Page 39 of The Duet

I hold my head, pretending to have a massive headache, while most of my hangover is made of regret for letting Lana down. I scan the diner for a sign of her, but Billie is the only member of The Lady Kings present. She gives me a thumbs-up.

What’s Lana doing? I can hardly text her again. How would that make me look? I need to talk to her, but I won’t have time before the soundcheck. Maybe she’ll be at the venue. Oh fuck, my thoughts are spinning out of control again.

Ravenous, I order a stack of pancakes with lots of bacon and a large pot of coffee. At least five tables are taken up by people on the tour.

Just as I get my pancakes, my phone beeps. Heart thudding in my chest, I check the message. It’s from Lana.

* * *

Don’t worry about it. I missed you, though. I hope you won’t be too tired tonight.

* * *

I can’t help my cheeks from flushing the brightest pink.

“Damn, Cleo,” Daphne says. “Did you get lucky last night? And did she just text you something not suitable for the brunch table?”

I quickly hide my phone. I fan my cheeks. “Just… hungover,” I mumble. “Nothing of what you are insinuating.” I’m just glad Billie’s not at our table. I probably shouldn’t have told her I have feelings for someone. What if she tells Lana? Or someone else?

I devour the pancakes, my body craving the sugar after last night’s excess. I need all the energy I can get. We have a show tonight. I have a duet to sing with Lana followed by… my cheeks burn again at the prospect of what might happen tonight.

“Chop, chop,” Tim says. “You know they hate it when we make them wait.”

Chapter 23

Lana

I catch the last of The Other Women’s soundcheck. Cleo looks adorable, though, perhaps, a touch tired. Maybe in another lifetime, I would have been annoyed that she failed to show up last night, but in this lifetime, I know that it’s futile to hold youth against the young. It helps that I’ve been exactly where she is now. It’s impossible to recall the number of appointments I missed when The Lady Kings were hitting the big time, although my memory’s still good enough to know the occasions were many.

Cleo clocks me when she walks off stage. I can tell she’s unsure whether to walk toward me, probably because of Jess, who is hot on her heels. I don’t get off on testing her loyalties. Even though I genuinely believe the whole thing is a storm in a teacup, I understand that it’s a big deal for Cleo.

But then, it’s as though she can’t help herself, as though there’s an invisible force pulling her to me.

“Hey,” she whispers. “I’m sorry about last night.” Looking at her face is like watching ice cream melt into a puddle.

Behind her, Jess is glaring at us. I barely keep myself from winking at her.

“It’s okay,” I whisper back. Damn. I wish I could give her a hug. Why don’t I just do it? What does it even matter? Clearly, she needs one. And I want to hold her in my arms.

I find her eyes, blocking out everyone milling about, replacing instruments and positioning cables, and Jess, who seems to believe that if she just keeps on standing there, staring at us, nothing will ever happen between Cleo and me. But it’s not up to Jess, or her uninformed crush on me, to dictate what I do. Knowing how fleeting life can really be, how it can all slip through your fingers in a matter of seconds, I open my arms to Cleo.

Hesitation crosses her face. “It’s okay,” I repeat. “Come here.” I let her come to me. I don’t want her to feel as though she has to hug me in front of everyone. It’s all optional.

Cleo exhales slowly, then bridges the remaining distance between us. She folds her arms around my waist and puts her head against my shoulder. I close my arms and hold her tight.

I’m keenly aware of a shift in the atmosphere around us. All work has stopped and everyone is looking at us.

“Oh,” someone whose voice I can’t identify exclaims.

“Oh shit,” Billie, whose voice I do recognize, says. “It’s Lana. Of course.” I don’t know what that means, but I’m sure Billie will tell me later.

From under my lashes, I witness Jess stomp off. Oh, please. It’s not as though I’m passionately kissing Cleo on the lips in front of everyone, declaring my undying love for her. I’m just giving her a hug. Although it’s also true that I don’t go around distributing hugs like this to just anyone.

“It’s all good, Cleo,” I whisper. “Everything’s fine.”

I release my hold on her—the soundcheck must go on—and take her hands in mine.

Cleo has perked up considerably and, for me, it’s enough reason to have hugged her. I wanted to turn that frown on her face upside down, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. I’ve hugged her back into her happy place. Cleo arches up her eyebrows.

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