I select Brenda’s text.
A picture with a link, followed by “WTF.”
The picture is of me, sitting outside a flowery coffee shop, with an honest-to-God enraged expression on my face, slapping William’s hands away as he stands behind me, shocked and afraid.
I click the link to a tabloid website.
It reads: trouble in paradise already?
Already.
“No, no, no, no, no.”
I save William’s number quickly so I can forward the picture to him. I follow it with a string of worried and unhappy emojis.
I click on the link again. Zoom in on his terrified face. My scowl. Then, inexplicably, my fingers zoom in on his feet. I hadn’t realized it when we were together, but he was wearing bright blue socks with black polka dots.
The screen goes dark for a moment, and I nearly throw my phone against the wall when it starts vibrating in my hand.
british boyfriend, the screen says. Calling me.
What kind of person actually calls people?
The phone won’t stop vibrating, and his name won’t go away, so I let out a deep sigh and take the call.
Resting my back against the front door, I say, “Hello?”
“Hi, um, Natalie,” he begins, as eloquently as ever. “So I saw what you sent me.”
“Good. I sent it to you so you’d see it.”
He’s quiet on the other end of the call. This is why texting is a thousand times better.
I clear my throat. “Turns out it wasn’t Ashley’s photographers. It was real paparazzi, and they took some unflattering pictures of us.”
William groans on the other end, then groans some more. There’s a rustle as if he’s moving. I’m struck with the image of him rolling out of bed, then shake my head.
“Yeah. I did seem terrified.” He laughs.
He has a nice laugh. Low, throaty.
“I hate to state the obvious, but you’re not supposed to be scared of me. You’re supposed to be in love with me.”
“I could be both,” he teases. “All we have to do is make up for it. Show that we’re fine, and you don’t usually slap me too much.”
I open and close my mouth.
“Unless I ask nicely, of course,” he adds.
I feel my cheeks burning hot. “Ugh, don’t.”
William laughs again on the other end of the call, and I can’t help but smile. Something about his laugh releases the pressure a tiny bit. “Don’t worry, okay? This is nothing. You’ve been in the public eye for longer: What would you do to fix this situation if it weren’t your situation?”
My immediate reaction is to tell him that I’d call Bobbi.
But that isn’t true. If it wasn’t mine, if I didn’t have the obligation to fix it…
“Mmmm.” I suck in my bottom lip, looking up at the high ceiling of the foyer. “Pretend like it didn’t happen. Wait a few days and post a cute picture on Instagram. Maybe do a story of a date?”
He’s silent for a second. Then, “Are you asking me on a date?”
“I— What? No, I wasn’t—” I sputter.
William cuts me off, chuckling. “Then I am asking you. Let’s go on a date and make sure people are jealous of how happy we are, and how not at all scared I am.”
My lips quirk, and my hand goes to the pendant around my neck, absentmindedly turning it in my fingers.
“Under one condition, of course,” William says, his voice a little lower. “No more slapping?”
I’m so unprepared for that, it actually makes me snort with laughter.
“See? You already knew what to do.”
I lean against the door, wondering if William’s smiling on the other end.
Suddenly, I’m falling.
The door opens inward, and my arms pinwheel as I land flat on my back with a yelp.
My phone jumps out of my hand and clatters across the floor. I can hear William’s voice, yelling, “Natalie? What happened? Natalie?!”
Mom gives me a strange look, still holding the door open.
I scramble to grab my phone and bring it to my ear again. “Everything’s fine. I have to hang up now. Goodbye.” Before he can say anything, I end the call. “Mother.” I give her a nod.
Mom’s frown grows deeper. “Why were you outside? Why didn’t you come in? Did you forget your keys? Why didn’t you knock?”
I blink at her. “Gosh, so many questions. I—I was about to come in.”
“Was that Bobbi? Because she called me and said she was trying to get in touch with you. Something about the tabloids or—” She stops there, shrugging.
Mom’s view of my image is that I don’t have one outside of who I am as an artist. Which is why she’s been dropping hints here and there about me going back to the studio.
“No, I—I’ll call her back. I know what she wants. And it’ll be an amazingly short call, because that’s what people do. They say what they need to and hang up.” I put my phone in the pocket of my skirt and start toward my bedroom. “It’s how society works.”
Mom hums. “How was the date?”
“Not a date!” I yell from the stairs. “Not a date,” I say again, this time to myself. “None of this is real.”
The second I’m safely inside my room, my phone beeps again. It’s William. My eyes widen, and I clutch the phone to my chest for a second before sliding my thumb over the screen.
BRITISH BOYFRIEND:
Please send proof of life.
I snort, open the front camera, and start toward the bed. As I flop onto it, I receive another message:
BRITISH BOYFRIEND:
Just because, you know. It sounded like something happened.
Something deadly.
I slide up the notification so I’m staring at myself in the front selfie camera. My hair is all around my head like a dark halo, and I tilt my head to the side in a way that I know makes my neck look longer as I snap a photo.
Clicking the gallery, I inspect the picture.
It’s so staged.
But I still like it.
I hit send, drop the phone to my chest, and close my eyes. Almost immediately, it beeps, and I pick it up again.
BRITISH BOYFRIEND:
Good.
Because I think I’ve got our next date planned out.
I roll over onto my elbows on the bed, and reread his message again. And again. I send a winky emoji back.
Trent wasn’t big on dates, at least not ones he planned. His agent, Carrie, was good at that sometimes. She even sent me roses on my birthday. But the dates were always at very public places, so we could be seen together. It wasn’t that Trent didn’t like hanging out with me, but if he could do it and boost our social media presence? Two birds with one stone.
Not that William isn’t doing it to boost our social media presence, too.
I sit up, my brow furrowed at the screen. He’s just being strategic. He probably called his agent or publicist for help, too. Business transaction and all.
As soon as I kick off my boots, I lie back on the bed again, phone in my hands. I open the group chat with the girls.
NATALIE:
so the situation with the pic will be fixed
PADMA:
what situation?
BRENDA:
thank god
i’ll fill you in later bb
PADMA:
okay? lol
BRENDA:
SO HOW IS HE???? SPILL THE TEA!!!!!
NATALIE:
hold on, i’ll send a pic
BRENDA:
did u just have that saved
that was a very quick send
PADMA:
awww h
e’s cute! in a boyish kind of way
so obviously i’m not attracted
BRENDA:
let the bi speak!!!!!
HE’S CUTE
PADMA:
just bc i’m a lesbian i can’t have a sense of aesthetics?
pls
NATALIE:
ANYWAY…cute isn’t what i wanted tho
i wanted HOT
DELICIOUS
FIERCE
i wanted…someone even better than trent
better-looking, at least
generally better wouldn’t be very hard
BRENDA:
u don’t know him that well yet
maybe he’ll surprise you ;)
PADMA:
ew
NATALIE:
gross
BRENDA:
u guys suck
PADMA:
is your fake boyfriend nice though? can you at least be friends?
NATALIE:
what do you mean >at least<?
that was the plan from day 1
BRENDA:
today is day 1
PADMA:
don’t overcomplicate things, stop being you!!!!
i’m just asking if he’s nice
NATALIE:
he’s full of himself honestly
he thinks he’s better than me
PADMA:
why do you say that?
NATALIE:
he called me a diva
PADMA:
oh
BRENDA:
i already love him
NATALIE:
not funny
he said i was self-obsessed
and didn’t know how to ask for help??
or something like that idk
BRENDA:
i would die for this beautiful british fool
PADMA:
are you upset that he has onions
sorry autocorrect, opinions**
NATALIE:
he can have all the stinky onions he wants idc
i’m upset that you two are terrible friends who won’t side with me
but i’ll let it slide
anyway how was your day??
PADMA:
spent at the studio. recorded a new single i guess
we’ll see how my producer feels about it
ricky hasn’t been giving me much love lately
BRENDA:
i’m still pretending i don’t have to apply to any colleges
so that’s been fun
NATALIE:
you’re both brilliant
ricky is going to love the single
& the college thing is all right, you have time
PADMA:
fhdiosgs hopefully
BRENDA:
and you?
NATALIE:
what do you mean?
BRENDA:
what’s on /your/ mind?
NATALIE:
that maybe i should go to college
and maybe never sing again
or should i go to the studio
and make some actual music
maybe college
yeah i’m feeling good about going to college and dropping my musical career so i don’t have to write anything new
I stare at our chat for a moment. Then, without giving it much thought, I force-close the app and open the Notes app. I start a new file and tell myself out loud, “This doesn’t have to be a song. You’re writing down your thoughts about…this weird limbo feeling. No pressure.”
As I draft no-pressure-these-don’t-have-to-be-lyrics, it’s William’s face that’s on my mind.
Ashley has a car sent to pick me up, and the drive takes so long I run out of things to look at on Pinterest. I’ve been trying to stay on there, looking at pretty motivational phrases and cat pictures, instead of hopping over to Twitter or Instagram. It helps with the FOMO.
The driver introduces himself as Sean, then doesn’t say another word for an hour. We arrive in a rural area, and I ask Sean if this is really the place. But he only gives me a side-eye glance through the rearview mirror. I guess I wouldn’t have liked anyone to ask me mid-performance if I know how to do my job, either.
“I hope you dressed for a picnic,” Sean says.
I am most definitely not dressed for a picnic.
I’m wearing a solid yellow crop top and a black-and-brown-plaid skirt that’s going to be riding a bit too high if we have to sit down. William did mention we’d be going out of town, but I didn’t expect this.
“Great,” I murmur.
Finally, he stops the car. “I can’t go any farther. The road ends here.” He turns back to face me. “You go up that hill, you see? With the big tree?” He points. I do see. And it’s very far.
“Beyond that tree there’s a valley on the other side of the hill, so anyone standing at the top has a clear view and can take good pictures. I think the photographers will arrive soon.”
“Do I have to walk? All the way up there and then down?”
He raises an eyebrow. I just know in my heart that he’s holding back from saying something like you can try flying but is trying to be professional. I put him out of his misery by nodding and getting out of the car.
Before I leave, he says, “I’ll be waiting right here when you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” I say, before slamming the door of the car by accident. “Sorry!” I call out, but if he hears me, he makes no motion to acknowledge my apology.
Nervous, slippery hands.
I sigh and stare up at the hill, the heat of the sun scorching my face. Should’ve put my hair up in a ponytail or something. If I sweat, my hair will start curling desperately. Damn, I hope William’s already waiting for me.
By the time I’ve reached the tree, I’m sweating and gross and want to sit down.
“Natalie?” William jogs up to meet me.
He’s grinning from ear to ear. Like this is fun. Or funny. I don’t even know. “To be honest, I thought for a moment that you were standing me up. That I might be deserted out here. I maaaaay have eaten most of the apple pie. Desperate times, you know?”
I shake my head but can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
Mentally preparing for the upcoming kiss we will invariably have, I rest against the tree and try to cool off. William offers me his hand for support. I take it, cursing my choice to wear ankle boots. The thick heels seem to be swallowed by the grass with every step. But no kiss.
He chuckles, giving me a once-over. “Don’t you have a stamina trainer or something for your dance routines?”
“I have a personal trainer who’s focused on stamina, yes, but it’s for my breath.” My voice does sound steady even though I might as well be dying. “I’m not a dancer.”
I don’t know how I feel about the fact that he’s probably never watched one of my performances. Disappointed, maybe? I’ve barely gotten over that he didn’t know who I was when I was nominated—and won!—Female Artist of the Year, but now I’m his fake girlfriend and the fact that he still hasn’t seen me perform is off-putting.
I don’t look back at him until we reach the blanket and picnic basket waiting for us spread under another tree, maybe twelve feet high. This tree is full of white blossoms, as is much of the park, but this one feels special. It feels like…our tree? No, that’s silly. This is a fake date, after all.
But it’s beautiful here. So much green, so much nature. It feels like we’re transported to another world for a few hours.
“So you’re not very athletic,” he deadpans.
Turning to him with a semi-offended ex
pression, I finally take in what he’s wearing. A soft white T-shirt under a light-blue plaid shirt with ripped jeans that are ripped just enough that I can see his thighs.
They’re…nice. He looks really cool. I especially like the plaid.
He’s kicked off his sneakers and is wearing socks with clovers on them. Interesting and a fitting choice for this setting.
William seems like he’s waiting for an answer.
“I’m athletic enough.”
He breaks into a smile and sits on the crimson blanket. He looks like part of the decoration. “I’m a brilliant dancer. I can give you lessons one day if you want.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“I mean it!” he insists.
Choosing to ignore that—because I am not going to dance in front of anyone, ever, much less him—I sit down on the blanket as well. The apple pie on top of the closed basket is almost entirely gone.
“This heat is killing me,” I murmur, trying to adjust my skirt so it doesn’t ride up.
Like a Love Song Page 6