Page 34 of High Notes & Hail Marys

“Sterling, who are you wearing?”

“Hi, Lisa!” He beams at a specific reporter. “This is custom Valentino.”

“I love you, Sterling!”

His smile gets even wider. “I love you too! I’m sending kisses to all my fans at E!”

“Sterling, what do you have to say to your fans in India, South Korea, and the Philippines that aren’t getting a tour stop?”

He doesn’t stop, just slows down. “If I had it my way, I’d tour every weekend until I’d been everywhere. It’s just logistics. I absolutely love Asia!”

“Hey, Sterling! Is there any truth to the rumors that you are boycotting companies that support politicians you disagree with?”

A flash of white teeth. “No comment.”

You are so busy being led along, trying not to look like a bumpkin as he shows off, and being franklyastoundedat the skillful way that your boyfriend is courting the press, that it takes you several long minutes to realize thatyouare being shouted at as well. A lot of it is garbled noise, but a few questions rise above the din.

“Train! Hey, Train! What’s it like being Sterling’s boyfriend?”

Sterling must have a sixth sense, because he feels you stiffen and leans up to your ear. “You can answer if the questions are appropriate, and youfeel like it,” he murmurs.

“It’s, uh, pretty awesome?” you answer, trying to smile big like Ster.

“Who areyouwearing?” A gorgeous guy with dreadlocks and a tight black dress leans over the rope.

You freeze like a deer in the headlights. “Umm…”

Sterling turns, having just finished posing for someone behind you two. He puts a hand on your chest. “Kai is wearing Dolce & Gabbana. Doesn’t he look great?” He rubs a reassuring circle over your heart, quick enough to not notice if it weren’t for the fact that there is awall of fucking cameras.Several “awws” drift out from the crowd.

“How long have you guys been together now?” someone calls.

“A couple months,” Sterling answers. “But we were friends for a while before that.”

Your hand is sweating in Sterling’s. You are embarrassed. This isembarrassing.You have handled press junkets and reporters before. Why are you acting like a complete amateur?

Just then, a voice calls, loud and unmistakable, from the back of the crowd: “When’s the wedding?”

You feel lightheaded and nauseous. The flashessnap. The smile on your facehurts.Sterling’s hand in yours snakes around to your wrist. You realize belatedly that he’s feeling your pulse, which you know has to be thready and fast.

“I think you guys are freaking Kai out,” Sterling volleys back good-naturedly. He keeps his thumb on your pulse point, reassuring. Rubbing that tiny patch of skin. “You’ll chase him off, and then I’ll be single again and won’t have a date to take pictures with me.” He grabs your hand in a mirror of what you did earlier, and pulls it to his mouth. He kisses your palm. “Enough questions, guys. We need to get inside. Try to remember that tonight is about philanthropy, not gossip.”

He blows a kiss in each direction and leads you into the cool darkness of the theater foyer. There are people milling in the atrium just beyond, which is immense and opulent. The glass ceiling soars three stories high, with immense support columns and full-sized potted trees garlanded in fairy lights. You recognize some of the people, actors and singers that you have seen on TV and music videos, mingling with more normal-looking folks in nice suits and dresses. There’s a recessed bar against one wall that’s pulling a lot of focus, and a few waiters circulating with champagne flutes. Sterling pulls you in the direction of a hallway you haven’t even noticed, which must lead to the restrooms. It’s very quiet, but you can still hear the echo of the red carpet inyour ears.

“Hey.” Sterling’s voice cuts through the imaginary noise. “Are you okay?” He sounds concerned.

You shake your head, trying to dispel the lingering after-burn of all the flashes, floaters in your vision. “Yeah. It’s cool.”

Sterling purses his lip. “Kai. You definitely were freaking out just then.” He puts a hand to your forehead. His palm is blessedly cool and dry. You’re a little clammy, but it doesn’t gross him out. “Sweetheart. You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

The endearment pierces your dizziness. Makes you smile. “I’m good,” you insist. “It’s just…”

“I know it’s a lot,” he says. An older lady passes by. You startle and straighten up as if you are doing something wrong. As if you aren’t just talking to your date in a hallway.

Sterling cringes sympathetically. “It’s okay,” he says in a low voice. “You’re okay. Do you feel like you’re okay? Like you’re safe? I’m pretty much trapped here for a few hours, but I can call a car and get you back to the house. There’s always a back exit that the photogs don’t know about.”

“No!” you protest. “Just give me a second. I don’t want to leave. Want to be with you. I ruined the pictures, Ster.” Fuck, you sound like you are about to cry. You aren’t, but your voice sounds like it—alittle hoarse. “All I needed to do was look good next to you. And I couldn’t do that.”

A little furrow appears between his eyebrows. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He unbuttons the two buttons of your jacket so it hangs open and puts his hands around your waist. It’s not a full embrace, but the warmth of his hands bleeds through the thin material of the shirt underneath.

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