Page 52 of The Duet

“Oh, god,” I say while expelling all the air from my lungs. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Cleo doesn’t want to do the duet with me anymore.”

“Why not? Surely she only stands to gain from it?”

“The usual tour antics.” I wiggle my eyebrows at Leila.

“Oh. I can sort of see what you’re trying to say, but it would really help if you spelled it out for me.” She sits there grinning like she’s some cheap gossip columnist instead of an award-winning journalist.

“I can see how you got Izzy to spill her most painful secrets to you while you were finishing her biography.”

“Come on.” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “Humor me.”

I glance around. A few people throw furtive glances in our direction, but no one’s close enough to hear what we’re saying. Not that it would make any difference if they did. On the tour, everyone knows what happened with Cleo and me.

“We slept together because… Honestly, it was almost impossible not to. Not after having been on stage with her for so many nights. Something happens when we sing together and it all came to a boil. We stopped resisting it and, yes, we ended up in bed together, and…” I shrug. “And then it all turned to shit, like we’re in two rival high school bands or something stupid like that.”

“I’m so sorry, Lana. What happened?” Leila doesn’t even bother hiding her relentless journalistic streak. I respect her for that. To think this spectacular woman just walked into Izzy’s life one fine day. All I get is someone so immature she behaves like a horny teenager who changes her mind about things on a whim. Although I’m sure Cleo would spin it in an entirely different way.

“Ridiculous band stuff that’s not worth wasting any more words over.”

“Are you sure? I’m only insisting because I really think you should try to get her back on stage with you. Izzy’s not going to join the tour to replace Cleo.”

“There’s an idea, though. You strike me as an extremely persuasive woman, Leila. Are you sure you can’t make that happen?”

“You know Izzy’s doing her own tour,” Leila’s voice brims with pride. Oh, to have someone fighting your corner at every turn. To be with someone who gets you, all of you—as Joan did. Any fool can see how Izzy and Leila are made for each other. Just as any fool can see that Cleo and I are not—quite the opposite.

“Oh, well.”

As if us talking about her has made her appear, Cleo walks into the room. My gaze is drawn to her because she has that kind of star quality about her that makes you want to look.

“Do you want me to ask her?” Leila chuckles like the schoolgirls some members of The Other Women still seem to be. “I was standing near her when you and Izzy were singing and she was crying so hard. It was an emotional moment, I get that, but, I don’t know, call it journalistic intuition, but I don’t think she was only crying because the song hit her so hard.”

“Cleo knows what I want. She’s the one calling the shots, not me.”

Leila turns to me. “Really? Why?” She looks at me with a stunned expression.

I huff out some air. “Can we please drop it now? I’m sick of all these useless shenanigans. I think I’ll go find your missus. Maybe she’ll give me an easier time.”

“Wait, Lana, please.” Leila puts her hand on my knee. “Cleo. Come!” She beckons Cleo over with a wave of her hand, as though it holds magical power. Great. Cleo and I haven’t exchanged more than a few grunted hellos since she told me she didn’t want to sing with me anymore.

“Hey,” Cleo keeps her gaze trained on Leila. “Thanks so much for having us over. It’s such an honor.”

“Oh, please.” Leila isn’t one for airs and graces. “It’s just a party.” It’s so easy to see why Izzy’s life was turned upside down when she met Leila.

“The hell it is.” Cleo grins.

“Great show,” Leila says.

“You saw our show?” Cleo seems genuinely surprised. She also hasn’t acknowledged my presence yet. More schoolgirl antics. More reasons for us to stay apart. If I’m ever going to be with anyone again—and it’s a big if—it should be with a woman like Leila, not someone as young and fickle as Cleo.

“Of course, we did. You and your band are pretty special.”

“Thanks.”

My heart thuds against my chest as Cleo’s cheeks turn hot pink. She’s so adorable when her rock chick cool is pierced by a compliment.

“It was a great show,” I say, inserting myself into their conversation.

“Thanks.” Cleo’s gaze briefly holds mine before skittering away.

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