Page 135 of All Twerk, No Play

My body moved through the prompts, my gaze magnetically attracted over the river to Queens. Just a few months ago, I’d been there with him—eating delicious homemade food, relaxing in his mom’s hugs, laughing with his sisters, dancing around the kitchen in his arms.

Tears threatened, but I blinked them back. This mascara wasn’t waterproof, and I didn’t have time for a touch-up.

“Now look over your shoulder. Show that confidence. You own this city now,” Darius instructed, trying to hide his disappointment.

My gaze lifted over his head to the clock then drifted to find Connor in the crew, one headphone tucked into his ear. He nodded in confirmation, and the hopeful anticipation of the daily video lightened the weight on my shoulders.

“That’s the shot,” Darius exclaimed in relief, lowering his camera to check the preview.

As the crew started breaking down the equipment, Connor met me with an iced coffee and courteous silence, not blowing smoke up my ass about how well the shoot had gone. Margot fell in step beside us, striding to the click of my Prada slingbacks against the polished travertine.

Once we hit the executive suites, Margot paused to review the wall of Sinclair magazine covers. She tapped the vacant space at the end, indicating where mine would go. When I didn’t respond, she waved Connor inside to get to work.

“I’ll do better next time, I promise,” I told her, pressing my emotions down.

“It’s normal to feel nervous, but it gets easier every time,” she said with a gentle hand on my elbow. “Your mother was a mess for herForbesshoot.”

She looked past me at that old magazine cover where my mom beamed, her arms slung over Dad’s shoulder. “Coulda fooled me.”

“She was a train wreck. Hands shaking, barely smiled,” Margot confessed. “I called your dad, he left work early and picked you up from preschool to raise her spirits.” Margot lifted her finger, hovering over the glass above Mom’s face. “Arthur wasn’t supposed to be on the cover, but she dragged him in front of the camera.” Then she turned to me, her eyes brimming with emotion. “She finally started smiling, genuinely smiling, when she saw you singing to a PA on set.”

“I…” I stuttered. “But they were a power couple.”

“That’s how the journalist framed the story because that was the best cover image. The editors were pissed they hadn’t gotten a solo shot. But once she saw this one, she insisted they rewrite the story to showcase their partnership.” Margot looked at it again. “Your grandfather hated it, said it made her look weak. But Regina insisted that she couldn’t have done it alone.”

I kept my eyes locked on the magazine cover, on my mom’s smile, the joy I brought her. I’d seen that same pride on Alex’s face when Ruby acted out Frozen.

“She was always so proud of you. Everything you did.” Margot brushed a finger under her eye. “She’d be so proud if she could see you now, Victoria.”

“I know,” I whispered, my eyelids heavy with false lashes and unshed tears.

She would be proud. I’d finally stepped into the role she’d earmarked for me. My childhood dream had come true.

So why did it feel like a nightmare?

I made a weak excuse about an upcoming meeting to retreat.

At the executive assistant desk just outside my office door, Connor handed over my phone and headphones. Inside, I sank into the plush couch across from Richard’s infamous mahogany desk.

No,mydesk, in my corner office as the Chief Executive Officer.

I slid the headphones in and opened my phone, where Connor had queued up the YouTube channel. Every day for two weeks, Cruz had posted a new song.

“HeyCobrecita.” His familiar voice brought tears to my eyes. “I hope you’re having a great Thursday. I saw that picture of you, looking as brazen and brilliant as always.” He must meanBusiness Insider—their cover last week was a shot from my press conference, taken the moment that I’d announced the new performance evaluation policy. In the background, Spencer’s jaw hung slack in disbelief.

“I know you’re busy so I won’t keep you,” Cruz said, making my heart sink. My full schedule meant it was hard to carve out even five minutes to watch. “But I was thinking bout that first time I played for you at Donnelly’s, and Stacy called me up on stage for ‘I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking for.’ Remember?”

I remembered the candlelit table, his arm around my chair to massage my neck. The look in his eyes when we were naming songs.Desire, he’d rasped.

“That was how I felt at the time,” he explained in his one-sided conversation with me, “Like I’d been looking everywhere for what I wanted and couldn’t find it anywhere. Little did I know that what I always wanted was sitting right there at the table in front of me.”

And then he sang a quiet ballad about a partner who wants diamonds and treasures, while the singer knows that those riches won’t replace the happiness of being together.

He sang about being a harbour in the tempest, and that’s what he was for me—a safe space for me to take solace during the storm constantly swirling around me.

My body felt hollow and heavy without him there to hold me up. I wanted to launch out of the chair, drive straight upstate, throw myself into his arms, beg him to make it okay … but my calendar pinged on my dual monitor, telling me that my next meeting started in twelve minutes, and they wouldn’t stop for another eight hours.

I couldn’t just run away, not this time. Thousands of people relied on me.

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