I did want to remind you that the reporter fromVanity Fairis here tonight. Along with a couple of studio execs who flew in this afternoon.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” I give her my biggest and fakest smile as I grab one of the tumblers of water Jace has filled for me in the fridge. He doesn’t trust anyone else with my water or my decanters full of “bourbon.”
Jace takes that as his cue to leave. “I’ll let the band know,” he says as he heads back out. “We should be ready for you in fifteen.”
As soon as the door is closed behind him, I turn to Bianca. “Any updates?”
She shrugs. “Social media’s running with it. I’m fielding calls from everyone, including Sly’s agent. Bryan has started getting out the message that this isn’t going to happen, but…”
“But what?” Sickness churns in my stomach.
She makes a face. “Your fans love the narrative, and they arediving in.”
I don’t ask about Sly’s fans. I’m sure they want to kick me through a goal post or three.
Pauline stands up, stretching out her long legs. “I’m going to head up to my suite to watch you perform. It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed the show from the audience.”
As she walks by Bianca, she links her arm through my manager’s. “Come on, sugar. You can sit with me.”
Bianca looks like she wants to protest—I can tell she has more to say to me—but Pauline isn’t having it. And against Pauline, even Bianca doesn’t stand a chance.
“We’ll talk later, Sloane, after the concert,” Bianca calls overher shoulder. “Have a good show.”
“She’ll have a great show,” Pauline tells her with a swish of her bright-blue boa. “Now let’s go order enough drinks to forget what a mess this day has been, shall we?”
I watch them leave before sinking into the nearest couch. But I’ve got too much nervous energy pouring through me right now to sit, so I end up going right back to pacing as I wait for my five-minute warning.
I’m in the middle of my seventeenth circuit around the room when another knock sounds on the door.No rest for the wicked.
This time, it’s Bryan, carrying a giant vase that has to contain at least threehundredflowers—half purple calla lilies and half pink peonies.
“Shall I put these with the others?” Bryan asks, his face deliberately blank. Though his voice is smug as hell when he adds, “I left the card attached.”
“You can put them anywhere,” I answer with a careless flick of my hand. But the second he sets them down on the vanity—along with a white cardboard baker’s box—I make a beeline right for them. I reach for the card before I can stop myself and ignore the way my hand trembles as I open it.
No moves this time, just truth. The peonies add a little extra magic, just like you.
The card isn’t signed, but then, it doesn’t have to be.
I don’t want to like this gesture. I don’t want to be charmed by Sly or his presents. But I am, even before my gaze falls on the little baker’s box Bryan carried in.
Because he’s Sly, and his attention to detail—and his grandmother’s intel—is incredible, I’m only mostly surprised to find half a dozen of my favorite giant éclairs waiting for me.
My heart turns over, and before I can talk myself out of it, I reach for my phone.
Me:Thank you
I think about leaving it at that, but then I can’t help but add a little more—just so I don’t sound churlish or unappreciative.
Me:The flowers look and smell fantastic and so do the éclairs
