Royal Disaster #3

by Renna Peak

  I don’t let myself look at Sophia as I help the woman off the stage, but I feel her gaze on me. Even with thousands of people around us, I feel it.

  That feeling doesn’t leave me for the rest of the show, but I don’t let myself look at her again. Not even once.

  Sophia

  I hardly want to admit it to myself, but I feel something when I listen to Pax sing. He has a way of transforming the music into something that is almost palpable—at least for me. Though, when I look around the crowded arena, I’m sure I’m not alone. There are so many women here who seem to be just as affected by the music—and even a few men.

  He looked at me a few times when the concert first began, but now he seems to have forgotten that I’m here at all. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy when he pulled another woman up onto the stage with him.

  And there was something about the lyrics of that song…‘The Lost Night’. There is no way he could have made that up the way he says—something definitely happened to him. Or perhaps to someone he loved.

  The twinge of jealousy deep in my gut comes back at the thought of Pax loving anyone else. The realization makes my eyes widen, and I blink a few times to myself.

  Why would I care if Pax loved another woman?

  Victoria’s questions ring in my head. Do we have a relationship? What would Pax say if I asked him?

  It shouldn’t bother me so much. It really shouldn’t, but for some reason, it absolutely does.

  This is probably the wrong time to be giving him any sort of ultimatum, but why should I bother hanging around him if I know I want more from this than he does? Being with Pax started out as a bit of fun, but now I can’t help but think that fun isn’t quite enough for me.

  I want…more.

  The beginning of his tour has to be the worst possible time to be bringing any of this up, but I suppose I don’t want to waste the next two months of my life following him around if he doesn’t really want me here.

  The concert ends after the band plays two encore songs—one from their first album and another from their latest. I’m not sure what I was expecting—before the concert began, I was given my choice of any place in the front row. And while I’d briefly considered standing front and center, I quickly realized it wouldn’t only be a distraction for Pax—it would be far too conspicuous for me, too.

  But now that the concert has ended, there’s a crush of people trying to head for the back of the arena toward the exit and almost as many people—all young, beautiful women—heading to the opposite side, presumably to get backstage.

  I haven’t seen Pax alone since I left the tour bus for that horrid interview with Victoria, but I suppose I’d assumed that I’d be invited to the after party with the band.

  I make my way over to the crush of women waiting at the door to the backstage area—there have to be almost a thousand people here, and it’s impossible to cut through the crowd to the front. A security guard stands nearby, and I make my way over to him, holding up the VIP badge around my neck to show him.

  He merely gives me a shrug, motioning to the dozens of women around me who are all wearing the same badge.

  My shoulders sag as I slump against the wall. Every last one of these women wears the same badge as I do—I may have been able to choose my seat in the arena, but apparently, that is the only benefit my “special” pass affords me.

  I wait over an hour—I’m not sure what the process is for allowing people backstage, but more women than not are turned away.

  I finally get to the front of the line where a young woman stands with a clipboard. She barks the same line at no one in particular. “If your name isn’t on the list, you don’t get backstage. VIP passes are only for the concert.”

  “Sophia.” I smile at her, though she doesn’t look up from her clipboard.

  “Nice try.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “She went backstage an hour ago.” The woman doesn’t even glance up at me.

  “There must be some mistake.” I lean forward, trying to force her to make eye contact. “I’m sure I’m not backstage yet.”

  She sighs, shooing me away without giving me so much as a glance. “If your name isn’t on the list, you don’t get backstage. VIP passes are only for the concert.”

  It’s a little hard to believe no one recognized me at all here. A large security guard takes me by the arm, leading me away from the door and back out into the arena. “Exit’s over there.” He motions toward the back of the hall with his head as he gives me a small shove in that direction. “Better luck next time.”

  So much for finding out how Pax feels about me tonight, I think as I make my way to the exit. I hadn’t really considered that I might not be allowed backstage. Actually, I’m not sure what I was thinking—that Pax would have come out to fetch me himself? With all the tearful women in the crowd, he would have been surrounded instantly.

  His sort of fame is so much different than mine. He has fans—people who adore him for something he’s done, something he’s made. I’m famous because of my family, not because of anything I’ve done.

  I suppose I’m famous now for having a sex film, I think as I walk toward the hotel. And I’m sure my family is never going to let me forget it.

  The crowd outside the hotel is almost as big as the one to get backstage at the concert. This time, though, I have a key card to show the security guards at the entrance, and they wave me through immediately.

  It isn’t in time to avoid the nasty remarks from some of the women, though. As soon as I get to the door, a woman shouts, “If I make a sex tape with Pax, will you let me through, too?”

  It seems to rile up the other women. Cries of, “Yeah, what about me?” start in the front of the group, and within a split second, the shouts turn much more derogatory, but it’s impossible to tune out. Before I get through the sliding door, I hear myself called a cow, a slut, a whore, a bitch. It isn’t until someone calls me “Montovian trash” that I turn around, glaring at no one in particular as I back through the sliding doors and into the hotel lobby.

  This seems to incite them, and a group of the women rushes toward me. The security guard stretches his arms to his sides, but it isn’t nearly enough to stop them. I’m pretty sure I hear myself scream as the crowd envelops me.

  Pax

  I’m still riding a high.

  “Well, boys,” Mick says, “here’s to another brilliant tour launch.”

  “Hear, hear,” Charlie says, raising his beer. The rest of us do the same, clinking bottles. Each of us has a different favorite beer, and Mick makes sure they’re all stocked after every show. I don’t need alcohol right now—I’m plenty buzzed from the performance—but I like the cold crispness of the beer on my tongue.

  It’s late enough now that most of the fans with backstage passes have been politely ushered out, and we’re finally alone in the arena’s largest dressing room. I enjoy the post-concert meet-and-greet—I don’t care how long I do this, I’ll never get tired of hearing people say how much our music means to them—but I also feel a familiar sense of relief when the fans are gone and I can relax again. My body is exhausted.

  A couple of girls are still here. Some of our usual groupies are following us on this tour, too, and Rider’s and Jameson’s favorites are here. Rider’s girl, Melissa, is currently sitting on his lap and whispering in his ear. Jameson’s—Laura, I think—is standing behind him, massaging his shoulders while he sips his beer.

  It makes me hungry for a little physical contact of my own.

  I glance down at my watch. The show has been over for nearly an hour. I wonder why Sophia hasn’t shown up yet. I’m not surprised she didn’t try to fight her way back here with the backstage passers—she’s not exactly the kind of girl to push her way into the middle of all that—but I would’ve thought she’d make her way here sooner rather than later.

  I bet her brother has something to do with it, I think. He probably didn’t want her seen with me. Considering how many
thousands of cell phones were out tonight—meaning thousands of amateur paparazzi—I shouldn’t be surprised that he whisked her off the moment the concert was over.

  But that doesn’t mean I’m not pissed off about it.

  “Hey,” Rider says, apparently sensing my sudden change in mood. “Where’s your little princess?”

  “Hell if I know,” I say, sinking back into the plush leather sofa. I glance at Mick. “Have you seen her? You put her name on the list to get backstage, right?”

  “Of course I did,” Mick says. “She probably just wanted to avoid the crowds. Some of your fans can get pretty vicious, you know.”

  “Is that right?” Rider asks Melissa in a teasing voice. “Did you have to fight off a few crazy fans to get to me?”

  “You know it, babe,” she responds, leaning close and sucking on his ear.

  I roll my eyes. With every passing moment, the high is fading, and I’m starting to get annoyed. Who the hell is Nicky to keep his sister away from me? She’s a grown woman. And why did Sophia let him drag her away? It’s not like her brother was standing in the first row with her. She should’ve escaped before he found her. She had plenty of opportunity.

  Charlie plops another beer down on the side table next to me.

  “Drink up,” he says. “I’m sure she’s around. Especially after all the fuss she kicked up to be here in the first place.”

  His words should be comforting, but they’re not. She did kick up a fuss to be here…but only after two weeks of so much back-and-forth that I’m shocked I don’t have fucking whiplash. Hell, I wouldn’t be shocked to discover she’d changed her mind again, that her brother and sister-in-law had finally convinced her to give it up and go home already.

  I drain the rest of my beer and grab the new one, popping it open and gulping down half of it in one long swig.

  “I’ll send someone to go look for her,” Mick says.

  “Don’t bother,” I say, sounding grumpier than I mean to. “If she wants to be here, she’ll be here.”

  I close my eyes and try to bring back the rush I felt right after stepping off stage, the swelling in my chest and the clearness of mind that made everything feel okay. This is the biggest tour of my fucking life, and it’s off to a great start. I’m not going to let it get ruined by some stupid relationship drama.

  Try as I might, though, I can’t bring the feeling back. It’s long gone. With a sigh, I rub my hands over my face.

  Where’s Sophia? Why isn’t she here to celebrate this with me?

  “Come on,” Charlie says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Why don’t we head back to the hotel? We can continue the party there.”

  “Yes, we can,” Rider says, but he’s talking to Melissa, not to us.

  I’m normally at the center of our post-show parties—I’m solely responsible for the hot tub incident that cost us thirty thousand dollars in damages at a hotel in Las Vegas—but I’m not feeling it tonight. Still, I’m not going to let the guys know that. I refuse to be a fucking killjoy.

  “Sure,” I say, jumping up off the couch. “Let’s get this party started.”

  I chug the rest of my beer and grab another on the way out the door. There’ll be stronger shit back at the hotel. Maybe tonight I will get fucked up—a good blackout drunk might clear my head.

  And you’re going to need it if it turns out she left you again, I think. But I laugh off that thought, telling myself I’m better than that. If she’s gone…well, she can have a nice fucking life.

  Still, it’s hard to forget that electrical current I felt when our eyes locked while I was onstage. There’s something undeniable between us. Something that makes me feel even more alive than performing does.

  When we reach the hotel, the usual mob of fans is there. Usually they’re waiting outside for us, but this time it looks like they overwhelmed security and somehow stampeded their way into the lobby. As we arrive, three police cars are pulling up.

  “Guess they had to call in backup,” Charlie says with a laugh. “We’ve definitely got some crazy fans, huh?”

  But I’m not laughing. Something about this is odd—we’ve arrived, and yet no one seems to have noticed us. Usually we’re mobbed within seconds. Instead, everyone seems to be focused on whatever’s happening inside. And the raised voices aren’t excited cheers or anything like that—they sound angry. It almost looks like a fight’s broken out.

  “What the hell is going on?” Rider says. His arm is around Melissa, but he looks just as concerned as I feel.

  There’ve been a few tussles here and there at our concerts, but nothing like this. What the hell could’ve set them off? We weren’t even here yet, for fuck’s sake.

  And then it hits me. The bottom drops out of my stomach.

  Sophia.

  “Huh?” says Charlie, and I realize I must have said her name out loud. But I don’t bother repeating myself. Instead, I charge into the crowd without looking back.

  Sophia

  One of the women pulls my hair and another lunges at me.

  “Pax is mine!” a third woman shouts as she rushes toward me.

  This seems to stun the first two, and my hair is released as they turn toward the other woman.

  “No,” the woman who pulled my hair cries. “He’s mine.”

  Multiple shouts of no, he’s mine erupt from the crowd, and I’m suddenly—thankfully—forgotten in the melee of women clawing and screaming at each other.

  This is what a rock star deals with on a daily basis? I think as I back slowly toward the elevators, trying not to call attention to myself. And I thought being a royal was difficult.

  The angry screams change before I reach the elevator doors, and I seem to feel it in my body the moment Pax enters the lobby. Our eyes meet for only a moment before the swarm of women envelops him, and a pulse of electricity surges through me.

  I may not want this life, but I certainly want him.

  It takes a few moments for Pax to pull himself away from the fawning women—the police have arrived from nowhere and many of the women have backed away from the crowd voluntarily. It’s only the first few who started the mess that still surround Pax, and it’s only another few minutes before the police lead them away.

  Pax is finally able to make his way over to me, and the expression on his face is nothing but genuine concern. “Are you all right?”

  I nod, rubbing the back of my head. “Just a little hair pulling. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Even as I say the words, I know they aren’t true. If the women hadn’t distracted themselves with their own jealousy, I’m not sure what might have happened. With four older brothers, I can hold my own in a fight, but I’m not so certain of my skills of holding off dozens of angry women. In my experience, women can be so much more vicious than men.

  “I’m getting you a bodyguard.” Pax looks around the lobby. “Speaking of which, where the hell is your brother?”

  I lift a brow. “Really? Now you want my brother around?” I can’t help but laugh. “After all the trouble I’ve gone through to get him to leave us alone?”

  He shakes his head slowly at me, but he also smiles as he lifts his hand to my face. “I just…I want you safe. I don’t…” He looks back over at the thinning crowd near the entrance of the hotel before looking back at me. “I don’t think I could have lived with myself if something had happened.”

  Our gazes lock together for a moment before he suddenly snatches his hand away. “I mean…you know what I mean.”

  Do I? Again, this doesn’t seem an appropriate moment to bring up the topic of relationships, but at least he does seem to care—even if it upsets him when he realizes it.

  “I suppose I do.” My smile falls even as I say the words. “And to answer your question, I stole my brother’s pass so he couldn’t get in. The concert was sold out. He…” I shake my head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  His grin returns. “I love it.” He pulls my hand into his. “But that doesn’t explain why you di
dn’t come backstage after the show. I mean, your name was at the top of the list—”

  “And apparently, all you need is a name to get backstage. According to the woman ticking off the list, I went backstage immediately after the concert.”

  “Oh…” His smile falls again. “I mean…” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe someone would have used your name—”

  “You can’t?” I glance over at what’s left of the crowd by the entrance—two of the women are now in handcuffs. “Those women seem to think you belong to them. You really don’t think they’d take advantage of the lax security?”

  “Well, it isn’t really lax…” He glances over at them, too, before looking back at me. “But they can get a little nuts. I mean—”

  “You mean they’re all very eager.” I can’t help but smile. “Those are your groupies, right?”

  He shakes his head. “No, the groupies all get backstage. They…” He pauses, frowning. “Those are the crazy ones. I don’t…I’m not sure how to explain it.”

  “I think I get it.” I pull his hand into mine this time. “But I do think you need better security.”

  He grins, squeezing my hand. “Honestly, we haven’t needed it. Not before this.”

  “Yeah.” Rider comes up behind Pax, clapping him on the back. “This is crazy. It’s never been like this. I think what your boyfriend is trying to say—”

  “We made it.” Jameson, the drummer—the one who seems to barely speak—grins. “We’ve really made it.”

  Charlie throws his arms around the backs of the other two men, grinning. “This is fucking nuts.”

  “Definitely calls for a party,” Rider says.

  Charlie squeezes the two men before dropping his arms. “Definitely. You in Prince Charming?” His gaze slides over to me. “And you, Princess…Cinderella?”

  Pax stares at me for a long moment before he steps forward, sliding his arm around my waist as he turns back to his bandmates. “You three go ahead. I think Sophia and I have our own celebrating to do.”