“About?”
I shrug and pick a piece of imaginary lint off my leggings. “Oh, you know. Reminiscing about Thanksgivings past. Nothing big.”
His arm tightens around me in a quick squeeze. “Does it make you sad not to be with your own family?”
I have to bite back a smile. “Um, no. Not really. I was actually thinking how nice it is to be here. If I were with my parents, we’d be at a restaurant, and my mom would be trying to convince me to watch my calories and not to overindulge in desserts.”
“Even on Thanksgiving?”
“Dieting never takes a day off.”
Damian opens his mouth, but then closes it and shakes his head like he doesn’t even know how to respond to that. Finally he says, “That won’t happen here. My mom will heap food on your plate until you’re stuffed to the gills and literally can’t eat another bite.”
And he’s so right. I take modest helpings of each dish, which includes turkey, a pork roast, mashed potatoes, rice and beans, sweet potatoes, and cranberry dressing. Elisa encourages me to take more, “As much as you want” of each thing.
Marco does the same thing. “Eat! Eat!” he exclaims. “You’re too skinny.”
I laugh at that. Part of the reason I’m wearing leggings today is because my jeans are getting uncomfortably tight. My desire to overindulge in pancakes covered in berries and whipped cream and ice cream and anything that strikes my fancy is slowly curbing itself.
After Thanksgiving dinner is over, everyone sort of collapses in the living room, groaning about how full they are. The Latin music that’s been playing in the background of our conversation throughout dinner grows louder.
Hector claps his hands together, calling everyone’s attention. “Someone needs to clear the driveway and sidewalks. There’s about four inches out there now. And you all need to be able to leave eventually.”
“I’ll do it,” Damian surprises me by saying. “I need to do something to work off all that food.”
“You not planning on dancing later, Damo?” asks Marco.
That has my eyebrows raising as I look at Damian. “Dancing?”
He flashes me a grin and nods. “I told you I learned from my family.” He stands and nods to the door. “Come out with me. You said in the car that you’ve never really played in the snow. I’ll shovel, and you can make snow angels.”
I glance down at my leggings, heeled booties, and tunic top. “Um, I don’t think I’m dressed for making snow angels.”
“You can borrow snow gear,” Elisa interjects. She looks me up and down. “What size shoe do you wear? I’m sure we can find you something that’ll work for you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Melodic interval: when two or more notes are played in sequence, one after the other (versus simultaneously)
Damian
Twenty minutes later, Charlie and I head outside through the garage. She’s wearing my mom’s black snow pants and my sister’s old pink parka, a pair of gloves, and her own hat.
The way her face lights up when I open the garage door, shovel in hand, to unveil the winter wonderland that’s now my parents’ front yard makes her even more adorable. She looks like a little kid on Christmas morning.
“Go on. Play in the snow. I’m going to shovel the walkways and around the cars. It shouldn’t take too long.”
Her eyes sparkle in the light from the garage. “Will you join me when you’re done?”
“Of course.”
I head for the right side of the driveway, shoveling along the edge, the cars in the driveway blocking my view of her for a few minutes so she doesn’t feel self-conscious about getting into the snow for the first time. How strange to never have played in the snow. I can’t even remember the first time I made a snow angel or built a snowman. It’s something I’ve always done, growing up here. Snow almost every winter makes it as normal as jumping in piles of leaves in the fall and splashing in puddles in the spring.
When I make my way around the cars to the side of the driveway Charlie’s on, it takes me a second to find her. The snow is light and fluffy, and she’s lying in the middle of the yard, sunk in several inches.
That wintery nighttime glow illuminates the night now that the automatic light from the garage door opener has timed off. When it’s cloudy, the snow and the clouds reflect the ambient light, making the night brighter than normal. It’s always been one of my favorite winter phenomena. Even a full moon doesn’t give as much light as this.
I finish shoveling, watching out of the corner of my eye as Charlie carefully stands from her most recent snow angel—the yard bears sweeping imprints of her body in three other places—letting out a loud groan of despair when she tries and fails to get up without wrecking the silhouette by having to use her hand to push herself up.
With a laugh, I prop the shovel against the side of the house and head over to her. “Do another one. I’ll help you up this time.”
She smiles at me. “Okay. Then you do one, and I’ll help you up.”
“Deal.”
She tromps over a few feet to an open spot and sits down, lying back and stretching out her arms and legs. Giggling, she sweeps her arms and legs, mimicking the wings of an angel.
When she stops, arms and legs forming an X, I move to stand at her feet. “Ready?”
“Ready.” Slowly, she pulls her arms away from the ground, curling up. As her hands come my direction, I reach over and grab them, pulling her up smoothly.
She laughs as I wrap my arms around her in a hug. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I drop a quick kiss on her upturned mouth.
Turning to check out her snow angel, she takes a step away from me and claps her hands, the sound a soft whoosh of the thick gloves hitting together. “Yay! That’s the best yet. I couldn’t get myself up and out without either planting a hand or foot in the middle of it or sliding my butt to my feet. Both of which ruin the effect. This is perfect. Thank you.”
I smile at her infectious enthusiasm. “No problem. I’ve spent many winters in pursuit of the perfect snow angel. Nothing beats having someone around to pull you up.”
“Okay. Your turn. I’ll pull you up.”
Grinning, I edge my way around her snow angel to an open spot. There’s not much space left since she’s been making snow angels since we got out here, but there looks like enough room over by the corner of the house almost into the side yard. Charlie follows behind me, her snow pants swoosh-swoosh-swooshing as she walks.
There are only about six inches of snow, but I think it’s enough to cushion my fall if I go straight back. I go for it, letting out an oof when the fluff compresses under me, not quite as cushiony as I expected.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Charlie’s already in position at my feet, her gloved hands covering her mouth.
“Yeah. Fine.” She giggles as I start moving my arms and legs to make my snow angel.
Snowflakes gently land on my face, icy touches turning to water on contact. I close my eyes, moving my arms and legs a few more times. “Okay. Ready to help me up?”
I crack an eye open and pick up my head to look at Charlie, who’s already bent over, hands outstretched. “Ready.”
I move my arms straight up over my head and then jerk up and grab her hands. But she isn’t ready for me and doesn’t pull enough right away. Since I wasn’t quite to the balance point of being able to let my momentum carry me all the way forward, I fall back, still hanging onto Charlie’s hands, pulling her on top of me.
Charlie squeals, managing to land with her knees between my legs and not on my balls. “I’m so sorry,” she gasps once my head hits the snow again.
I start laughing. “That didn’t work like I planned.”
Charlie props herself up on my chest, grinning down at me. “No kidding.”
Her cheeks and the tip of her nose are pink from the cold, and I need to kiss her. Now.
Bringing my hand to the back of her head, I lift enough to capture
her lips with my own. She responds immediately, opening and slicking her tongue across my lips, allowing me access to her mouth. Wiggling, she breaks the kiss to reposition so she’s straddling my hips instead of lying between my legs, bringing her face in line with mine. She plants her hands on either side of my head and lowers her mouth to mine.
We stay there kissing for I don’t know how long. The cold, the snow, it all fades away in the sweetness of Charlie’s kisses.
Until my uncle’s voice cuts through the night. “Oye! Aren’t you done shoveling yet?” Charlie stiffens in my arms, breaking the kiss. “Or are you going to spend the night in the snow like a couple of polar bears?” he finishes, the sounds of his grumbling carrying over the snow even though the words are indistinct.
Charlie buries her face in my coat, giggling. After a second she sits up. “Come on. We better get back inside. I don’t really want to sleep outside like a polar bear.”
Pushing myself up, I smile at her, still sitting on my lap. “I’d be a polar bear if I could be one with you.”
“Aww. That’s so cheesy and sweet.” She leans in and gives me one more kiss before standing and offering me her hand. Then she narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t pull me over this time.”
With a laugh, I take her hand and push myself up with my other hand. “Ready for more dancing?”
Her eyes brighten. “Salsa?”
I nod. “Probably merengue too. Let’s go warm up. Then we can have dessert.”
“Perfect.”
Chatper Twenty-Six
Accelerando: gradually increasing in tempo
Charlie
Thanksgiving to the end of finals week passes in a blur. Homework, practicing, my first round of finals, my first jury. Even though it’s stressful, and I don’t get as much time with Damian as I would like, it’s only a few weeks, and it’s nothing like the long, exhausting grind of touring. There’s a goal and an end date for all of it. And now that it’s over, we get a fun trip together as a reward to go see Jonathan and Gabby get married.
Lauren knocks on my door as I’m packing and sticks her head inside. “You guys staying here tonight? Or meeting up in the morning?”
“Here. Damian’s coming over in a couple of hours, so I’m trying to get as much packed as possible before then. What about you?”
She comes in and crosses her arms as she props herself against the wall. “My flight’s not till the afternoon.”
I nod, looking back at my suitcase as I place another pair of leggings inside. “You know, if you want to fly with us, I’d pay the extra fee to change your ticket.”
“Nah.” I glance up in time to see her make a dismissive flip of her hand. “Gabby and Jonathan paid for my first class ticket. And I picked the afternoon flight so I wouldn’t have to get up at the butt crack of dawn. Thanks, though.”
With a smirk, I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure dawn is sometime after we’re in the air. Our flight leaves at seven.”
She chuckles, but it’s the kind of semi-forced laughter you give someone when you’re only half paying attention to what they’re saying.
I stop packing and face her, noticing that her brows are pulled together. “What? What’s wrong?”
Dropping her arms, she shakes her head. “Nothing. I just still don’t understand why you’re not taking your plane. Wouldn’t it be easier? More pleasant, at least? I’m sure it’s not cheaper, but from what I know, that’s not that big of a deal for you. Hence your offer to pay to change my ticket.”
I go back to my dresser, opening my underwear drawer, even though that was the first thing I packed. Staring blankly at my half-empty drawer, I shake my head. “You know why that’s not really an option.”
She grunts. “He still doesn’t know.”
Pulling out another pair of panties that I don’t actually need, I close the drawer and head back to my suitcase, stuffing them down in the corner. “No. He doesn’t.”
“Why haven’t you told him?”
Sitting on my bed, I toss my hands in the air and let them drop into my lap. “Because. Because right now I’m just Charlie. And I haven’t been just Charlie in … forever. Even before I’d really made it, I was always auditioning, always practicing or taking lessons or working for fame. Partly because I liked singing and dancing and playing piano. But my mom pushed it a lot. Like, I was a bad daughter if I didn’t appreciate all the time and effort she put into paying for my lessons and taking me to performances and auditions. And the way to pay her back was by performing in the things she wanted. I’ve always been guided by other people’s expectations. And here I’m not. Yeah, there’s the degree plan and all that, but I chose to be here. I chose to do this. And I don’t want the fame thing, the craziness that comes with it, to overshadow everything else. For once I’m being pushed, challenged, encouraged to grow and learn and do more. For me. Based on my actual abilities, not my connections or how cute I am or sexy I am or whatever. People give me real answers to questions. Not sycophants telling me what they think I want to hear in hopes they can get something out of me.”
I swallow, looking up at her. “You’re the only one here who knows who I am. And while you don’t use it against me or to try to get stuff out of me, even though I know you’d love to ride on my plane”—that has her cracking a smile—“it’s not the same kind of grasping and using that most people do. I can guarantee you at least half the department would sell me out to the paparazzi if they knew.”
Moving closer, she sits at my desk chair. “Okay, I get that. But Damian? You think he’d sell you out? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I know you guys love each other.”
I nod, swallowing. “Yeah, we do. And no, I don’t think he’d sell me out. But I don’t want how he looks at me to change. Don’t you think finding out you’re actually dating the world’s missing pop princess would change how you looked at your girlfriend?”
“Well, you know I don’t swing that way.”
“Ha. Be serious.”
Her wry smile fades, and she focuses on a point over my shoulder before returning her gaze to mine. “Yeah. Okay. I can see where you’re coming from. But I think it’s risky to go to this wedding with him and not tell him in advance. How long do you think you can keep this up?”
I sit up straighter and look at myself in the mirror on the wall opposite my bed, reaching up a hand to adjust my glasses. My hair is freshly dyed and cut. While I’ve started eating healthier meals and stopped the excessive eating from when I first got here and went crazy with my calorie freedom, I’m still at least two sizes bigger than I used to be. “I don’t know. I don’t look anything like Charlotte James right now. Everyone expects the super skinny, blond and pink haired star. Not a girl with brown hair and glasses and a few extra pounds on her hips.”
Lauren gives me a doubtful look. “Okay. If you say so. You want to order something for dinner so we don’t have to wash dishes before we leave tomorrow?”
“Uh, sure. That sounds good.”
Standing, she nods decisively. “Alright. I’ll let you finish packing. When Damian gets here we can decide about food.”
The alarm goes off way too early for my liking, and I hit snooze. But Damian nuzzles the back of my neck, his arm slipping around my waist and up to cup my breast. “Good morning,” he whispers, kissing the skin just below my ear.
I arch back into him, feeling him hard and ready against my butt. “Good morning.”
He gives me a squeeze and lifts up on one arm, letting me go to rub his eyes and reach for his glasses. “What time is it?” Reaching across me again, he hits the button on my phone, the one closest to the edge, and picks it up to read the time, letting out a groan. “God. Why did we decide to get the early flight again?” He drops his head back to the bed, snuggling against me again.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “You thought it’d be nice to have time to relax in the room before the cocktail party scheduled for tonight.”
“I’ve never been to a wedding where the
re’s a cocktail party for anyone and everyone instead of just a rehearsal dinner for the wedding party.” His voice is muffled against my back.
“You’ve never been to a celebrity wedding where they’ve rented out an entire resort in Montecito and have a specific and detailed plan for managing media attention and who gets first crack at the wedding photos.”
He lifts his head again. “And you have?”
“What?”
“You sound like you’ve done something like this before.”
“Oh, uh, no.” Now I’m just lying, which makes me feel like shit, especially after yesterday’s conversation with Lauren. But how would I explain that? And now, when we’re supposed to be getting up to catch a plane soon, is not the time for that conversation even if I wanted to have it. Which I don’t. Yet. Soon. Maybe. I need to figure that out. Because I don’t like lying and withholding. But I also don’t want to change the dynamic of our relationship.
“Lauren’s in the wedding party, you know. She’s talked a lot about the planning. That’s all.”
“Oh, right. Of course. That makes sense.” He sits up, stretching. “I’m going to grab a quick shower.”
Watching him stride into my bathroom, my gut churns with the thought of telling him everything. Filling him in on all the details of my past and the real reason I barely talk to my parents and why my mom was always so concerned about my weight and eating habits. I know I’ve made her out to sound like a horrible, evil bitch in his mind. To the point that he no longer asks about my parents or if I’ve talked to them or suggests attempting to patch things up. The more little bits I’ve revealed, the more he’s grown to think I’ve escaped the clutches of hyper-controlling psychos and managed to be somewhat normal.
That’s not terribly far off from reality, but it’s not the whole truth. A weird burst of laughter bubbles up at the idea of me being normal. I pass as normal here, but that’d vanish in the flash of a high-end camera if my identity was revealed.
Broken Chords (Songs and Sonatas Book 4) Page 16