Like a Love Song

by Gabriela Martins

  This time, William’s at a complete loss for words.

  He opens and closes his mouth, then seems to decide that this isn’t worth it. Shaking his head, he sits back and turns to the dark window.

  I can hear him murmur, “Remember why you’re doing this,” to himself, but I pretend I don’t.

  Neither one of us speaks for the remaining mortifyingly long half-hour car ride. When he isn’t looking, I shove the small silver box in my purse.

  * * *

  The lights of the premiere event are blinding. I should have brought my inhaler.

  Walking the red carpet is like being bathed in hot lights and still trying to look your best, promising your body a good shower later if it refuses to sweat under the spotlights.

  We wait in silence for our turn.

  William puts his hand on the small of my back and a shiver runs up my spine. I shift, which he must read as discomfort, because he immediately withdraws his hand. Instead he leans a little closer to my ear and asks, “Should I hold your purse or something?”

  I notice his immense confusion.

  I’m suddenly not nervous. But he’s definitely nervous. Looking great, but lost.

  “No, it’s okay.”

  We try to beam at each other, but we’ve known each other for a bit longer than these cameras have known us. I can tell he’s faking it. He can probably tell I’m faking it, too. But the hostess gestures for us to move onto the red carpet next, so it’s time to pretend.

  Between smiling teeth, I say, “Put your arm around my waist.”

  William does. Then he whispers, “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

  I choose to ignore that.

  We walk side by side right into the hurricane that is the public eye—the cameras, the photographers, the reporters.

  We put on a show, and we shine bright.

  One of the reporters yells, “Are you really done with Trent Nicholson, Natalie?”

  Another yells, “Natalie, can you tell us about your freak-out at the People’s Choice Awards?”

  A third yells, “Is this a rebound or is he for real?”

  I politely smile at all of them, and then turn to face William. I move my hands to his biceps. He holds me back, like he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing. His forehead has a touch of sheen. He’s not used to the heat under the lights, and I feel like I failed him somehow, like I should’ve told him.

  “I’m going to kiss you,” I whisper. “Okay?”

  Another reporter yells, “Is the song you wrote for the movie about Nicholson?”

  And then William gets it. Or just decides to play the part no matter what.

  “Okay,” he whispers.

  I close my eyes and the distance between us. He meets me halfway, one hand sliding up to the middle of my back, and I feel the shiver again, as the warmth of his body presses against me.

  His lips cover mine, soft and warm, and my whole body goes hot.

  I want to part my lips, but that would ruin the makeup. Instead I cup the side of his face, sliding my fingers to the back of his neck, finding warmth in his curls.

  His firm hand on my back holds me closer, and I melt in his arms.

  Then he moves away.

  We stare at each other for a moment. I try to decode the look in his eyes, feeling a little self-conscious of how my face is probably flustered.

  But the cameras go wild.

  For a moment there, the stars are too small for us. We’re gods.

  I pull away properly and turn back to the cameras with a smile. We have to keep moving.

  William eyes me seriously before smiling his slightly crooked super-white smile.

  An Entertainment Tonight reporter comes at us with his camera operator, who’s staring at me like he wants to eat me alive. I clear my throat and turn to the reporter instead, a man who must be in his twenties but is playing older, with stubble and a tight bun.

  “The hottest couple of the hour, oh my God!” the reporter shouts.

  I offer him my Miss Pop Star attitude. William is frozen. I subtly poke him.

  “Our goddess, Natalie!” He talks directly into the camera now, “Like Beyoncé or Madonna, only the greatest go by their first name!” He winks, then turns back to me. “So who are you wearing, love?”

  The operator looks me up and down. I don’t like where the camera seems to linger. I notice William clearing his throat, ready to interrupt, but even though I appreciate it, I don’t let him.

  “This is a Christian Dior exclusive, made specially for the occasion.” I turn around for the camera, and as the reporter swoons, I add, “I love this shimmer.” The reporter cheers.

  “And you, William Ainsley, Hollywood’s newest babe! Who are you wearing?”

  The camera closes on William. Make an effort, I want to say.

  He shoots me a glance like he wants to kill me for dragging him into this.

  Doesn’t he want Hollywood? This is Hollywood.

  Then he flashes a charming smile. “All Armani. Don’t know about the Hollywood part yet, though I hope I can star in some films here soon. Love the weather.”

  The reporter laughs. “Because London’s so rainy! Yes! Love it!”

  William offers him another smile, smaller this time.

  The reporter winks at him, then yells at one of the actors passing us. “Oh my God, my favorite Chris! You have to tell us about your new movie.” And off they go.

  I breathe out my relief, and William tucks his hands into the pockets of his pants.

  Again, I want to tell him that he’s gorgeous in this suit, but again, it’s definitely not the time. “Thanks for playing along.”

  He raises his eyes to me, scratches the back of his head. “Doing what?”

  “Playing nice with the reporter.” I shift around. “Kissing me.”

  William nods, not a hint of playfulness there.

  I’m starting to feel sick.

  “Now we watch the first screening. You must like superhero movies. Everybody does.” I shrug.

  He looks around, not scanning the crowd for famous faces, but apparently just to have somewhere to look at that isn’t me. “Yeah, yeah. Superhero films are all right.”

  I bite the insides of my cheeks. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “Mostly harmless,” he says. He’s got a fake smile showing no teeth, and I realize now that the makeup team has hidden the birthmark on his cheekbone. I feel sadness tug inside me. “Let’s go to the theater then, yeah?”

  I nod. He offers his hand, and I take it.

  We walk to the theater with cold hands that don’t quite fit together.

  The movie is as high octane as you’d expect a superhero blockbuster to be. It’s also shot brilliantly and has so many amazing stars that it’s difficult to look away. Ten minutes in, I glance at William beside me, and his eyes are glued to the screen, absolutely transfixed by the experience.

  Okay, so we started off on the wrong foot. We both said some unpleasant things. But it’s not hopeless, right?

  When “The Outsider”—my song—plays, William turns, and I can see some pride there. Hidden behind that scowl, which disappears the moment I stick my tongue out at him.

  “C’mere,” he says.

  And then he offers me his arm.

  Obviously he’s doing it because we’re out in public. But I do come closer. I rest my head on his shoulder, and we keep watching the movie.

  It feels good to sit like that with him, and I can smell his cologne. Is that Clive Christian? Rose d’Arabie? I’m possibly leaning too close, because he turns to me with a slight frown.

  With a hand on my shoulder, he murmurs, “Everything all right?”

  Sure. Just smelling you.

  I take a deep breath and glance around.
Everyone’s paying attention to the movie, so maybe…maybe it’s all right. I open my purse and hand him the silver box, putting some distance between us.

  I don’t explain because, honestly, I’m not sure what to say.

  William shoots me a curious look before doing his utmost not to make any noise as he opens the gift. When he finds the superhero socks inside, the corner of his mouth quirks up.

  “For me?” he asks quietly.

  I roll my eyes. “No, just having you hold on to these for a bit.”

  He laughs, holding them close to his chest. “I love them.”

  We smile at each other. For the first time all night, it seems genuine.

  * * *

  I am way too comfortable entering this party with William.

  It’s not that I don’t want to feel comfortable around him; I’m surprised at how natural it is. Squeezing his hand as we make our way into the room, I’m glad I’m not attending this party alone, but more than that, I’m at ease with him. I like how his warm hand feels in mine.

  It’s great…for a fake boyfriend and all.

  “Thoughts on the movie?” I ask, my voice loud enough to be heard above the chatter and music. He gives me a lopsided grin, and before he can start, I warn, “You can’t say that you’re waiting for the sequel to form an opinion.”

  “That’s exactly what I was going to say!” He laughs.

  “I know. That open ending…” I make a face. “But for real, did you like it?”

  I hope he’ll say yes. I hope he’ll say that it doesn’t matter that we argued in the car. I hope he’ll say that the second he heard my song he understood.

  Before any of that can happen, we’re interrupted. Valentina Fiore, a former model who’s been designing her own fashion line the past few years, approaches us in a neon-pink dress and a smirk.

  “Oh my God! Hi, Natalie!”

  She hugs me, and William lets me go. “Valentina, hi!” I put some distance between us, smiling my biggest smile to match hers. “Look at how pretty you are in pink!”

  “Queen, you’re the prettiest! Ah, reina!” she says, with an exaggerated accent that I suppose is meant to sound Mexican. “Who’s the hottie?” She comes closer and touches William’s chest.

  Full-on touches his chest with both hands.

  He takes a step back, and I can tell he’s trying to mask his shock, but he doesn’t do a very good job. “This hottie is called William,” he says as he takes her hands and politely removes them from his chest. “He is also taken, sorrowfully.”

  In the split second it takes her to stand back, a thousand thoughts run through my mind. First, I’m indignant that she’s taken the liberty to touch him like that. I want to step in and tell her to back off. That she wouldn’t like it if a man did that to her.

  Then his words sink in.

  He’s taken.

  Warmth spreads over my chest and face, and I bite back a smile.

  “ ‘Sorrowfully,’ ” Valentina imitates him, then turns to me again. “He’s British, how cute!”

  I raise my eyebrows and wait for her to go.

  She eventually does.

  “What was that?” he asks, but I have a feeling it’s more to himself than me.

  I raise my shoulders. “She keeps calling me reina. I don’t think she realizes I don’t speak a word of Spanish. Maybe she thinks I’m Hispanic? Maybe she thinks all Latinas are Hispanic?” I frown, talking more to myself than to him.

  His eyes dance as I speak. A waiter passes by with smoked salmon cannoli, and I take one for me. William does the same.

  “It’s kind of cute when you do that.”

  I snap my head in his direction, blinking slowly. “Do what? Cute? What?”

  William smiles. “Your monologues. They’re cute.”

  His eyes look darker somehow, almost brown. Do they always change color?

  But William looks over, and I follow his gaze.

  Behind him, three people are watching us. Two I don’t know, but one of them is a photographer from one of the biggest tabloids in Los Angeles. No camera in sight, but he’s still paying attention.

  Maybe that’s it. He spotted them, too. He’s a good actor, I’ll give him that.

  I clear my throat. “There’s a lot of actors here. Do you want me to introduce you? Networking done right.” I wink. Then I kick myself—have I become a winker?

  William does that thing where he shifts his weight to the other foot. “I don’t know. Maybe later?”

  I don’t understand his hesitation, but I nod. “Whenever you’re ready, I guess.”

  That’s when I spot my producer talking to the director of the movie. Aline Hernandez, who produced my theme song as well as quite a few from my last album, wears her hair up in a braided bun, with dramatic orange eyeshadow. Nina Kim, the director of the movie, wears a tail dress with a deep V-neck. They’re fierce and fabulous and so tall in their five-inch heels, posing even when they’re just talking to each other.

  My face lights up looking at them.

  “Oh my God. I haven’t been introduced to Nina Kim yet. And she’s with Aline! She produced ‘The Outsider.’ ” I press my lips together, trying to contain my excitement. William follows my eyes to the women, then back at me.

  “You want to say hello, don’t you?” he teases. I nod. He takes my hand in his and says, “So let’s do it. Maybe it won’t hurt if I start meeting directors.” He adds the second part with a frown, but I appreciate his hand in mine.

  We start toward them, but we don’t make it very far.

  Whispers seem to fill the space around me, and I notice a few people’s gazes bouncing from me to someone behind me. I turn around, and sure enough, there’s Trent, wearing a basic black suit, his blond hair perfectly tousled, and his big blue eyes narrowed on us.

  And now that he knows that I’ve spotted him, he’s walking in our direction.

  This party was supposed to be William and my official couple debut. It was supposed to be a night to make connections and network, hopefully introduce William around, and just have a good time with my friend.

  Because we are friends. Or something.

  But watching Trent come closer, I know that this party is headed for disaster.

  Faster than Trent can make his way to us, I make our way out. I grab William’s hand, saying over my shoulder, “Let’s go meet Aline and Nina Kim!” and drag him across the room. All my excitement about meeting the director has turned into desperation to get out of this situation as fast as possible.

  “Aline, hi! This is my boyfriend, William Ainsley!” I announce, flustered. When the two women turn in our direction, they both frown. Aline’s frown quickly turns into a smile, though. “He’s an actor,” I add, as if that would make my approach smoother.

  William stops by my side, eyes wide and staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. I turn to Nina Kim.

  “Nina, I am so happy to finally meet you! It was such a pleasure to work on the soundtrack of this movie.”

  Recognition dawns and Nina greets us. She shakes hands with me and William. “We all loved the song the minute we listened to it. It really captures the hero’s inner battle.” She pauses, turning to William. “It’s a pity we weren’t aware of you before. Cory Bailey did a fantastic job, but you seem like you would have made a great Wade as well.”

  Wade, the superhero’s witty best friend, had enough screen time that I’m sure he’ll have a fan club as soon as the movie comes out. Maybe he already does, based on the trailers alone.

  It’s a nice thing to hear. Unfortunately, William’s still gaping at me. I tug at his jacket and incline my head toward Nina, hoping he’ll get the message to pay attention.

  “Pardon me, Ms. Kim, I didn’t quite catch that.”

  As she repeats it, Aline touches my arm. I lean c
loser, and she whispers, “Is there a reason Trent Nicholson is standing a few feet behind you like he’s a fan waiting in line for his turn?”

  Aline seems almost proud. Her eyes flick between Trent and me. I pause awkwardly. Aline and I aren’t really close. She’s a genius producer with whom I work well, not a friend. I learned at fifteen that I can’t confide in coworkers after the whole world found out who I had a crush on, all because of a chatty sound engineer.

  I shrug and turn to Nina and William, trying to catch up on their conversation—they’re definitely getting along, which is good. I want to be happy for them and not terrified of what happens when the conversation finishes.

  “Natalie, can I talk to you for a sec?”

  We all stop and turn to Trent, who apparently got tired of waiting and is interrupting with his typical Hollywood megawatt smile.

  To be fair, probably neither Aline nor Nina cares that much about my past with Trent. If Nina didn’t once talk about pulling the song from the soundtrack because of what happened at the People’s Choice Awards, I’m sure it doesn’t really matter to her that he’s here now. But the way William looks at me, a question on his face, tells me that he does. He cares.

  What am I supposed to do?

  I swallow the knot in my throat and put on my default camera smile, because that’s what I’m hardwired to do.

  “Cool,” he says, taking my arm and pulling me away.

  I don’t look behind to check whether William’s okay. I know that he’s talking to one of Hollywood’s greatest directors. He’s in good hands. He’s networking.

  When I yank my arm from Trent, we’re already a few feet away. A waiter passes us and Trent grabs a glass of champagne. After a gulp, he says, “I saw your little kiss on the red carpet.” He cocks an eyebrow at me. “You know that should have been me, right?”