Serenade Me: A Rockstar Romance (Rock Chamber Boys Book 3)

by Daisy Allen

  “Yeah, sure.” I tell him, knowing he never lets too many days go by before calling me.

  “You need anything, any money?”

  I roll my eyes. I have a bank account filled to the brim with money he deposits weekly, and he knows it. “Go away.”

  “Love you, sis.”

  “Love you right back, pain in my ass.” I hang up the phone, knowing Jez always waits for me to do it, no matter how busy he is.

  I stare at his name as it disappear from my phone. I don’t tell him how much I wish I was travelling with him and his band right now.

  Why didn’t I tell him more about Massimo?

  That he’s hard on me, but teaching me so much. Teaching me that I need to grow so much more as an artist before I can really call myself a musician. That I need to be more humble, that I’m not ready yet.

  I’m going to make my brother proud one day. Not yet, but one day.

  Chapter Six

  Marius

  Present Day

  I’m dreaming.

  I’m dreaming that I’m floating.

  No, not floating, I’m not… buoyed by anything. I’m flying through it.

  White lace, or liquid silk or vanilla-scented cotton candy.

  It’s soft and delicate.

  But divine.

  I wake up.

  And I’m in a bed.

  But it’s still there. That same… essence of my dream.

  It’s blissful.

  I should be feeling hungover.

  Last night at the bar I’d foregone any further conversation with Jez’s sister and joined in with a rowdy table of fans instead. They had seen our performance and knew who we were but were too drunk to be star struck.

  That’s my favourite type of fan.

  I know the others weren’t happy that I’d left the group considering that Jez had wanted us to get to know his sister better and Cadence was leaving in a few days, but their temporary annoyance is probably better than their outright anger or loathing at what I might’ve done with Anca.

  Why? What were you going to do? I catch the devil on my shoulder asking me before I can brush him off.

  The truth is, I don’t know.

  I just know that she gets to me. Her.

  And I’m going to have to find a way to stop her from joining us on tour.

  I don’t want to see her, I don’t want to hear her play, I don’t want her hanging around us, when we’re supposed to be relaxed and enjoying these moments in our life, our success. I just don’t want her around. Seeing her smirk every time I say something, or her judgment every time I do something.

  She just rubs me up the wrong way.

  You sure it’s the wrong way? That annoying devil challenges me.

  “Yes, I’m fucking sure!” I say out loud. Just in case someone else can hear the devil on my shoulder as well.

  And I’m going to have to make that clear.

  Harp or no harp, replacement for Cadence or not – it’s irrelevant. She has to go.

  Not to mention, every time she looks at me with those jade/chocolate eyes it’s like she knows what I’m thinking. I can barely get a sentence out without fumbling over my words.

  “She’s a witch. We can’t have a witch on tour with us guys,” I say out loud again, practicing how I’m going to break to it every one. I should probably find a different word. Devil spawn? Maybe not. I’ll keep working on it.

  I sit up in the hotel bed and stretch, my arms rising high above my head and then behind me as I take in a deep, deep breath. There’s a slight popping of bones moving into place, aligning as they should, and my head clears a little bit more.

  Even though I have an apartment in London, now that we’re only a few days from leaving to go on tour, Dennis has gathered us all up and holed us up in the penthouse of the Four Seasons so he can keep an eye on us, making sure we’re not roaming around causing mischief somewhere, and are available to rehearse 24/7.

  Of course, I don’t mind. It’s better than the tour bus, and cleaner than my own apartment. And frankly, I like being around my friends and bandmates.

  I look around me, taking the room in. I’m not sure of the interior design-y terms, but in layman Marius-y terms, this hotel is luxurious as shit. It’s like they went out and found the most expensive version they could of everything – carpet, bed linen, wall paper and crammed it into this room. I’ve wondered at times, if they get their toilet paper from a special millionaire’s bathroom store, ‘cos that stuff is soft on my ass. I chuckle at my own thoughts and lay back against the pillows for a moment, enjoying the satin smooth finish of the sheets and sigh. Bliss.

  I slide out of bed, reaching for the pair of shorts I kicked off before falling asleep. At home, I might feel free to wander around naked, but I’ve been told under no uncertain terms that it is not welcome when we’re on tour and the guys are around. Not that I mind, but there’s nothing I can do if they’re all a bunch of prudes.

  That floaty feeling, it’s still there. I still can’t quite make out what it is.

  I scratch my stomach and wander over to the window and pull open the curtains to a typical London mid-morning.

  Grey.

  There’s a surprise.

  But I don’t mind.

  It’s the colour of my youth. My childhood. Sebastian’s always harping on about how much the weather is so much better in Paris where he’s from, and now Cadence is constantly mourning sunshine, coming from Australia.

  But the sombre heaviness of the low hanging sky of London appeals to me.

  I close my eyes and press my forehead against the window, bracing for the cold of the glass against my warm skin.

  I breathe in. And out.

  5 counts in and 5 counts out.

  5 counts in and 5 counts out.

  There it is again.

  White smoke weaving in and out of my consciousness.

  I keep my eyes closed and follow it. I use my fingers tracing against the wall to lead me to the door, the door that opens into the living area adjoining my room with Jez’s.

  I open it, eyes still closed.

  And freeze.

  It’s music.

  That blissful, untouchable something.

  Soft, ambient, ethereal music.

  The sound of one note being plucked and another and another. But never really revealing where one starts and the other ends. Cascading over one another into a glorious waterfall of sound.

  The tune, it’s so familiar, what is it?

  I can feel my brain cleaving to each note, trying to place it against the lifetime of musical phrases burned into my psyche.

  Da da da da da daaaa, I hum under my breath.

  Of course.

  The Power of Love. But different. This has less of the 80’s ballad feeling of the Frankie Goes To Hollywood version. No, this is moody, sombre, utterly heart-breaking. A declaration of love… no matter the odds.

  I open my eyes, not sure of what scene will greet me.

  Sitting on a wooden stool, harp resting between her legs, her wild, untamed mass of hair, with her back to me and her head leaning back, is Anca.

  Lost to the web she’s weaving around her, around me, binding us together with the notes coming from her fingers as they dance over the strings.

  I’ve never heard the harp played this way before.

  And we’ve played with symphonies and orchestras all over the world.

  Prodigies and protégés.

  Expertly plucking those strings as if they were extensions of their own body.

  But nothing like this.

  Like it’s replacing her own voice.

  I spin around. Our instruments are laid out, ready for our rehearsal later. I pick up my viola and bow, not caring about the tuning. I raise it to my shoulder and wait.

  Wait for my opening.

  And then, as if the song is taking a breath, there’s a moment. I pull my bow and join her.

  A little twinkle, trill, just an octave above her melody.
>
  It thrills me.

  I see her startle and she tilts her head a fraction to the side, but her fingers never stop.

  I ignore her, avoid her eyes. This isn’t about me or her. It’s between her harp and my viola. I clear my mind of all thoughts, and just let the song take charge. We soar into the chorus, a beautiful arc of sound, building and building as the melody pushes harder and harder to a climax. I see the lyrics dancing over my mind like a silent play. And then, like the tide, it recedes. Some songs crash to a sudden silent stop. Leaving the brain to fill in the blank. Her harp decides to fade, note by note, drawing a path in the brain to beautiful, quiet conclusion. I pull the bow for the last time, until there’s no more string and no more sound and no more breath. And it’s gone.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Not wanting it to end. Songs can linger forever, if nothing replaces them. Like heartbreak until someone else comes along to repair it. Music just floats in your mind until another sound imprints itself.

  In this case, it’s the sound of a French neanderthal.

  “DUDES! THAT WAS DOPE!” I open my eyes, and the rest of the band, Dennis and Cadence have gathered around us.

  I rotate on my heel away from them, busying myself with putting my viola back in her case, taking a deep breath and pressing a finger to my temple. It suddenly aches.

  “Marius?” I hear Cadence call out to me and I take a beat before joining the group, deliberately not looking in Anca’s direction.

  “Babe, that was… wow. Have you guys been working on that song? It’s pretty bloody perfect, hey.” Cadence gushes, her Australian accent coming on strong whenever she’s excited.

  “Er, no. I um, I just heard Anca playing and thought I’d play along. I just joined in near the end, she actually was playing it before I… um, well, I was sleeping. In there. That room. Yeah.”

  You can see what I mean by not being able to form a sentence.

  She gets up from her stool, finally, and stands behind Jez, who moves over and lets her into the circle. “I hope you don’t mind. Jez said I should warm up a bit first before I audition for you guys later. I don’t have a lot of experience performing non-classical music, but I’ve always loved that song and I thought it worked well with piano, so strings and harp wouldn’t be too far a stretch. And, um, I, er, I didn’t mind you joining in. It was, um, it was better than I expected.” She lifts her lashes at the last words and looks up at me.

  Something short-circuits in my head and I try not to move in case the move is to grin like an idiot.

  A sharp elbow finds itself dug into my side and I lose my balance.

  “Say something,” Cadence whispers through her teeth.

  “Oh. Yeah, thanks,” is about all I can say.

  “Anca, I’m Dennis, boss of these here idiots. I don’t know about the guys but, that’s all the audition I’m going to need. We’ll have a chat but judging by everyone’s reaction, we hope you don’t have any birthday parties to go to in the next few weeks, because we’d love for you to come with us.”

  No.

  “Um, guys. Shouldn’t we um… talk about things,” I hear my voice say.

  “I did say that, Marius. But well, I think we all know each other enough to know, Anca will fit right in.” Dennis says, a frown on his face.

  “But…” I start, not sure how I’m going to finish.

  “What is WRONG, Marius?” Everyone looks at me, not quite sure what I’m trying to get at.

  “Um, I think what Marius is trying to say but not say is… he’s scared I’m going to upstage him.” Anca cuts in, her lower lip tucked under her front teeth as she bites it coyly.

  There’s a huge guffaw from the group and Brad chokes on the beef jerky stick he’s gnawing on.

  “Yep, she’s going to fit right in.” Dennis winks to Jez.

  I’m not as amused. “Is she always like this?” I ask Jez, throwing my hands up.

  He shrugs, “Pretty much.”

  “Then, no! I don’t fucking want her on the tour with us! She’ll ruin everything!” I yell, much louder than I mean to, and everyone falls quiet.

  Jez frowns at me, his mouth falling open.

  There’s a deep, red blush rushing up Anca’s face and her eyes glisten. She turns and runs out of the room, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

  I curse under my breath and wonder whether I should wait to hear the abuse from the group or just chase after her now.

  “What the hell? Dude. That was really uncool. Why would you say that?” Sebastian demands, shaking his head.

  “I’m sorry! I told you guys we need to discuss it, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “But you didn’t have to be so fucking rude.”

  “Ugh, I know. She just… ugh she was just all…” I grind my fist into my palm, like rubbing salt into a wound.

  “Dude, she was probably just trying to fit in, she didn’t say anything worse than the shit we fling at each other every day.” Jez jumps in, defending his sister.

  “I know, I’m sorry I overreacted. But we still need to talk, guys. I don’t… I just don’t want her in the group.”

  “So, talk.” Even Dennis sounds upset with me.

  Cadence shakes her head and waves her hand, stopping the conversation. “No. Someone should go after her.”

  Everyone’s eyes turn to me. Wide. Judging.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, Dickwaffle, you’re the one who made her cry.” Jez glares at me.

  “What if I do it again?”

  “Here’s some advice, don’t.”

  “Fine!” I surrender. “But don’t blame me if-…”

  “GO!” They all yell at me.

  “I’m fucking going!” I shout back at them as I stomp out of the room, hoping I won’t be able to find her.

  No such luck.

  She’s half way to the elevator when I enter the hallway. I take a deep breath. This is going to be more fun than a prostate exam by a cactus.

  “Anca, stop.” I call out.

  She doesn’t, she just runs faster. Of course. What is wrong with this maddening woman?

  I take off on a run towards her. “Anca! Come on, I’m sorry! Can we talk?”

  “No!” she yells without turning around, still refusing to stop.

  I quicken my pace and gain on her, reaching out to touch her shoulder when I catch up to her. She shoves my hand away and spins around, her eyes wide and wild, like a cat on the caught in a trap.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” she hisses.

  “Whoa. Sorry.” I step back, my hands up. I give her a moment to calm down. “Hey, um, I’m sorry about what I said. I was out of line and I didn’t mean it.”

  “Of course, you did,” she responds immediately. “You don’t want me to go on tour with you guys. Do you?”

  I feel myself about to lie, but I don’t. What’s the point? So, I tell her the truth. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t.”

  She nods, slowly, turning a thought over in her head. “At least you’re honest. But why?” Her eyes lock on me in that hypnotizing way that she does, and her voice wavers as she asks, “Am I not good enough to play with your band?”

  Fuck, no. How could she think that?

  “God, no, Anca. No, that’s not the reason. If anything you’re too good.”

  “Shut up. I was just giving you credit for at least being honest with me.” She pulls her gaze from mine, and it gives me a moment of relief.

  I reach out and touch her on the wrist, before I can stop myself. “No, listen to me. I am being honest. You’re seriously amazing. I’ve never heard anyone play the harp like you. Like you were born to do it.” She looks at me with a small smile for the first time in all the times we’ve butt heads. But I know it won’t last. I pull my hands back. “Look. I just… I don’t know if I trust you. What do you want? Why would you want to play with us? You could be a star in your own right.”

  She waves my words away, her cheeks flushing red. She really doesn’t believe me.

&nbs
p; “I don’t know why you think you can’t trust me.”

  “Well, let’s start with… why didn’t you tell me that we’ve met before? Last night, at the bar when I first came up to you? Why did you pretend we were strangers?”

  Her eyes narrow, like she’s running through it all in her head again. And hating me all over again. “Ah. So that’s what this is really about. Look, I thought you did recognize me, I thought that’s why you were coming over to my table. And then when it was clear you didn’t… I was, I was really embarrassed. So, I guess I was just covering my embarrassment by being a bitch.”

  And now I’m being the jerk. “I’m sorry, I really did not recognize you. You just… you just don’t look the same at all. You were such a cute kid.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh, thanks, now I’m a horrendous hag?”

  “NO! I mean… fuck. Why do you always twist my words around?”

  “Why are your words always so offensive?” She challenges me.

  “Because you’re always trying to get a rise out of me.”

  “Oh, trust me, there’s no part of me that wants to get any part of you to rise.”

  “Arghhh!” I shout, my hands coming up to hold my head.

  She just shrugs and walks over to the elevator and jabs at the down button over and over.

  “See? That’s just… that’s exactly why I don’t want you to come along.” I sigh.

  “Which part, the part where I reject your masculinity, or because I’m an horrendous hag part?”

  “Arggghh!” I shout again. “What is wrong with you? Why would you even JOKE about being a hag, when you’re so fucking stop-men-in-their-tracks stunning?!” I slam my fist against the wall. “Ow! Shit!”

  She looks startled and backs further away from me.

  “Sorry. You just… you make me so mad.”

  “Sorry. Look. I didn’t know this before, but, I really want to come play with you guys. You’re…” she rolls her eyes and I know she’s about to say something she doesn’t want to. “You guys are amazing, and I, ugh, I hate admitting this, but I really enjoyed playing with you before. So, when you said you didn’t want me to come. I was just really disappointed. Am. Am disappointed.”

  “I’m sorry. I just feel like you’re constantly trying to wind me up. You can understand why I wouldn’t want that when I’m trying to perform. This whole thing… the band, with the guys, we work because we trust each other implicitly, that we’ve got each other’s backs. If there was anything that disturbed that, it would all come crumbling down. The way you and I are bickering all the time – can you see why it might be a total disaster?”